| ACT II SCENE III | A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in | |
| | Yorkshire. | |
| | Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK | |
| WARWICK | Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, | |
| | I lay me down a little while to breathe; | |
| | For strokes received, and many blows repaid, | 5 |
| | Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, | |
| | And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. | |
| | Enter EDWARD, running | |
| EDWARD | Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! | |
| | For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. | |
| WARWICK | How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? | 10 |
| | Enter GEORGE | |
| GEORGE | Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; | |
| | Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: | |
| | What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? | |
| EDWARD | Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; | |
| | And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. | 15 |
| | Enter RICHARD | |
| RICHARD | Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? | |
| | Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, | |
| | Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; | |
| | And in the very pangs of death he cried, | |
| | Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, | 20 |
| | 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' | |
| | So, underneath the belly of their steeds, | |
| | That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, | |
| | The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. | |
| WARWICK | Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: | 25 |
| | I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. | |
| | Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, | |
| | Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; | |
| | And look upon, as if the tragedy | |
| | Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? | 30 |
| | Here on my knee I vow to God above, | |
| | I'll never pause again, never stand still, | |
| | Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine | |
| | Or fortune given me measure of revenge. | |
| EDWARD | O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; | 35 |
| | And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! | |
| | And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, | |
| | I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, | |
| | Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, | |
| | Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands | 40 |
| | That to my foes this body must be prey, | |
| | Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, | |
| | And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! | |
| | Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, | |
| | Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. | 45 |
| RICHARD | Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, | |
| | Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: | |
| | I, that did never weep, now melt with woe | |
| | That winter should cut off our spring-time so. | |
| WARWICK | Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. | 50 |
| GEORGE | Yet let us all together to our troops, | |
| | And give them leave to fly that will not stay; | |
| | And call them pillars that will stand to us; | |
| | And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards | |
| | As victors wear at the Olympian games: | 55 |
| | This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; | |
| | For yet is hope of life and victory. | |
| | Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. | |
| | Exeunt | |
Sign up for the 
