Yorke, and Henrie the Sixt.
121710072. Soul. Lie there thou that fought
st with me
so
stoutly,
12181008Now let me
see what
store of gold thou ha
ste,
12191009But
staie, me thinkes this is no famous face
: 12211010Oh no it is my
sonne that
I haue
slaine in
fight,
12261011O mon
strous times begetting
such euents,
12291013This deadlie quarrell dailie doth beget,
12311014Poore boy thy father gaue thee lif too late,
12301015And hath bereau'de thee of thy life too
sone.
12321016King Wo aboue wo, griefe more then common griefe,
12111017Whil
st Lyons warre and battaile for their dens,
12121018Poore lambs do feele the rigor of their wraths:
12351019The red ro
se and the white are on his face,
12361020The fatall colours of our
striuing hou
ses,
12391021Wither one ro
se, and let the other
flouri
sh,
12401022For if you
striue, ten thou
sand liues mu
st peri
sh.
124110231. Sould. How will my mother for my fathers death,
12421024Take on with me and nere be
sati
sfide?
124310252. Sol. How will my wife for
slaughter of my
son,
12441026Take on with me and nere be
sati
sfide?
12451027King. How will the people now mi
sdeeme their king,
12461028Oh would my death their mindes could
sati
sfie.
124710291. Sould. Was euer
son
so rude his fathers bloud to
spil?
124810302, Soul. Was euer father
so vnnaturall his
son to kill?
12491031King. Was euer king thus greeud and vexed
still?
125110321. Sould. Ile beare thee hence from this accur
sed place,
12521033For wo is me to
see my fathers face.
125410352. Soul. Ile beare thee hence & let them
fight that wil,
12551036For
I haue murdered where I
should not kill.
C3. King.