10 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:
[♦] What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter RICHARD.
Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
15 Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance;
And in the very pangs of death he cried,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,