Page:Henry VI Part 3 (1923) Yale.djvu/50

38

Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;

And in the very pangs of death he cried,

Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,

'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.

War. 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,

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,

Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,

Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. 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,

I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,

Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,

Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands

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.

Rich. 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.

 16 Broach'd: set flowing

27 upon: on

32 measure: due proportion

38 stands: accords 