<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 1><0%>
<YORK>	<1%>
	While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north,
	He slily stole away and left his men:
	Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
	Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
	Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
	Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
	Charg'd our main battle's front, and breaking in
	Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<YORK>	<1%>
	Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.
	But, is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<YORK>	<1%>
	Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
	For hither we have broken in by force.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<YORK>	<2%>
	Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords;
	And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<YORK>	<2%>
	The queen this day here holds her parliament,
	But little thinks we shall be of her council:
	By words or blows here let us win our right.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<YORK>	<2%>
	Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
	I mean to take possession of my right.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 1><SCENE 1><3%>
<YORK>	<3%>
	I am thine.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 8><ACT 1><SCENE 1><3%>
<YORK>	<3%>
	'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 9><ACT 1><SCENE 1><3%>
<YORK>	<4%>
	It must and shall be so: content thyself.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 10><ACT 1><SCENE 1><4%>
<YORK>	<4%>
	Will you we show our title to the crown?
	If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 11><ACT 1><SCENE 1><4%>
<YORK>	<5%>
	Sons, peace!
</YORK>

<SPEECH 12><ACT 1><SCENE 1><5%>
<YORK>	<5%>
	'Twas by rebellion against his king.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 13><ACT 1><SCENE 1><5%>
<YORK>	<5%>
	What then?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 14><ACT 1><SCENE 1><5%>
<YORK>	<5%>
	He rose against him, being his sovereign,
	And made him to resign his crown perforce.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 15><ACT 1><SCENE 1><5%>
<YORK>	<6%>
	Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 16><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<YORK>	<6%>
	Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
	What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 17><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<YORK>	<6%>
	Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
	And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 18><ACT 1><SCENE 1><7%>
<YORK>	<7%>
	This oath I willingly take and will perform.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 19><ACT 1><SCENE 1><7%>
<YORK>	<8%>
	Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 20><ACT 1><SCENE 1><8%>
<YORK>	<8%>
	Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 21><ACT 1><SCENE 2><10%>
<YORK>	<10%>
	Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?
	What is your quarrel? how began it first?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 22><ACT 1><SCENE 2><10%>
<YORK>	<10%>
	About what?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 23><ACT 1><SCENE 2><10%>
<YORK>	<10%>
	Mine, boy? not till King Henry be dead.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 24><ACT 1><SCENE 2><11%>
<YORK>	<11%>
	I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 25><ACT 1><SCENE 2><11%>
<YORK>	<11%>
	I shall be, if I claim by open war.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 26><ACT 1><SCENE 2><11%>
<YORK>	<11%>
	Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 27><ACT 1><SCENE 2><11%>
<YORK>	<11%>
	Richard, enough, I will be king, or die.
	Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
	And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
	Thou, Richard, shalt unto the Duke of Norfolk,
	And tell him privily of our intent.
	You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
	With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
	In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
	Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
	While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
	But that I seek occasion how to rise,
	And yet the king not privy to my drift,
	Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

</YORK>

<SPEECH 28><ACT 1><SCENE 2><12%>
<YORK>	<12%>
	Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
	Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
	My brother Montague shall post to London:
	Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
	Whom we have left protectors of the king,
	With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
	And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 29><ACT 1><SCENE 2><12%>
<YORK>	<12%>
	Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!
	You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
	The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 30><ACT 1><SCENE 2><12%>
<YORK>	<12%>
	What! with five thousand men?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 31><ACT 1><SCENE 2><12%>
<YORK>	<12%>
	Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
	I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
	Many a battle have I won in France,
	When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
	Why should I not now have the like success?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 32><ACT 1><SCENE 4><14%>
<YORK>	<15%>
	The army of the queen hath got the field:
	My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
	And all my followers to the eager foe
	Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,
	Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
	My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
	But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
	Like men born to renown by life or death.
	Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
	And thrice cried, 'Courage, father! fight it out!'
	And full as oft came Edward to my side,
	With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
	In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
	And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
	Richard cried, 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!'
	And cried, 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
	A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
	With this, we charg'd again; but, out, alas!
	We bodg'd again: as I have seen a swan
	With bootless labour swim against the tide,
	And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
<STAGE DIR>
<A short alarum within.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
	And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;
	And were I strong I would not shun their fury:
	The sands are number'd that make up my life;
	Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince, and Soldiers.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
	I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
</YORK>

<SPEECH 33><ACT 1><SCENE 4><15%>
<YORK>	<16%>
	My ashes, as the phœnix, may bring forth
	A bird that will revenge upon you all;
	And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
	Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
	Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
</YORK>

<SPEECH 34><ACT 1><SCENE 4><16%>
<YORK>	<16%>
	O Clifford! but bethink thee once again,
	And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
	And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
	And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
	Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 35><ACT 1><SCENE 4><17%>
<YORK>	<17%>
	So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
	So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-matched.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 36><ACT 1><SCENE 4><18%>
<YORK>	<18%>
	She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
	Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
	How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
	To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
	Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
	But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
	Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
	I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
	To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
	Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
	Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
	Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem;
	Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
	Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
	It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen,
	Unless the adage must be verified,
	That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
	'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
	But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
	'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
	The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
	'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
	The want thereof makes thee abominable.
	Thou art as opposite to every good
	As the Antipodes are unto us,
	Or as the south to the septentrion.
	O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
	How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
	To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
	And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
	Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
	Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
	Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
	Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will;
	For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
	And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
	These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies,
	And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
	'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.
</YORK>

<SPEECH 37><ACT 1><SCENE 4><19%>
<YORK>	<19%>
	That face of his the hungry cannibals
	Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;
	But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,—
	O! ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
	See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
	This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
	And I with tears do wash the blood away.
	Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;
<STAGE DIR>
<Giving back the handkerchief.>
</STAGE DIR>
	And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
	Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
	Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
	And say, 'Alas! it was a piteous deed!'
	There, take the crown, and, with the crown my curse,
	And in thy need such comfort come to thee
	As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
	Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
	My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
</YORK>

<SPEECH 38><ACT 1><SCENE 4><20%>
<YORK>	<20%>
	Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
	My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
</YORK>

