| 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, |
| Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, |
| And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. | 5 |
| [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? |
| [Enter GEORGE] |
| GEORGE | Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; |
| Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: | 10 |
| 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. |
| [Enter RICHARD] |
| RICHARD | Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? |
| Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, | 15 |
| 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, |
| 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' |
| So, underneath the belly of their steeds, | 20 |
| 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: |
| I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. |
| Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, | 25 |
| Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; |
| And look upon, as if the tragedy |
| Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? |
| Here on my knee I vow to God above, |
| I'll never pause again, never stand still, | 30 |
| 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; |
| And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! |
| And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, | 35 |
| 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 |
| That to my foes this body must be prey, |
| Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, | 40 |
| 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. |
| RICHARD | Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, |
| Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: | 45 |
| 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. |
| GEORGE | Yet let us all together to our troops, |
| And give them leave to fly that will not stay; | 50 |
| And call them pillars that will stand to us; |
| And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards |
| As victors wear at the Olympian games: |
| This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; |
| For yet is hope of life and victory. | 55 |
| Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. |
[Exeunt] |
The Essential Student History Quiz (with answers and illustrations)