some two hours hence.
Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.
It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:
The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.
Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.
See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!
O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced,
That we could hear no news of his repair?
Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy?
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own,
Call Warwick patron and be penitent?
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.
I thought, at least, he would have said the king;
Or did he make the jest against his will?
Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?
Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.
'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.
Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.
But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
What is the body when the head is off?
Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.
Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.
I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.
Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'
O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
The gates are open, let us enter too.
So other