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'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;

But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.

'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;

The contrary doth make thee wond'red 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,

Or as the south to the septentrion.

O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!

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?

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible:

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,

And when the rage allays, the rain begins.

These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;

And every drop cries vengeance for his death

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Beshrew me, but his passions move me so

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

YORK.

That face of his the hungry cannibals

Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable-

O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania.

See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears.

This cloth thou dipp'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;

And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,

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;

And in thy need such comfort come to thee

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!

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

I should not for my life but weep with him,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

QUEEN MARGARET.

What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all,

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

CLIFFORD.

Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

[Stabbing him]

QUEEN MARGARET.

And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

[Stabbing him]

YORK.

Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

[Dies]

QUEEN MARGARET.

Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.

Flourish. Exeunt

ACT II.

SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire

A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power

EDWARD.

I wonder how our princely father scap'd,

Or whether he be scap'd away or no

From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.

Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;

Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;

Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard

The happy tidings of his good escape.

How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?

RICHARD.

I cannot joy until I be resolv'd

Where our right valiant father is become.

I saw him in the battle range about,

And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.

Methought he bore him in the thickest troop

As doth a lion in a herd of neat;

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,

Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,

The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.

So far'd our father with his enemies;

So fled his enemies my warlike father.

Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son.

See how the morning opes her golden gates

And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.

How well resembles it the prime of youth,

Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

EDWARD.

Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

RICHARD.

Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;

Not separated with the racking clouds,

But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.

See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

As if they vow'd some league inviolable.

Now are they but one lamp, one light,