1. SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!
No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York.
The next degree is England's royal throne;
For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along,
And he that throws not up his cap for joy
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,--valiant Richard,-- Montague,--
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets and about our task.
Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Then strike up, drums!--God and Saint George for us!
[Enter a Messenger.]
How now! what news?
The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
The queen is coming with a puissant host,
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
Why then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.