2. SCENE II. Saint Alban's.
[Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK.]
Clifford of Cumberland, 't is 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.--
How now, my noble lord! what, all afoot?
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.]
Of one or both of us the time is come.
Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
Then, nobly, York; 't is for a crown thou fight'st.--
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.
What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?
With thy brave bearing should I be in love
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem
But that 't is shown ignobly and in treason.
So let it help me now against thy sword
As I in justice and true right express it!
My soul and body on the action both!
A dreadful lay!--Address thee instantly.
[They fight, and Clifford falls.]
La fin couronne les oeuvres.
Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!