Prin. My Royall Father, cheere these Noble Lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Vnsheath your Sword, good Father: Cry S[aint]. George.
March. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, Clarence, Norfolke,
Mountague, and
Soldiers.
Edw. Now periur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace?
And set thy Diadem vpon my head?
Or bide the mortall Fortune of the field
Qu. Go rate thy Minions, proud insulting Boy,
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in termes,
Before thy Soueraigne, and thy lawfull King?
Ed. I am his King, and he should bow his knee:
I was adopted Heire by his consent
Cla. Since when, his Oath is broke: for as I heare,
You that are King, though he do weare the Crowne,
Haue caus'd him by new Act of Parliament,
To blot out me, and put his owne Sonne in
Clif. And reason too,
Who should succeede the Father, but the Sonne
Rich. Are you there Butcher? O, I cannot speake
Clif. I Crooke-back, here I stand to answer thee,
Or any he, the proudest of thy sort
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd yong Rutland, was it not?
Clif. I, and old Yorke, and yet not satisfied
Rich. For Gods sake Lords giue signall to the fight