1    The army of the queen hath got the field:
2    My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
3    And all my followers to the eager foe
4    Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind
5    Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
6    My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
7    But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
8    Like men born to renown by life or death.
9    Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
10   And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!'
11   And full as oft came Edward to my side,
12   With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
13   In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
14   And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
15   Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!'
16   And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
17   A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
18   With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!
19   We bodged again; as I have seen a swan
20   With bootless labour swim against the tide
21   And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
A short alarum within
22   Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
23   And I am faint and cannot fly their fury:
24   And were I strong, I would not shun their fury:
25   The sands are number'd that make up my life;
26   Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
27   Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
28   I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
29   I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

30   Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

31   Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
32   With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
33   Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
34   And made an evening at the noontide prick.

35   My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
36   A bird that will revenge upon you all:
37   And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
38   Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
39   Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

40   So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
41   So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
42   So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
43   Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

44   O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
45   And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
46   And, if though canst for blushing, view this face,
47   And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
48   Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!

49   I will not bandy with thee word for word,
50   But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

51   Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes
52   I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
53   Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

54   Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
55   To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
56   What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
57   For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
58   When he might spurn him with his foot away?
59   It is war's prize to take all vantages;
60   And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

61   Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

62   So doth the cony struggle in the net.

63   So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
64   So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

65   What would your grace have done unto him now?

66   Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
67   Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
68   That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
69   Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
70   What! was it you that would be England's king?
71   Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
72   And made a preachment of your high descent?
73   Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
74   The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
75   And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
76   Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
77   Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
78   Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
79   Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
80   That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
81   Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
82   And if thine eyes can water for his death,
83   I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
84   Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
85   I should lament thy miserable state.
86   I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
87   What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
88   That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
89   Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
90   And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
91   Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
92   Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
93   York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
94   A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
95   Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
Putting a paper crown on his head
96   Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
97   Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
98   And this is he was his adopted heir.
99   But how is it that great Plantagenet
100  Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
101  As I bethink me, you should not be king
102  Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
103  And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
104  And rob his temples of the diadem,
105  Now in his life, against your holy oath?
106  O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
107  Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
108  And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

109  That is my office, for my father's sake.

110  Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.

111  She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
112  Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
113  How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
114  To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
115  Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
116  But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging,
117  Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
118  I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.
119  To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,
120  Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
121  Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
122  Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,
123  Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
124  Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
125  It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen,
126  Unless the adage must be verified,
127  That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
128  'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
129  But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
130  'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;
131  The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
132  'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
133  The want thereof makes thee abominable:
134  Thou art as opposite to every good
135  As the Antipodes are unto us,
136  Or as the south to the septentrion.
137  O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
138  How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
139  To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
140  And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
141  Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
142  Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
143  Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
144  Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
145  For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
146  And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
147  These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies:
148  And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
149  'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false
150  Frenchwoman.

151  Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
152  That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.

153  That face of his the hungry cannibals
154  Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
155  But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
156  O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
157  See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
158  This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
159  And I with tears do wash the blood away.
160  Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
161  And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
162  Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
163  Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
164  And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'
165  There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
166  And in thy need such comfort come to thee
167  As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
168  Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
169  My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

170  Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
171  I should not for my life but weep with him.
172  To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

173  What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
174  Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
175  And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

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

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

178  Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
179  My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

180  Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
181  So York may overlook the town of York.
Flourish. Exeunt
182  3 KING HENRY VI