Part 28

King. I Clifford, a Bedlem and ambitious humor Makes him oppose himselfe against his King

Clif. He is a Traitor, let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his

Qu. He is arrested, but will not obey: His sonnes (he sayes) shall giue their words for him

Yor. Will you not Sonnes? Edw. I Noble Father, if our words will serue

Rich. And if words will not, then our Weapons shal

Clif. Why what a brood of Traitors haue we heere? Yorke. Looke in a Glasse, and call thy Image so. I am thy King, and thou a false-heart Traitor: Call hither to the stake my two braue Beares, That with the very shaking of their Chaines, They may astonish these fell-lurking Curres, Bid Salsbury and Warwicke come to me. Enter the Earles of Warwicke, and Salisbury.

Clif. Are these thy Beares? Wee'l bate thy Bears to death, And manacle the Berard in their Chaines, If thou dar'st bring them to the bayting place

Rich. Oft haue I seene a hot ore-weening Curre, Run backe and bite, because he was with-held, Who being suffer'd with the Beares fell paw, Hath clapt his taile, betweene his legges and cride, And such a peece of seruice will you do, If you oppose your selues to match Lord Warwicke

Clif. Hence heape of wrath, foule indigested lumpe, As crooked in thy manners, as thy shape

Yor. Nay we shall heate you thorowly anon

Clif. Take heede least by your heate you burne your selues: King. Why Warwicke, hath thy knee forgot to bow? Old Salsbury, shame to thy siluer haire, Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sicke sonne, What wilt thou on thy death-bed play the Ruffian? And seeke for sorrow with thy Spectacles? Oh where is Faith? Oh, where is Loyalty? If it be banisht from the frostie head, Where shall it finde a harbour in the earth? Wilt thou go digge a graue to finde out Warre, And shame thine honourable Age with blood? Why art thou old, and want'st experience? Or wherefore doest abuse it, if thou hast it? For shame in dutie bend thy knee to me, That bowes vnto the graue with mickle age

Sal. My Lord, I haue considered with my selfe The Title of this most renowned Duke, And in my conscience, do repute his grace The rightfull heyre to Englands Royall seate

King. Hast thou not sworne Allegeance vnto me? Sal. I haue

Ki. Canst thou dispense with heauen for such an oath? Sal. It is great sinne, to sweare vnto a sinne: But greater sinne to keepe a sinfull oath: Who can be bound by any solemne Vow To do a murd'rous deede, to rob a man, To force a spotlesse Virgins Chastitie, To reaue the Orphan of his Patrimonie, To wring the Widdow from her custom'd right, And haue no other reason for this wrong, But that he was bound by a solemne Oath? Qu. A subtle Traitor needs no Sophister

King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arme himselfe

Yorke. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolu'd for death and dignitie

Old Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreames proue true War. You were best to go to bed, and dreame againe, To keepe thee from the Tempest of the field

Old Clif. I am resolu'd to beare a greater storme, Then any thou canst coniure vp to day: And that Ile write vpon thy Burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy housed Badge

War. Now by my Fathers badge, old Neuils Crest, The rampant Beare chain'd to the ragged staffe, This day Ile weare aloft my Burgonet, As on a Mountaine top, the Cedar shewes, That keepes his leaues inspight of any storme, Euen to affright thee with the view thereof

Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet Ile rend thy Beare, And tread it vnder foot with all contempt, Despight the Bearard, that protects the Beare

Yo.Clif. And so to Armes victorious Father, To quell the Rebels, and their Complices

Rich. Fie, Charitie for shame, speake not in spight, For you shall sup with Iesu Christ to night

Yo.Clif. Foule stygmaticke that's more then thou canst tell

Ric. If not in heauen, you'l surely sup in hell.

Exeunt.

Enter Warwicke.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwicke calles: And if thou dost not hide thee from the Beare, Now when the angrie Trumpet sounds alarum, And dead mens cries do fill the emptie ayre, Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me, Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to armes. Enter Yorke.

War. How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot