<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 1><2%>
<CLIFFORD>	<3%>
	The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 1><2%>
<CLIFFORD>	<3%>
	Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
	He durst not sit there had your father liv'd.
	My gracious lord, here in the parliament
	Let us assail the family of York.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 1><SCENE 1><3%>
<CLIFFORD>	<3%>
	Whom should he follow but his natural king?
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 1><SCENE 1><4%>
<CLIFFORD>	<4%>
	Urge it no more; lest that instead of words,
	I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
	As shall revenge his death before I stir.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<CLIFFORD>	<6%>
	King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
	Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
	May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
	Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<CLIFFORD>	<7%>
	What wrong is this unto the prince your son!
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<CLIFFORD>	<7%>
	How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us!
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 8><ACT 1><SCENE 1><7%>
<CLIFFORD>	<7%>
	Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 9><ACT 1><SCENE 1><7%>
<CLIFFORD>	<7%>
	In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
	Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd!
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 10><ACT 1><SCENE 3><13%>
<CLIFFORD>	<13%>
	Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
	As for the brat of this accursed duke,
	Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 11><ACT 1><SCENE 3><13%>
<CLIFFORD>	<13%>
	Soldiers, away with him.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 12><ACT 1><SCENE 3><13%>
<CLIFFORD>	<13%>
	How now! is he dead already? Or is it fear
	That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 13><ACT 1><SCENE 3><13%>
<CLIFFORD>	<13%>
	In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
	Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 14><ACT 1><SCENE 3><13%>
<CLIFFORD>	<14%>
	Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
	Were not revenge sufficient for me;
	No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
	And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
	It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
	The sight of any of the house of York
	Is as a fury to torment my soul;
	And till I root out their accursed line,
	And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
	Therefore—
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 15><ACT 1><SCENE 3><14%>
<CLIFFORD>	<14%>
	Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 16><ACT 1><SCENE 3><14%>
<CLIFFORD>	<14%>
	Thy father hath.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 17><ACT 1><SCENE 3><14%>
<CLIFFORD>	<14%>
	No cause!
	Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 18><ACT 1><SCENE 3><14%>
<CLIFFORD>	<14%>
	Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
	And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
	Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
	Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 19><ACT 1><SCENE 4><15%>
<CLIFFORD>	<16%>
	Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm
	With downright payment show'd unto my father.
	Now Phæthon hath tumbled from his car,
	And made an evening at the noontide prick.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 20><ACT 1><SCENE 4><16%>
<CLIFFORD>	<16%>
	So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
	So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
	So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
	Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 21><ACT 1><SCENE 4><16%>
<CLIFFORD>	<16%>
	I will not bandy with thee word for word,
	But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 22><ACT 1><SCENE 4><16%>
<CLIFFORD>	<17%>
	Ay, ay; so strives the woodcock with the gin.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 23><ACT 1><SCENE 4><18%>
<CLIFFORD>	<18%>
	That is my office, for my father's sake.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 24><ACT 1><SCENE 4><20%>
<CLIFFORD>	<20%>
	Here's for my oath; here's for my father's death.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 25><ACT 2><SCENE 2><27%>
<CLIFFORD>	<27%>
	My gracious liege, this too much lenity
	And harmful pity must be laid aside.
	To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
	Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
	Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
	Not his that spoils her young before her face.
	Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
	Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
	The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,
	And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
	Ambitious York did level at thy crown;
	Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows:
	He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
	And raise his issue like a loving sire;
	Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
	Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
	Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
	Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
	And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
	Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
	Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
	Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight,
	Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
	Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
	For shame, my liege! make them your precedent.
	Were it not pity that this goodly boy
	Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,
	And long hereafter say unto his child,
	'What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
	My careless father fondly gave away?'
	Ah! what a shame were this. Look on the boy;
	And let his manly face, which promiseth
	Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
	To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 26><ACT 2><SCENE 2><28%>
<CLIFFORD>	<29%>
	Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 27><ACT 2><SCENE 2><29%>
<CLIFFORD>	<29%>
	I would your highness would depart the field:
	The queen hath best success when you are absent.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 28><ACT 2><SCENE 2><29%>
<CLIFFORD>	<30%>
	And reason too:
	Who should succeed the father but the son?
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 29><ACT 2><SCENE 2><29%>
<CLIFFORD>	<30%>
	Ay, crook-back; here I stand to answer thee,
	Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 30><ACT 2><SCENE 2><30%>
<CLIFFORD>	<30%>
	Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 31><ACT 2><SCENE 2><30%>
<CLIFFORD>	<30%>
	You said so much before, and yet you fled.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 32><ACT 2><SCENE 2><30%>
<CLIFFORD>	<31%>
	I slew thy father: call'st thou him a child?
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 33><ACT 2><SCENE 2><30%>
<CLIFFORD>	<31%>
	My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
	Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 34><ACT 2><SCENE 4><34%>
<CLIFFORD>	<35%>
	Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.
	This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York,
	And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
	And here's the heart that triumphs in their death
	And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother,
	To execute the like upon thyself;
	And so, have at thee!
</CLIFFORD>

<SPEECH 35><ACT 2><SCENE 6><39%>
<CLIFFORD>	<40%>
	Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
	Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light.
	O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow
	More than my body's parting with my soul.
	My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee;
	And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,
	Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York:
	The common people swarm like summer flies;
	And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
	And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
	O Phœbus! hadst thou never given consent
	That Phæthon should check thy fiery steeds,
	Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth;
	And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
	Or as thy father and his father did,
	Giving no ground unto the house of York,
	They never then had sprung like summer flies;
	I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
	Had left no mourning widows for our death,
	And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
	For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
	And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
	Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
	No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
	The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
	For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
	The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
	And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
	Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
	I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
<STAGE DIR>
<He faints.>
</STAGE DIR>

</CLIFFORD>

