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  • Title: Henry VI, Part 3 (Folio 1, 1623)

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
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    Henry VI, Part 3 (Folio 1, 1623)

    Enter Rutland, and his Tutor.
    400 Rutland. Ah, whither shall I flye, to scape their hands?
    Ah Tutor, looke where bloody Clifford comes.
    Enter Clifford.
    Clifford. Chaplaine away, thy Priesthood saues thy life.
    As for the Brat of this accursed Duke,
    405Whose Father slew my Father, he shall dye.
    Tutor. And I, my Lord, will beare him company.
    Clifford. Souldiers, away with him.
    Tutor. Ah Clifford, murther not this innocent Child,
    Least thou be hated both of God and Man. Exit.
    410Clifford. How now? is he dead alreadie?
    Or is it feare, that makes him close his eyes?
    Ile open them.
    Rutland. So looks the pent-vp Lyon o're the Wretch,
    That trembles vnder his deuouring Pawes:
    415And so he walkes, insulting o're his Prey,
    And so he comes, to rend his Limbes asunder.
    Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy Sword,
    And not with such a cruell threatning Looke.
    Sweet Clifford heare me speake, before I dye:
    420I am too meane a subiect for thy Wrath,
    Be thou reueng'd on men, and let me liue.
    Clifford. In vaine thou speak'st, poore Boy:
    My Fathers blood hath stopt the passage
    Where thy words should enter.
    425Rutland. Then let my Fathers blood open it againe,
    He is a man, and Clifford cope with him.
    Clifford. Had I thy Brethren here, their liues and thine
    Were not reuenge sufficient for me:
    No, if I digg'd vp thy fore-fathers Graues,
    430And hung their rotten Coffins vp in Chaynes,
    It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
    The sight of any of the House of Yorke,
    Is as a furie to torment my Soule:
    And till I root out their accursed Line,
    435And leaue not one aliue, I liue in Hell.
    Rutland. Oh let me pray, before I take my death:
    To thee I pray; sweet Clifford pitty me.
    Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords.
    440 Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay
    Clifford. Thy Father hath.
    Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne.
    Thou hast one Sonne, for his sake pitty me,
    445Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust,
    He be as miserably slaine as I.
    Ah, let me liue in Prison all my dayes,
    And when I giue occasion of offence,
    Then let me dye, for now thou hast no cause.
    450 Clifford. No cause? thy Father slew my Father: there-
    fore dye.
    Rutland. Dij faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae.
    Clifford. Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet:
    And this thy Sonnes blood cleauing to my Blade,
    455Shall rust vpon my Weapon, till thy blood
    Congeal'd with this, doe make me wipe off both. Exit.