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In this the heaven figures some event.

EDWARD.

'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

I think it cites us, brother, to the field,

That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

Each one already blazing by our meeds,

Should notwithstanding join our lights together

And overshine the earth, as this the world.

Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

Upon my target three fair shining suns.

RICHARD.

Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a MESSENGER, blowing

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell

Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

MESSENGER.

Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on

When as the noble Duke of York was slain,

Your princely father and my loving lord!

EDWARD.

O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

RICHARD.

Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

MESSENGER.

Environed he was with many foes,

And stood against them as the hope of Troy

Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

And many strokes, though with a little axe,

Hews down and fells the hardest-timber'd oak.

By many hands your father was subdu'd;

But only slaught'red by the ireful arm

Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,

Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite,

Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,

The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain;

And after many scorns, many foul taunts,

They took his head, and on the gates of York

They set the same; and there it doth remain,

The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

EDWARD.

Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.

O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain

The flow'r of Europe for his chivalry;

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,

For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.

Now my soul's palace is become a prison.

Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body

Might in the ground be closed up in rest!

For never henceforth shall I joy again;

Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

RICHARD.

I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;

Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,

For self-same wind that I should speak withal

Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,

And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!

Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,

Or die renowned by attempting it.

EDWARD.

His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

RICHARD.

Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;

For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say:

Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army

WARWICK.

How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?

RICHARD.

Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance

Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!

EDWARD.

O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption

Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

WARWICK.

Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;

And now, to add more measure to your woes,

I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.

After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,

Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

I, then in London, keeper of the King,

Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,

And very well appointed, as I thought,

March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,

Bearing the King in my behalf along;

For by my scouts I was advertised

That she