[♦] And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
[♦] Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.
Enter old CLIFFORD.
War. Of one or both of us the time is come.
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
15 For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War. Then, nobly, York; ’tis for a crown thou fight’st.
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail’d. [Exit.
[♦] Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?