Henry VI, Pt. 3
Act V, Scene 2
A battlefield near Barnet.
- Alarum and excursions. Enter King Edward, bringing forth
- Warwick wounded.
King Edward1 - 4
- So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear,
- For Warwick was a bug that fear’d us all.
- Now, Montague, sit fast, I seek for thee,
- That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company.
Earl of Warwick5 - 28
- Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
- And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
- Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,
- My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,
- That I must yield my body to the earth,
- And by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
- Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge,
- Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
- Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
- Whose top-branch overpeer’d Jove’s spreading tree,
- And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind.
- These eyes, that now are dimm’d with death’s black veil,
- Have been as piercing as the midday sun
- To search the secret treasons of the world.
- The wrinkles in my brows, now fill’d with blood,
- Were lik’ned oft to kingly sepulchres;
- For who liv’d king, but I could dig his grave?
- And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
- Lo, now my glory smear’d in dust and blood!
- My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
- Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
- Is nothing left me but my body’s length.
- Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
- And live we how we can, yet die we must.
- Enter Oxford and Somerset.
Duke of Somerset29 - 32
- 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, couldst thou fly!
Earl of Warwick33 - 39
- 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 didst,
- Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
- That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
- Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Duke of Somerset40 - 47
- 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,
- That mought not be distinguish’d; but at last
- I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
- “O, farewell, Warwick!”
Earl of Warwick48 - 49
- Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves,
- For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.
- He dies.
Earl of Oxford50
- Away, away, to meet the Queen’s great power!
- Here they bear away his body. Exeunt.