Henry VI, Pt. 3
Act II, Scene 3
Yorkshire. A battlefield between Towton and Saxton.
- Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick.
Earl of Warwick1 - 5
- Forespent with toil, as runners with a race,
- I lay me down a little while to breathe;
- For strokes receiv’d and many blows repaid
- Have robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
- And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
- Enter Edward running.
Edward6 - 7
- Smile, gentle heaven! Or strike, ungentle death!
- For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.
Earl of Warwick8
- How now, my lord, what hap? What hope of good?
- Enter George of Clarence.
George9 - 11
- Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair,
- Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
- What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?
Edward12 - 13
- Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings,
- And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.
- Enter Richard running.
Richard14 - 22
- Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
- Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
- Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance;
- And in the very pangs of death he cried,
- Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
- “Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death!”
- So underneath the belly of their steeds,
- That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
- The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
Earl of Warwick23 - 32
- 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,
- 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,
- Till either death hath clos’d these eyes of mine
- Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edward33 - 43
- 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,
- I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee,
- Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings,
- Beseeching thee (if with thy will it stands)
- That to my foes this body must be prey,
- Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope
- And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
- Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
- Where e’er it be, in heaven or in earth.
Richard44 - 47
- Brother, give me thy hand, and gentle Warwick,
- Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.
- I, that did never weep, now melt with woe
- That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
Earl of Warwick48
- Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.
George49 - 56
- Yet let us all together to our troops,
- And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
- 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.
- Foreslow no longer, make we hence amain.