For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth anü dust? Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET. Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, * We might recover all our loss again! The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; "Even now we heard the news: Ah, could'st thou fly! • War. Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, * And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! * Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou did'st * Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, • That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. * Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last; And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, ' And said commend me to my valiant brother. • And more he would have said; and more he spoke, • Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, 1 • That might not be distinguish'd; but, at last, 9 My parks, &c.] This mention of his parks and manors diminishes the pathetic effect of the foregoing lines. 1 Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,] Mr. Steevens thinks clamour, which is in the old play, the proper word, and adds, “The indistinct gabble of undertakers, while they adjust a coffin in a family vault, will abundantly illustrate the preceding simile. Such a peculiar hubbub of inarticulate sounds might have attracted our author's notice: it has too often forced itself on mine." VOL. V. I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,- War. Sweet rest to his soul! [Dies. Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids SCENE III. Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD, in triumph; with CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and the rest. • K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, • That will encounter with our glorious sun, Ere he attain his easeful western bed: I mean, my lords, those pow'rs, that the queen And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. * Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, * And blow it to the source from whence it came : Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; * For every cloud engenders not a storm. * Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. K. Edw. We are advértis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; We, having now the best at Barnet field, • Will thither straight, For willingness rids way: 'And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum; cry- Courage! and away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers. * Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wai, their loss, * But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. * And give more strength to that which hath too much: • The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? • We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; * But keep our course, though the rough wind say—no, * From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. * As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while: * Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink : * That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers, *More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. * Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided, "Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. * Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit * Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, * Infuse his breast with magnanimity, * And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. • He should have leave to go away betimes; Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage! And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.— O, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee; long may'st thou live, To bear his image, and renew his glories! Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. * Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks. * Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. |