The lamb will never cease to follow him.

[Shout within. A Lancafter! a Lancafter!" Exe. Hark, hark, my Lord, what fhouts are these?

Enter King Edward, and his Soldiers.

K. Edw. Seize on the fhame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence,

And once again proclaim us King of England.
-You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow,
Now ftops thy fpring, my fea fhall fuck them dry,
And fwell fo much the higher by their ebb.
-Hence with him to the Tower, let him not speak.
[Ex. with King Henry,
And, Lords, to Coventry bend we our course,
Where peremptory Warwick now remains.
The fun fhines hot; and if we use delay,
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd for hay.
Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
Brave warriors, march amain tow'rds Coventry.

2 Shout within. A Lancaster!] Surely the fhouts that ushered king Edward fhould be a York, a York. I fuppofe the authour

[Exeunt

did not write the marginal directions, and the players con founded the characters.

ACT

ACT V. SCENE I

Before the Town of Coventry.

Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Mef fengers and others, upon the walls.

W

WARWICK.

HERE is the Poft, that came from valiant
Oxford ?

How far hence is thy Lord, mine honest fellow?
1 Mef. By this at Dunfmore, marching hither-ward.
War. How far off is our brother Montague?
-Where is the Poft, that came from Montague?
2 Mef. By this at Daintry, with a puiffant troop.

Enter Somerville.

War. Say, Somerville, what fays my loving fon? And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somerv. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here fome two hours hence. War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. Somerv. It is not his, my Lord; here Southam lies. The drum your Honour hears, marcheth from Warwick.

War. Who fhould that be? belike, unlook'd for friends.

Somerv. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, and Soldiers.

K. Edw. Go, trumpet to the walls, and found a

parle.

Glo.

Glo. See how the furly Warwick mans the wall. War. Oh, unbid fpight! is fportful Edward come? Where slept our fcouts, or how are they feduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair?

K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the citygates,

Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy,
And he fhall pardon thee these outrages.

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confefs who set thee up, and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent,

And thou fhalt still remain the Duke of York.

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have faid the King;

Or did he make the jeft against his will?

War. Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift? Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give ; I'll do thee fervice for fo good a gift.

War. 'Twas I that gave the Kingdom to thy brother. K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

War. Thou art no Atlas for fo great a weight, And, Weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my King, Warwick his fubject.

K. Edw. But Warwick's King is Edward's prifoner; And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, What is the body when the head is off?

Glo. Alas! that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But while he thought to fteal the fingle ten,
The King was flily finger'd from the Deck.
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even fo; yet you are Warwick ftill.
Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,
kneel down,

Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.
War. I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,

And

And with the other fling it at thy face,

Than bear fo low a fail, to ftrike to thee.

K. Edw. Sail, how thou canft; have wind and tide thy friend;

This hand faft wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the duft this sentence with thy blood;
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.

Enter Oxford, with drum and colours.

War. O chearful colours! fee, where Oxford comes!
Oxf. Oxford! Oxford! for Lancaster!

Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other foes may fet upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
Will iffue out again and bid us battle:
If not, the city being of fmall defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the fame.

War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

Enter Montague, with drum and colours.

Mont. Montague! Montague! for Lancaster! Glo. Thou and thy brother both, fhall buy this treafon

Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory; My mind prefageth happy gain and conquest.

Enter Somerset, with drum and colours.

Som. Somerfet! Somerfet! for Lancafter;
Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have fold their lives unto the Houfe of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this fword hold.

Enter

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours.

War. And lo! where George of Clarence fweeps

along,

Of force enough to bid his brother battle,

With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love.

Come Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call[A Parley is founded; Richard and Clarence whisper together; and then Clarence takes his red rofe out of his hat, and throws it at Warwick.]

3

Cla. Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

Look, here, I throw my infamy at thee.

I will not ruinate my father's house,

Who gave his blood* to lime the stones together,
And fet up Lancaster. Why, trow'ft thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is fo harfh, fot blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal inftruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath;
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Jephthab's, when he facrific'd his daughter.
I am fo forry for my trefpafs made,

That, to deferve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myfelf thy mortal foe;
With refolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee,
As I will meet thee, if thou ftir abroad,
To plague thee for thy foul mif-leading me.
And fo, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blufhing cheeks.
-Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

3 A Parley is founded, &c.] This Note of Direction I reftored from the old Quarto. And, without it, it is impoffible that any Reader can guefs at the Meaning of this Line of Cla

rence;

VOL. V.

Look, here, I throw my Infamy at Thee.

THEOBALD.

to lime the ftones] That is, to cement the ftones. Lime makes mortar.

+ Blunt.] Stupid, infenfible of paternal fondnefs. P

And