northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. What, with five thousand men? Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Soldiers, away with him! Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That 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 threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if