The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [Vol. 5 of 9] · William Shakespeare
SCENE IV. _Another part of the field_.
_Enter_ QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, _the_ young Prince, _and_ Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. _North._ Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. ·cad030· _Clif._ Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show’d unto my father. Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. _York._ My ashes, as the phœnix, may bring forth [cad035] A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? _Clif._ So cowards fight when they can fly no further; ·cad040· So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers. _York._ O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o’er-run my former time; ·cad045· And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! _Clif._ I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [cad050] _Q. Mar._ Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.
_York._ She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, [cad111] Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! ·cad115· But that thy face is, visard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, [cad117] I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. [cad118] To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. [cad120] Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, [cad121] Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, ·cad125· Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. ’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: ’Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; ·cad130· The contrary doth make thee wonder’d at: ’Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, ·cad135· Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger’s heart wrapp’d in a woman’s hide! [cad137] How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face? ·cad140· Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; [cad141] Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid’st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, ·cad145· And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, [cad148] ’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.
_North._ Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so [cad150] That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. [cad151] _York._ That face of his the hungry cannibals [cad152] Would not have touch’d, would not have stain’d with blood: [cad153] But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. ·cad155· See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears: This cloth thou dip’dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: [cad159] And if thou tell’st the heavy story right, ·cad160· Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say ‘Alas, it was a piteous deed!’ There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; [cad164] And in thy need such comfort come to thee ·cad165· As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! _North._ Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, [cad169] I should not for my life but weep with him, [cad170] To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. _Q. Mar._ What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? [cad172] Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. _Clif._ Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death. [cad175] [_Stabbing him._ _Q. Mar._ And here’s to right our gentle-hearted king. [cad176] [_Stabbing him._ _York._ Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. [cad178] [_Dies._ _Q. Mar._ Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [cad180] [_Flourish. Exeunt._
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.