SC. XXIII. daw

Alarmes to the battaile, and then enter the Duke of Somerset and Richard fighting, and Richard kils him vnder the signe of the Castle in saint Albones.
♦ Rich. So Lie thou there, and breathe thy last.
♦ Whats here, the signe of the Castle?
Then the prophesie is come to passe,
For Somerset was forewarned of Castles,
5 The which he alwaies did obserue.
And now behold, vnder a paltry Ale-house signe,
♦ The Castle in saint Albones,
♦ Somerset hath made the Wissard famous by his death. Exet.
Alarme again, and enter the Earle of Warwicke alone.
War. Clifford of Comberland, tis Warwicke calles,
10 And if thou doest not hide thee from the Beare,
Now whilst the angry Trompets sound Alarmes,
And dead mens cries do fill the emptie aire:
Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me,
Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Comberland,
15 Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to Armes. Clifford speakes within.
Warwicke stand still, and view the way that Clifford hewes with his murthering Curtel-axe, through the fainting troopes to finde thee out.
Warwicke stand still, and stir not till I come.
Enter Yorke.
20 War. How now my Lord, what a foote?
Who kild your horse?
Yorke. The deadly hand of Clifford. Noble Lord,
Fiue horse this day slaine vnder me,
And yet braue Warwicke I remaine aliue,
25 But I did kill his horse he lou’d so well,
The boniest gray that ere was bred in North.
Enter Clifford, and Warwicke offers to fight with him.
Hold Warwicke, and seeke thee out some other chase,
My selfe will hunt this deare to death.
♦ War. Braue Lord, tis for a Crowne thou fights,
30 Clifford farewell, as I entend to prosper well to day,
It grieues my soule to leaue thee vnassaild. Exet Warwicke.
Yorke. Now Clifford, since we are singled here alone,
Be this the day of doome to one of vs,
For now my heart hath sworne immortall hate
35 To thee, and all the house of Lancaster.
Cliffood. And here I stand, and pitch my foot to thine,
Vowing neuer to stir, till thou or I be slaine.
For neuer shall my heart be safe at rest,
Till I haue spoyld the hatefull house of Yorke. Alarmes, and they fight, and Yorke kils Clifford.
40 Yorke. Now Lancaster sit sure, thy sinowes shrinke,
Come fearefull Henry grouelling on thy face,
Yeeld vp thy Crowne vnto the Prince of Yorke. Exet Yorke.
Alarmes, then enter yoong Clifford alone.
Yoong Clifford. Father of Comberland,
♦ Where may I seeke my aged father forth?
45 O! dismall sight, see where he breathlesse lies,
All smeard and weltred in his luke-warme blood,
Ah, aged pillar of all Comberlands true house,
Sweete father, to thy murthred ghoast I sweare,
Immortall hate vnto the house of Yorke,
Nor neuer shall I sleepe secure one night,
Till I haue furiously reuengde thy death,
And left not one of them to breath on earth. He takes him vp on his backe.
And thus as old Ankyses sonne did beare
His aged father on his manly backe,
55 And fought with him against the bloodie Greeks,
♦ Euen so will I. But staie, heres one of them,
♦ To whom my soule hath sworne immortall hate.
Enter Richard, and then Clifford laies downe his father, fights with him, and Richard flies away againe.
♦ Out crooktbacke villaine, get thee from my sight.
But I will after thee, and once againe
60 When I haue borne my father to his Tent,
♦ Ile trie my fortune better with thee yet. Exet yoong Clifford with his father.
Alarmes againe, and then enter three or foure, bearing the Duke of Buckingham wounded to his Tent.
Alarmes still, and then enter the King and Queene.
Queene. Away my Lord, and flie to London straight,
Make hast, for vengeance comes along with them,
♦ Come stand not to expostulate, lets go.
65 King. Come then faire Queene, to London let vs hast,
♦ And sommon a Parlament with speede,
♦ To stop the fury of these dyre euents. Exet King and Queene.
Alarmes, and then a flourish, and enter the Duke of Yorke and Richard.
Yorke. How now boyes, fortunate this fight hath bene,
I hope to vs and ours, for Englands good,
70 And our great honour, that so long we lost,
Whilst faint-heart Henry did vsurpe our rights:
But did you see old Salsbury, since we
With bloodie mindes did buckle with the foe,
I would not for the losse of this right hand,
75 That ought but well betide that good old man.
Rich. My Lord, I saw him in the thickest throng,
Charging his Lance with his old weary armes,
And thrise I saw him beaten from his horse,
And thrise this hand did set him vp againe,
80 And still he fought with courage gainst his foes,
♦ The boldest sprited man that ere mine eyes beheld.
Enter Salsbbury and Warwicke.
Edward. See noble father, where they both do come,
The onely props vnto the house of Yorke.
Sals. Well hast thou fought this day, thou valiant Duke,
85 And thou braue bud of Yorkes encreasing house,
The small remainder of my weary life,
I hold for thee, for with thy warlike arme,
Three times this day thou hast preseru’d my life.
Yorke. What say you Lords, the King is fled to London?
90 There as I here to hold a Parlament.
What saies Lord Warwicke, shall we after them?
War. After them, nay before them if we can.
♦ Now by my faith Lords, twas a glorious day,
Saint Albones battaile wonne by famous Yorke,
95 Shall be eternest in all age to come.
Sound Drummes and Trumpets, and to London all,
♦ And more such daies as these to vs befall. Exet omnes.
FINIS.
London.
Printed by Thomas Creed, for Thomas Millington, and are to be sold at his Shop vnder Saint Peters Church in Cornwall.
1594.
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