SCENE II. Saint Albans

Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK

  WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls;
    And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
    Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
    And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
    Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me.
    Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
  WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

Enter YORK

    How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot?
  YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;
    But match to match I have encount'red him,
    And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
    Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.

Enter OLD CLIFFORD

  WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come.
  YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
    For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
  WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
    As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
    It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. Exit
  CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?
  YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love
    But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
  CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem
    But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.
  YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword,
    As I in justice and true right express it!
  CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!
  YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.
                                 [They fight and CLIFFORD falls]
  CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies]
  YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
    Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! Exit

Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD

  YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout;
    Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
    Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
    Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
    Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
    Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
    He that is truly dedicate to war
    Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself
    Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
    The name of valour. [Sees his father's body]
    O, let the vile world end
    And the premised flames of the last day
    Knit earth and heaven together!
    Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
    Particularities and petty sounds
    To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
    To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve
    The silver livery of advised age,
    And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus
    To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
    My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine
    It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
    No more will I their babes. Tears virginal
    Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
    And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
    Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
    Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
    Meet I an infant of the house of York,
    Into as many gobbets will I cut it
    As wild Medea young Absyrtus did;
    In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
    Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house;
    As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,
    So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
    But then Aeneas bare a living load,
    Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
                                              Exit with the body

Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed

  RICHARD. So, lie thou there;
    For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
    The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset
    Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
    Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
    Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. Exit

Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others

  QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away!
  KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.
  QUEEN. What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly.
    Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
    To give the enemy way, and to secure us
    By what we can, which can no more but fly.
                                               [Alarum afar off]
    If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
    Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape-
    As well we may, if not through your neglect-
    We shall to London get, where you are lov'd,
    And where this breach now in our fortunes made
    May readily be stopp'd.

Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD

  YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
    I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
    But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
    Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
    Away, for your relief! and we will live
    To see their day and them our fortune give.
    Away, my lord, away! Exeunt