Field near Saint Alban's. |
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Alarum. Retreat. Flourish; then enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and Soldiers, with drum and colours. |
York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him; |
That winter lion, who in rage forgets |
Aged contusions and all brush of time, |
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, |
Repairs him with occasion? this happy day |
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, |
If Salisbury be lost. |
Rich. My noble father, |
Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, |
Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off, |
Persuaded him from any further act: |
But still, where danger was, still there I met him; |
And like rich hangings in a homely house, |
So was his will in his old feeble body. |
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. |
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Enter SALISBURY. |
Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day; |
By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard: |
God knows how long it is I have to live; |
And it hath pleas'd him that three times to-day |
You have defended me from imminent death. |
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: |
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, |
Being opposites of such repairing nature. |
York. I know our safety is to follow them; |
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, |
To call a present court of parliament: |
Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth:— |
What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them? |
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can. |
Now, by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day: |
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York, |
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. |
Sound, drums and trumpets, and to London all: |
And more such days as these to us befall! [Exeunt. |
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