The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
QUEEN MARGARET. 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.
KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.
PRINCE OF WALES. 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.
CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a MESSENGER

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.
CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field:
The Queen hath best success when you are absent.
QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.
NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.
PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence.
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers

EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace
And set thy diadem upon my head,
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.
I was adopted heir by his consent:
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
You that are King, though he do wear the crown,
Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
To blot out me and put his own son in.
CLIFFORD. And reason too:
Who should succeed the father but the son?
RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.
RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?
CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.
WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?
QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you
speak?
When you and I met at Saint Albans last
Your legs did better service than your hands.
WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swol'n heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child?
RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.
KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue:
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.
RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.
By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.
WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.
PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue.
QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings.
RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king-
As if a channel should be call'd the sea-
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?
EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns
To make this shameless callet know herself.