King Henry VI, Part III
ACT II SCENE III | A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. | |
[Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK] | ||
WARWICK | Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, | |
I lay me down a little while to breathe; | ||
For strokes received, and many blows repaid, | ||
Have robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength, | ||
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. | 5 | |
[Enter EDWARD, running] | ||
EDWARD | Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! | |
For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded. | ||
WARWICK | How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? | |
[Enter GEORGE] | ||
GEORGE | Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; | |
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: | 10 | |
What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? | ||
EDWARD | Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; | |
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. | ||
[Enter RICHARD] | ||
RICHARD | Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? | |
Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, | 15 | |
Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance; | ||
And in the very pangs of death he cried, | ||
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, | ||
‘Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!’ | ||
So, underneath the belly of their steeds, | 20 | |
That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, | ||
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. | ||
WARWICK | Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: | |
I’ll kill my horse, because I will not fly. | ||
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, | 25 | |
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; | ||
And look upon, as if the tragedy | ||
Were play’d in jest by counterfeiting actors? | ||
Here on my knee I vow to God above, | ||
I’ll never pause again, never stand still, | 30 | |
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine | ||
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. | ||
EDWARD | O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; | |
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! | ||
And, ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face, | 35 | |
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, | ||
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, | ||
Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands | ||
That to my foes this body must be prey, | ||
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, | 40 | |
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! | ||
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, | ||
Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth. | ||
RICHARD | Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, | |
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: | 45 | |
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe | ||
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. | ||
WARWICK | Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. | |
GEORGE | Yet let us all together to our troops, | |
And give them leave to fly that will not stay; | 50 | |
And call them pillars that will stand to us; | ||
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards | ||
As victors wear at the Olympian games: | ||
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; | ||
For yet is hope of life and victory. | 55 | |
Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. | ||
[Exeunt] |
Continue to 3 Henry VI, Act 2, Scene 4