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Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.
RICHARD:
An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate,
That hath authority over him that swears:
Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whose circuit is Elysium
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
YORK:
Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.
You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
But that I seek occasion how to rise,
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?
Messenger:
The queen with all the northern earls and lords
Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
YORK:
Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
My brother Montague shall post to London:
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.
MONTAGUE:
Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
JOHN MORTIMER:
She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.
YORK:
What, with five thousand men?
RICHARD:
Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:
A woman's general; what should we fear?
EDWARD:
I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
And issue forth and bid them battle straight.
YORK:
Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
Why should I not now have the like success?
3 KING HENRY VI
RUTLAND:
Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!
CLIFFORD:
Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tutor:
And I, my lord, will bear him company.
CLIFFORD:
Soldiers, away with him!
Tutor:
Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man!
CLIFFORD:
How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.