The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [Vol. 5 of 9] · William Shakespeare
SCENE XXIII.
Alarmes to the battaile, and then enter the Duke of _Somerset_ and _Richard_ fighting, and _Richard_ kils him vnder the signe of the Castle in saint _Albones_. _Rich._ So Lie thou there, and breathe thy last. [daw001] Whats here, the signe of the Castle? [daw002] Then the prophesie is come to passe, For Somerset was forewarned of Castles, The which he alwaies did obserue. ·daw005· And now behold, vnder a paltry Ale-house signe, The Castle in saint Albones, [daw007] Somerset hath made the Wissard famous by his death. [daw008] _Exet._ Alarme again, and enter the Earle of _Warwicke_ alone. _War._ Clifford of Comberland, tis Warwicke calles, And if thou doest not hide thee from the Beare, ·daw010· Now whilst the angry Trompets sound Alarmes, And dead mens cries do fill the emptie aire: Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me, Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Comberland, Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to Armes. ·daw015· Clifford speakes within. Warwicke stand still, and view the way that Clifford hewes with his murthering Curtel-axe, through the fainting troopes to finde thee out. Warwicke stand still, and stir not till I come. Enter _Yorke_. _War._ How now my Lord, what a foote? ·daw020· Who kild your horse? _Yorke._ The deadly hand of Clifford. Noble Lord, Fiue horse this day slaine vnder me, And yet braue Warwicke I remaine aliue, But I did kill his horse he lou’d so well, ·daw025· The boniest gray that ere was bred in North.
Enter _Clifford_, and _Warwicke_ offers to fight with him. Hold Warwicke, and seeke thee out some other chase, My selfe will hunt this deare to death. _War._ Braue Lord, tis for a Crowne thou fights, [daw029] Clifford farewell, as I entend to prosper well to day, ·daw030· It grieues my soule to leaue thee vnassaild. _Exet Warwicke._ _Yorke._ Now Clifford, since we are singled here alone, Be this the day of doome to one of vs, For now my heart hath sworne immortall hate To thee, and all the house of Lancaster. ·daw035· _Cliffood._ And here I stand, and pitch my foot to thine, Vowing neuer to stir, till thou or I be slaine. For neuer shall my heart be safe at rest, Till I haue spoyld the hatefull house of Yorke. Alarmes, and they fight, and _Yorke_ kils _Clifford_. _Yorke._ Now Lancaster sit sure, thy sinowes shrinke, [daw040] Come fearefull Henry grouelling on thy face, Yeeld vp thy Crowne vnto the Prince of Yorke. _Exet Yorke._ Alarmes, then enter yoong _Clifford_ alone. _Yoong Clifford._ Father of Comberland, Where may I seeke my aged father forth? [daw044] O! dismall sight, see where he breathlesse lies, [daw045] All smeard and weltred in his luke-warme blood, Ah, aged pillar of all Comberlands true house, Sweete father, to thy murthred ghoast I sweare, Immortall hate vnto the house of Yorke, Nor neuer shall I sleepe secure one night, Till I haue furiously reuengde thy death, And left not one of them to breath on earth.
_Rich._ My Lord, I saw him in the thickest throng, Charging his Lance with his old weary armes, And thrise I saw him beaten from his horse, And thrise this hand did set him vp againe, And still he fought with courage gainst his foes, ·daw080· The boldest sprited man that ere mine eyes beheld. [daw081] Enter _Salsbbury_ and _Warwicke_. _Edward._ See noble father, where they both do come, The onely props vnto the house of Yorke. _Sals._ Well hast thou fought this day, thou valiant Duke, And thou braue bud of Yorkes encreasing house, ·daw085· The small remainder of my weary life, I hold for thee, for with thy warlike arme, Three times this day thou hast preseru’d my life. _Yorke._ What say you Lords, the King is fled to London? There as I here to hold a Parlament. [daw090] What saies Lord Warwicke, shall we after them? _War._ After them, nay before them if we can. Now by my faith Lords, twas a glorious day, [daw093] Saint Albones battaile wonne by famous Yorke, Shall be eternest in all age to come. [daw095] Sound Drummes and Trumpets, and to London all, And more such daies as these to vs befall. [daw097] _Exet omnes._
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.