The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth - Уильям Шекспир

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trembles under his devouring paws;

          And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,

          And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.

          Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,

          And not with such a cruel threat'ning look!

          Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

          I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;

          Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

        CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood

          Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

        RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again:

          He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

        CLIFFORD. 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-

        RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death!

          To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.

        CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

        RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?

        CLIFFORD. Thy father hath.

        RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born.

          Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,

          Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,

          He be as miserably slain as I.

          Ah, let me live in prison all my days;

          And when I give occasion of offence

          Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

        CLIFFORD. No cause!

          Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him]

        RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies]

        CLIFFORD. 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. Exit

      SCENE IV. Another part of the field

      Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK

        YORK. 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 encount'red 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.

                                               [A short alarum within]

          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 numb'red that make up my life;

          Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers

          Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,

          I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;

          I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

        NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

        CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm

          With downright payment show'd unto my father.

          Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,

          And made an evening at the noontide prick.

        YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, 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?

        CLIFFORD. 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.

        YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

          And in thy thought o'errun 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!

        CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word,

          But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one.

        QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes

          I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.

          Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

        NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much

          To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.

          What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,

          For

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