[♦] And so, have at thee! [They fight. Warwick comes; Clifford flies.
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.
cbe SCENE V. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone.
[♦] King. This battle fares like to the morning’s war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
[5] Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea