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CLIFFORD.

How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear

That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

RUTLAND.

So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch

That trembles under his devouring paws;

And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,

And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.

Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,

And not with such a cruel threat'ning look!

Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;

Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

CLIFFORD.

In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

RUTLAND.

Then let my father's blood open it again:

He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD.

Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine

Were not revenge sufficient for me;

No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves

And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.

The sight of any of the house of York

Is as a fury to torment my soul;

And till I root out their accursed line

And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

Therefore-

RUTLAND.

O, let me pray before I take my death!

To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.

CLIFFORD.

Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

RUTLAND.

I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?

CLIFFORD.

Thy father hath.

RUTLAND.

But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,

Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,

He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;

And when I give occasion of offence

Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

CLIFFORD.

No cause!

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him]

RUTLAND.

Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies]

CLIFFORD.

Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet;

And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade

Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,

Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit

SCENE IV. Another part of the field

Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK

YORK.

The army of the Queen hath got the field.

My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,

Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.

My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them;

But this I know- they have demean'd themselves

Like men born to renown by life or death.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me,

And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.'

And full as oft came Edward to my side

With purple falchion, painted to the hilt

In blood of those that had encount'red him.

And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!'

And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!

A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'

With this we charg'd again; but out alas!

We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide

And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

[A short alarum within]

Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue,

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;

And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.

The sands are numb'red that make up my life;

Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,

the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;

I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

CLIFFORD.

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm

With downright payment show'd unto my father.

Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,

And made an evening at the noontide prick.

YORK.

My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

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?

CLIFFORD.

So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;

So desperate thieves, all hopeless