400 Rutland. Ah, whither shall I flye, to scape their hands?

401Ah Tutor, looke where bloody Clifford comes.

403 Clifford. Chaplaine away, thy Priesthood saues thy life.

404As for the Brat of this accursed Duke,

405Whose Father slew my Father, he shall dye.

406Tutor. And I, my Lord, will beare him company.

407Clifford. Souldiers, away with him.

408Tutor. Ah Clifford, murther not this innocent Child,

409Least thou be hated both of God and Man. Exit.

410Clifford. How now? is he dead alreadie?

411Or is it feare, that makes him close his eyes?

412Ile open them.

413 Rutland. So looks the pent-vp Lyon o're the Wretch,

414That trembles vnder his deuouring Pawes:

415And so he walkes, insulting o're his Prey,

416And so he comes, to rend his Limbes asunder.

417Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy Sword,

418And not with such a cruell threatning Looke.

419Sweet Clifford heare me speake, before I dye:

420I am too meane a subiect for thy Wrath,

421Be thou reueng'd on men, and let me liue.

422Clifford. In vaine thou speak'st, poore Boy:

423My Fathers blood hath stopt the passage

424Where thy words should enter.

425Rutland. Then let my Fathers blood open it againe,

426He is a man, and Clifford cope with him.

427 Clifford. Had I thy Brethren here, their liues and thine

428Were not reuenge sufficient for me:

429No, if I digg'd vp thy fore-fathers Graues,

430And hung their rotten Coffins vp in Chaynes,

431It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.

432The sight of any of the House of Yorke,

433Is as a furie to torment my Soule:

434And till I root out their accursed Line,

435And leaue not one aliue, I liue in Hell.

436Therefore---

437Rutland. Oh let me pray, before I take my death:

438To thee I pray; sweet Clifford pitty me.

439Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords.

440 Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay

441me?

442Clifford. Thy Father hath.

443Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne.

444Thou hast one Sonne, for his sake pitty me,

445Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust,

446He be as miserably slaine as I.

447Ah, let me liue in Prison all my dayes,

448And when I giue occasion of offence,

449Then let me dye, for now thou hast no cause.

450 Clifford. No cause? thy Father slew my Father: there-

451fore dye.

452Rutland. Dij faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae.

453Clifford. Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet:

454And this thy Sonnes blood cleauing to my Blade,

455Shall rust vpon my Weapon, till thy blood

456Congeal'd with this, doe make me wipe off both. Exit.