Clifford. In vaine thou speak'st, poore Boy:
My Fathers blood hath stopt the passage
Where thy words should enter
Rutland. Then let my Fathers blood open it againe,
He is a man, and Clifford cope with him
Clifford. Had I thy Brethren here, their liues and thine
Were not reuenge sufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd vp thy fore-fathers Graues,
And hung their rotten Coffins vp in Chaynes,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the House of Yorke,
Is as a furie to torment my Soule:
And till I root out their accursed Line,
And leaue not one aliue, I liue in Hell.
Therefore-
Rutland. Oh let me pray, before I take my death:
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford pitty me
Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords
Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay
me?
Clifford. Thy Father hath
Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne.
Thou hast one Sonne, for his sake pitty me,
Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust,
He be as miserably slaine as I.
Ah, let me liue in Prison all my dayes,
And when I giue occasion of offence,
Then let me dye, for now thou hast no cause
Clifford. No cause? thy Father slew my Father: therefore
dye
Rutland. Dij faciant laudis summa sit ista tuæ
Clifford. Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet:
And this thy Sonnes blood cleauing to my Blade,
Shall rust vpon my Weapon, till thy blood
Congeal'd with this, doe make me wipe off both.
Enter.
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of Yorke.