2. SCENE II. Before York
Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,
And would my father had left me no more;
For all the rest is held at such a rate
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.--
Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
My lord, cheer up your spirits;
our foes are nigh,
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son;
Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.--
Edward, kneel down.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson,--draw thy sword in right.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
[Enter a Messenger.]
Royal commanders, be in readiness;
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
I would your highness would depart the field;
The queen hath best success when you are absent.
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.
Be it with resolution then to fight.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence.
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry'saint George!'