stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund