Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.
[Act 1, Scene 1] §
Enter Plantagenet, Edward, Richard, Norfolke, Mount
ague, Warwicke, and Souldiers.
 I Wonder how the King escap'd our hands?
while we pursu'd the Horsmen of the North,
He slyly stole away, and left his men:
Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
5 Whose Warlike eares could neuer brooke retreat,
Chear'd vp the drouping Army, and himselfe.
Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford all a‑brest
Charg'd our maine Battailes Front: and breaking in,
Were by the Swords of common Souldiers slaine.
10 Lord Staffords Father, Duke of Buckingham,
Is either slaine or wounded dangerous.
I cleft his Beauer with a down‑right blow:
That this is true (Father) behold his blood.
And Brother, here's the Earle of Wiltshires
15 Whom I encountred as the Battels ioyn'd.
Speake thou for me, and tell them what I did.
Richard hath best deseru'd of all my sonnes:
But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
Such hope haue all the line of Iohn of Gaunt.
20 Thus do I hope to shake King Henries head.
And so doe I, victorious Prince of Yorke.
Before I see thee seated in that Throne,
Which now the House of Lancaster vsurpes,
I vow by Heauen, these eyes shall neuer close.
25 This is the Pallace of the fearefull King,
And this the Regall Seat: possesse it Yorke,
For this is thine, and not King Henries Heires.
Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will,
For hither we haue broken in by force.
30 Wee'le all assist you: he that flyes, shall dye.
Thankes gentle Norfolke, stay by me my Lords,
And Souldiers stay and lodge by me this Night.
They goe vp.
And when the King comes, offer him no violence,
Vnlesse he seeke to thrust you out perforce.
35 The Queene this day here holds her Parliament,
But little thinkes we shall be of her counsaile,
By words or blowes here let vs winne our right.
Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this House.
The bloody Parliament shall this be call'd,
40 Vnlesse Plantagenet, Duke of Yorke, be King,
And bashfull Henry depos'd, whose Cowardize
Hath made vs by‑words to our enemies.
Then leaue me not, my Lords be resolute,
I meane to take possession of my Right.
45 Neither the King, nor he that loues him best,
The prowdest hee that holds vp Lancaster,
Dares stirre a Wing, if Warwick shake his Bells.
Ile plant Plantagenet, root him vp who dares:
Resolue thee Richard, clayme the English Crowne.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northumberland,
Westmerland, Exeter, and the rest.
50 My Lords, looke where the sturdie Rebell sits,
Euen in the Chayre of State: belike he meanes,
Backt by the power of Warwicke, that false Peere,
To aspire vnto the Crowne, and reigne as King.
Earle of Northumberland, he slew thy Father,
55 And thine, Lord Clifford, & you both haue vow'd reuenge
On him, his sonnes, his fauorites, and his friends.
If I be not, Heauens be reueng'd on me.
The hope thereof, makes Clifford mourne in
What, shall we suffer this? lets pluck him down,
60 My heart for anger burnes, I cannot brooke it.
Be patient, gentle Earle of Westmerland.
Patience is for Poultroones, such as he:
He durst not sit there, had your Father liu'd.
My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament
65 Let vs assayle the Family of Yorke.
Well hast thou spoken, Cousin be it so.
Ah, know you not the Citie fauours them,
And they haue troupes of Souldiers at their beck?
But when the Duke is slaine, they'le quickly
70 Farre be the thought of this from Henries heart,
To make a Shambles of the Parliament House.
Cousin of Exeter, frownes, words, and threats,
Shall be the Warre that Henry meanes to vse.
Thou factious Duke of Yorke descend my Throne,
75 And kneele for grace and mercie at my feet,
I am thy Soueraigne.
For shame come downe, he made thee Duke of
The third Part of Henry the Sixt.
It was my Inheritance, as the Earledome was.
80 Thy Father was a Traytor to the Crowne.
Exeter thou art a Traytor to the Crowne,
In following this vsurping Henry.
Whom should hee follow, but his naturall
True Clifford, that's Richard Duke of Yorke.
85 And shall I stand, and thou sit in my Throne?
It must and shall be so, content thy selfe.
Be Duke of Lancaster, let him be King.
He is both King, and Duke of Lancaster,
And that the Lord of Westmerland shall maintaine.
90 And Warwick shall disproue it. You forget,
That we are those which chas'd you from the field,
And slew your Fathers, and with Colours spread
Marcht through the Citie to the Pallace Gates.
Yes Warwicke, I remember it to my griefe,
95 And by his Soule, thou and thy House shall rue it.
Piantagenet, of thee and these thy Sonnes,
Thy Kinsmen, and thy Friends, Ile haue more liues
Then drops of bloud were in my Fathers Veines.
Vrge it no more, lest that in stead of words,
100 I send thee, Warwicke, such a Messenger,
As shall reuenge his death, before I stirre.
Poore Clifford, how I scorne his worthlesse
Will you we shew our Title to the Crowne?
If not, our Swords shall pleade it in the field.
105 What Title hast thou Traytor to the Crowne?
My Father was as thou art, Duke of Yorke,
Thy Grandfather Roger Mortimer, Earle of March.
I am the Sonne of Henry the Fift,
Who made the Dolphin and the French to stoupe,
110 And seiz'd vpon their Townes and Prouinces.
Talke not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.
The Lord Protector lost it, and not I:
When I was crown'd, I was but nine moneths old.
You are old enough now,
115 And yet me thinkes you loose:
Father teare the Crowne from the Vsurpers Head.
Sweet Father doe so, set it on your Head.
As thou lou'st and honorest Armes,
120 Let's fight it out, and not stand cauilling thus.
Sound Drummes and Trumpets, and the
King will flye.
Peace thou, and giue King Henry leaue to
Plantagenet shal speake first: Heare him Lords,
125 And be you silent and attentiue too,
For he that interrupts him, shall not liue.
Think'st thou, that I will leaue my Kingly Throne,
Wherein my Grandsire and my Father sat?
No: first shall Warre vnpeople this my Realme;
130 I, and their Colours often borne in France,
And now in England, to our hearts great sorrow,
Shall be my Winding‑sheet. Why faint you Lords?
My Title's good, and better farre then his.
Proue it Henry, and thou shalt be King.
135 Henry the Fourth by Conquest got the Crowne.
'Twas by Rebellion against his King.
I know not what to say, my Titles weake:
Tell me, may not a King adopt an Heire?
140 And if he may, then am I lawfull King:
For Richard, in the view of many Lords,
Resign'd the Crowne to Henry the Fourth,
Whose Heire my Father was, and I am his.
He rose against him, being his Soueraigne,
145 And made him to resigne his Crowne perforce.
Suppose, my Lords, he did it vnconstrayn'd,
Thinke you 'twere preiudiciall to his Crowne?
No: for he could not so resigne his Crowne,
But that the next Heire should succeed and reigne.
150 Art thou against vs, Duke of Exeter?
His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
Why whisper you, my Lords, and answer not?
My Conscience tells me he is lawfull King.
All will reuolt from me, and turne to him.
155 Plantagenet, for all the Clayme thou lay'st,
Thinke not, that Henry shall be so depos'd.
Depos'd he shall be, in despight of all.
Thou art deceiu'd:
'Tis not thy Southerne power
160 Of Essex, Norfolke, Suffolke, nor of Kent,
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and prowd,
Can set the Duke vp in despight of me.
King Henry, be thy Title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vowes to fight in thy defence:
165 May that ground gape, and swallow me aliue,
Where I shall kneele to him that slew my Father.
Oh Clifford, how thy words reuiue my heart.
Henry of Lancaster, resigne thy Crowne:
What mutter you, or what conspire you Lords?
170 Doe right vnto this Princely Duke of Yorke,
Or I will fill the House with armed men,
And ouer the Chayre of state, where now he sits,
Write vp his Title with vsurping blood.
He stampes with his foot, and the Souldiers
My Lord of Warwick, heare but one word,
175 Let me for this my life time reigne as King.
Confirme the Crowne to me and to mine Heires,
And thou shalt reigne in quiet while thou liu'st.
