Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed

Henry VI, Part 3 (Octavo 1, 1595)

Alarmes, and then Enter the yong Earle of
Rutland and his Tutor.
Tutor. Oh flie my Lord, lets leaue the Castell,
And flie to Wakefield straight.
Enter Clifford.
Rut. O Tutor, looke where bloudie Clifford comes.
Clif. Chaplin awaie, thy Priesthood saues thy life,
As for the brat of that accursed Duke
405Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tutor Oh Clifford spare this tender Lord, least
Heauen reuenge it on thy head: Oh saue his life.
Clif. Soldiers awaie and drag him hence perforce:
Awaie with the villaine.
Exit the Chaplein.
410How now, what dead alreadie? or is it feare that
Makes him close his eies? Ile open them.
Rut. So lookes the pent vp Lion on the lambe,
415And so he walkes insulting ouer his praie,
And so he turnes againe to rend his limmes in sunder,
Oh Clifford, kill me with thy sword, and
Not with such a cruell threatning looke,
420I am too meane a subiect for thy wrath,
Be thou reuengde on men, and let me liue.
Clif. In vaine thou speakest poore boy: my fathers
Bloud hath stopt the passage where thy wordes shoulde
425Rut. Then let my fathers blood ope it againe? he is a
Man, and Clifford cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their liues and thine
Were not reuenge sufficient for me.
Or should I dig vp thy forefathers graues,
430And hang their rotten coffins vp in chaines,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my hart.
The sight of anie of the house of Yorke,
Is as a furie to torment my soule.
Therefore till I root out that curssed line
435And leaue not one on earth, Ile liue in hell therefore.
Rut. Oh let me praie, before I take my death.
To thee I praie: Sweet Clifford pittie me.
Clif. I, such pittie as my rapiers point affords.
440Rut. I neuer did thee hurt, wherefore wilt thou kill
Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut. But twas ere I was borne.
Thou hast one sonne, for his sake pittie me,
445Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust,
He be as miserablie slaine as I.
Oh, let me liue in prison all my daies,
And when I giue occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
450Clif. No cause? Thy Father slew my father, therefore
Plantagenet I come Plantagenet,
And this thy sonnes bloud cleauing to my blade,
455Shall rust vpon my weapon, till thy bloud
Congeald with his, doe make me wipe off both.