A Field of Battle near Barnet. |
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Alarums and Excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing in WARWICK, wounded. |
K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; |
For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. |
Now Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, |
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. |
War. Ah! who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, |
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? |
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, |
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, |
That I must yield my body to the earth, |
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. |
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, |
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, |
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, |
Whose top branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, |
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. |
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, |
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, |
To search the secret treasons of the world: |
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, |
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; |
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? |
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? |
Lo! now my glory smear'd in dust and blood; |
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, |
Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands |
Is nothing left me but my body's length. |
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? |
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. |
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Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET. |
Som. Ah! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, |
We might recover all our loss again. |
The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; |
Even now we heard the news. Ah! couldst thou fly. |
War. Why, then, I would not fly. Ah! Montague, |
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, |
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile. |
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, |
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood |
That glues my lips and will not let me speak. |
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. |
Som. Ah! Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last; |
And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, |
And said, 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' |
And more he would have said; and more he spoke, |
Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, |
That mought not be distinguish'd: but at last |
I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, |
'O! farewell, Warwick!' |
War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves; |
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. [Dies. |
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power. [Exeunt, bearing off WARWICK'S body. |
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