I am content: Richard Plantagenet
Enioy the Kingdome after my decease.
180 What wrong is this vnto the Prince, your
What good is this to England, and himselfe?
Base, fearefull, and despayring Henry.
How hast thou iniur'd both thy selfe and vs?
I cannot stay to heare these Articles.
Come Cousin, let vs tell the Queene these
Farwell faint‑hearted and degenerate King,
In whose cold blood no sparke of Honor bides.
Be thou a prey vnto the House of Yorke,
190 And dye in Bands, for this vnmanly deed.
In dreadfull Warre may'st thou be ouercome,
Or liue in peace abandon'd and despis'd.
Turne this way Henry, and regard them not.
They seeke reuenge, and therefore will not
Why should you sigh, my Lord?
Not for my selfe Lord Warwick, but my Sonne,
Whom I vnnaturally shall dis‑inherite.
But be it as it may: I here entayle
200 The Crowne to thee and to thine Heires for euer,
Conditionally, that heere thou take an Oath,
To cease this Ciuill Warre: and whil'st I liue,
The third Part of Henry the Sixt.
To honor me as thy King, and Soueraigne:
And neyther by Treason nor Hostilitie,
205 To seeke to put me downe, and reigne thy selfe.
This Oath I willingly take, and will performe.
Long liue King Henry: Plantagenet embrace
And long liue thou, and these thy forward
Now Yorke and Lancaster are reconcil'd.
210 Accurst be he that seekes to make them foes.
Senet. Here they come downe.
Farewell my gracious Lord, Ile to my Castle.
And Ile keepe London with my Souldiers.
And I to Norfolke with my follower[.].
And I vnto the Sea, from whence I came.
215 And I with griefe and sorrow to the Court.
Enter the Queene.
Heere comes the Queene,
Whose Lookes bewray her anger:
Ile steale away.
220 Nay, goe not from me, I will follow thee.
Be patient gentle Queene, and I will stay.
Who can be patient in such extreames?
Ah wretched man, would I had dy'de a Maid?
And neuer seene thee, neuer borne thee Sonne,
225 Seeing thou hast prou'd so vnnaturall a Father.
Hath he deseru'd to loose his Birth‑right thus?
Hadst thou but lou'd him halfe so well as I,
Or felt that paine which I did for him once,
Or nourisht him, as I did with my blood;
230 Thou would'st haue left thy dearest heart‑blood there,
Rather then haue made that sauage Duke thine Heire,
And dis‑inherited thine onely Sonne.
Father, you cannot dis‑inherite me:
If you be King, why should not I succeede?
235 Pardon me Margaret, pardon me sweet Sonne,
The Earle of Warwick and the Duke enforc't me.
Enforc't thee? Art thou King, and wilt be forc't?
I shame to heare thee speake: ah timorous Wretch,
Thou hast vndone thy selfe, thy Sonne, and me,
240 And giu'n vnto the House of Yorke such head,
As thou shalt reigne but by their sufferance.
To entayle him and his Heires vnto the Crowne,
What is it, but to make thy Sepulcher,
And creepe into it farre before thy time?
245 Warwick is Chancelor, and the Lord of Callice,
Sterne Falconbridge commands the Narrow Seas,
The Duke is made Protector of the Realme,
And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safetie findes
The trembling Lambe, inuironned with Wolues.
250 Had I beene there, which am a silly Woman,
The Souldiers should haue toss'd me on their Pikes,
Before I would haue granted to that Act.
But thou preferr'st thy Life, before thine Honor.
And seeing thou do'st, I here diuorce my selfe,
255 Both from thy Table Henry, and thy Bed,
Vntill that Act of Parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my Sonne is dis‑inherited.
The Northerne Lords, that haue forsworne thy Colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
260 And spread they shall be, to thy foule disgrace,
And vtter ruine of the House of Yorke.
Thus doe I leaue thee: Come Sonne, let's away,
Our Army is ready; come, wee'le after them.
Stay gentle Margaret, and heare me speake.
265 Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee
Gentle Sonne Edward, thou wilt stay me?
I, to be murther'd by his Enemies.
When I returne with victorie to the field,
Ile see your Grace: till then, Ile follow her.
270 Come Sonne away, we may not linger thus.
How loue to me, and to her Sonne,
Hath made her breake out into termes of Rage.
Reueng'd may she be on that hatefull Duke,
275 Whose haughtie spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my Crowne, and like an emptie Eagle,
Tyre on the flesh of me, and of my Sonne.
The losse of those three Lords torments my heart:
Ile write vnto them, and entreat them faire;
280 Come Cousin, you shall be the Messenger.
And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Act 1, Scene 2] §
Flourish. Enter Richard, Edward, and
Brother, though I bee youngest, giue mee
No, I can better play the Orator.
But I haue reasons strong and forceable.
Enter the Duke of Yorke.
285 Why how now Sonnes, and Brother, at a strife?
What is your Quarrell? how began it first?
No Quarrell, but a slight Contention.
About that which concernes your Grace and vs,
290 The Crowne of England, Father, which is yours.
Mine Boy? not till King Henry be dead.
Your Right depends not on his life, or death.
Now you are Heire, therefore enioy it now:
By giuing the House of Lancaster leaue to breathe,
295 It will out‑runne you, Father, in the end.
I tooke an Oath, that hee should quietly
But for a Kingdome any Oath may be broken:
I would breake a thousand Oathes, to reigne one yeere.
No: God forbid your Grace should be for
300 I shall be, if I clayme by open Warre.
Ile proue the contrary, if you'le heare mee
Thou canst not, Sonne: it is impossible.
An Oath is of no moment, being not tooke
Before a true and lawfull Magistrate,
305 That hath authoritie ouer him that sweares.
Henry had none, but did vsurpe the place.
Then seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your Oath, my Lord, is vaine and friuolous.
Therefore to Armes: and Father doe but thinke,
310 How sweet a thing it is to weare a Crowne,
Within whose Circuit is Elizium,
And all that Poets faine of Blisse and Ioy.
Why doe we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Vntill the White Rose that I weare, be dy'de
315 Euen in the luke‑warme blood of Henries heart.
Richard ynough: I will be King, or dye.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this Enterprise.
The third Part of Henry the Sixt.
Thou Richard shalt to the Duke of Norfolke,
320 And tell him priuily of our intent.
You Edward shall vnto my Lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.
In them I trust: for they are Souldiors,
Wittie, courteous, liberall, full of spirit.
325 While you are thus imploy'd, what resteth more?
But that I seeke occasion how to rise,
And yet the King not priuie to my Drift,
Nor any of the House of Lancaster.
But stay, what Newes? Why comm'st thou in such
330 The Queene,
With all the Northerne Earles and Lords,
Intend here to besiege you in your Castle.
She is hard by, with twentie thousand men:
And therefore fortifie your Hold, my Lord.
335 I, with my Sword.
What? think'st thou, that we feare them?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me,
My Brother Mountague shall poste to London.
Let Noble Warwicke, Cobham, and the rest,
340 Whom we haue left Protectors of the King,
With powrefull Pollicie strengthen themselues,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his Oathes.
Brother, I goe: Ile winne them, feare it not.
And thus most humbly I doe take my leaue.
Enter Mortimer, and his Brother.
345 Sir Iohn, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine Vnckles,
You are come to Sandall in a happie houre.
The Armie of the Queene meane to besiege vs.
Shee shall not neede, wee'le meete her in the
What, with fiue thousand men?
350 I, with fiue hundred, Father, for a neede.
A Woman's generall: what should we feare?
A March afarre off.
I heare their Drummes:
Let's set our men in order,
And issue forth, and bid them Battaile straight.
355 Fiue men to twentie: though the oddes be great,
I doubt not, Vnckle, of our Victorie.
Many a Battaile haue I wonne in France,
When as the Enemie hath beene tenne to one:
Why should I not now haue the like successe?
[Act 1, Scene 4] §
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of Yorke.
The Army of the Queene hath got the field:
415 My Vnckles both are slaine, in rescuing me;
And all my followers, to the eager foe
Turne back, and flye, like Ships before the Winde,
Or Lambes pursu'd by hunger‑starued Wolues.
My Sonnes, God knowes what hath bechanced them:
420 But this I know, they haue demean'd themselues
Like men borne to Renowne, by Life or Death.
Three times did Richard make a Lane to me,
And thrice cry'de, Courage Father, fight it out:
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
425 With Purple Faulchion, painted to the Hilt,
In blood of those that had encountred him:
And when the hardyest Warriors did retyre,
Richard cry'de, Charge, and giue no foot of ground,
And cry'de, A Crowne, or else a glorious Tombe,
The third Part of Henry the Sixt.
430 A Scepter, or an Earthly Sepulchre.
With this we charg'd againe: but out alas,
We bodg'd againe, as l haue seene a Swan
With bootlesse labour swimme against the Tyde,
And spend her strength with ouer‑matching Waues.
A short Alarum within.
435 Ah hearke, the fatall followers doe pursue,
And I am faint, and cannot flye their furie:
And were I strong, I would not shunne their furie.
The Sands are numbred, that makes vp my Life,
Here must I stay, and here my Life must end.
Enter the Queene, Clifford, Northumberland,
the young Prince, and Souldiers.
440 Come bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchlesse furie to more rage;
I am your Butt, and I abide your Shot.
Yeeld to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
I, to such mercy, as his ruthlesse Arme
445 With downe‑right payment, shew'd vnto my Father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his Carre,
And made an Euening at the Noone‑tide Prick.
My ashes, as the Phœnix, may bring forth
A Bird, that will reuenge vpon you all:
450 And in that hope, I throw mine eyes to Heauen,
Scorning what ere you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what, multitudes, and feare?
So Cowards fight, when they can flye no further,
So Doues doe peck the Faulcons piercing Tallons,
455 So desperate Theeues, all hopelesse of their Liues,
Breathe out Inuectiues 'gainst the Officers.
Oh Clifford, but bethinke thee once againe,
And in thy thought ore‑run my former time:
And if thou canst, for blushing, view this face,
460 And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with Cowardice,
Whose frowne hath made thee faint and flye ere this.
I will not bandie with thee word for word,
But buckler with thee blowes twice two for one.
Hold valiant Clifford, for a thousand causes
465 I would prolong a while the Traytors Life:
Wrath makes him deafe; speake thou Northumberland.
Hold Clifford, doe not honor him so much,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a Curre doth grinne,
470 For one to thrust his Hand betweene his Teeth,
When he might spurne him with his Foot away?
It is Warres prize, to take all Vantages,
And tenne to one, is no impeach of Valour.
I, I, so striues the Woodcocke with the
475 So doth the Connie struggle in the
So triumph Theeues vpon their conquer'd Booty,
So True men yeeld with Robbers, so o're‑matcht.
What would your Grace haue done vnto
Braue Warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland,
480 Come make him stand vpon this Mole‑hill here,
That raught at Mountaines with out‑stretched Armes,
Yet parted but the shadow with his Hand.
What, was it you that would be Englands King?
Was't you that reuell'd in our Parliament,
485 And made a Preachment of you high Descent?
Where are your Messe of Sonnes, to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lustie George?
And where's that valiant Crook‑back Prodigie,
Dickie, your Boy, that with his grumbling voyce
490 Was wont to cheare his Dad in Mutinies?
Or with the rest, where is your Darling, Rutland?
Looke Yorke, I stayn'd this Napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his Rapiers point,
Made issue from the Bosome of the Boy:
495 And if thine eyes can water for his death,
I giue thee this to drie thy Cheekes withall.
Alas poore Yorke, but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I prythee grieue, to make me merry, Yorke.
500 What, hath thy fierie heart so parcht thine entrayles,
That not a Teare can fall, for Rutlands death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad:
And I, to make thee mad, doe mock thee thus.
Stampe, raue, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
505 Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
Yorke cannot speake, vnlesse he weare a Crowne.
A Crowne for Yorke; and Lords, bow lowe to him:
Hold you his hands, whilest I doe set it on.
I marry Sir, now lookes he like a King:
510 I, this is he that tooke King Henries Chaire,
And this is he was his adopted Heire.
But how is it, that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soone, and broke his solemne Oath?
As I bethinke me, you should not be King,
515 Till our King Henry had shooke hands with Death.
And will you pale your head in Henries Glory,
And rob his Temples of the Diademe,
Now in his Life, against your holy Oath?
Oh 'tis a fault too too vnpardonable.
520 Off with the Crowne; and with the Crowne, his Head,
And whilest we breathe, take time to doe him dead.
That is my Offce, for my Fathers sake.
Nay stay, let's heare the Orizons hee
Shee‑Wolfe of France,
525 But worse then Wolues of France,
Whose Tongue more poysons then the Adders Tooth:
How ill‑beseeming is it in thy Sex,
To triumph like an Amazonian Trull,
Vpon their Woes, whom Fortune captiuates?
530 But that thy Face is Vizard‑like, vnchanging,
Made impudent with vse of euill deedes.
I would assay, prowd Queene, to make thee blush.
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriu'd,
Were shame enough, to shame thee,
535 Wert thou not shamelesse.
Thy Father beares the type of King of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Ierusalem,
Yet not so wealthie as an English Yeoman.
Hath that poore Monarch taught thee to insult?
540 It needes not, nor it bootes thee not, prowd Queene,
Vnlesse the Adage must be verify'd,
That Beggers mounted, runne their Horse to death.
'Tis Beautie that doth oft make Women prowd,
But God he knowes, thy share thereof is small.
545 'Tis Vertue, that doth make them most admir'd,
The contrary, doth make thee wondred at.
'Tis Gouernment that makes them seeme Diuine,
The want thereof, makes thee abhominable.
Thou art as opposite to euery good,
550 As the Antipodes are vnto vs,
Or as the South to the Septentrion.
Oh Tygres Heart, wrapt in a Womans Hide,
The third Part of Henry the Sixt.
How could'st thou drayne the Life‑blood of the Child,
To bid the Father wipe his eyes withall,
555 And yet be seene to beare a Womans face?
Women are soft, milde, pittifull, and flexible;
Thou, sterne, obdurate, flintie, rough, remorselesse.
Bidst thou me rage? why now thou hast thy wish.
Would'st haue me weepe? why now thou hast thy will.
560 For raging Wind blowes vp incessant showers,
And when the Rage allayes, the Raine begins.
These Teares are my sweet Rutlands Obsequies,
And euery drop cryes vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee fell Clifford, and thee false French‑woman.
565 Beshrew me, but his passions moues me so,
That hardly can I check my eyes from Teares.
That Face of his,
The hungry Caniballs would not haue toucht,
Would not haue stayn'd with blood:
570 But you are more inhumane, more inexorable,
Oh, tenne times more then Tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthlesse Queene, a haplesse Fathers Teares:
This Cloth thou dipd'st in blood of my sweet Boy,
And I with Teares doe wash the blood away.
575 Keepe thou the Napkin, and goe boast of this,
And if thou tell'st the heauie storie right,
Vpon my Soule, the hearers will shed Teares:
Yea, euen my Foes will shed fast‑falling Teares,
And say, Alas, it was a pittious deed.
580 There, take the Crowne, and with the Crowne, my Curse,
And in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reape at thy too cruell hand.
Hard‑hearted Clifford, take me from the World,
My Soule to Heauen, my Blood vpon your Heads.
585 Had he been slaughter‑man to all my Kinne,
I should not for my Life but weepe with him,
To see how inly Sorrow gripes his Soule.
What, weeping ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
Thinke but vpon the wrong he did vs all,
590 And that will quickly drie thy melting Teares.
Heere's for my Oath, heere's for my Fathers
And heere's to right our gentle‑hearted
Open thy Gate of Mercy, gracious God,
My Soule flyes through these wounds, to seeke out thee.
595 Off with his Head, and set it on Yorke Gates,
So Yorke may ouer‑looke the Towne of Yorke.