KING EDWARD
So, lie there. Die , and die our fear,
For Warwick was a bug that feared us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for ,
That Warwick’s bones may keep company.
WARWICK
Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows
That I must yield my body to the earth
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch overpeered Jove’s spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind.
These eyes, that now are dimmed with death’s black veil,
Have been as piercing as the midday sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world;
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
Were likened to kingly sepulchres,
For who lived King but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me but my body’s length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must.
SOMERSET
Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert as we are,
We might recover all our loss again.
The Queen from France brought a puissant power;
Even now we heard the news. Ah, fly!
WARWICK
Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague!
If be there, sweet brother, take my hand
And with lips keep in my soul awhile.
lov’st me not; for, brother, if ,
tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
SOMERSET
Ah, Warwick, Montague breathed his last,
And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
And said “Commend me to my valiant brother.”
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,
Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,
That mought not be distinguished; but at last
I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
“O farewell, Warwick!”
WARWICK
Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves,
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.
OXFORD
Away, away, to meet the Queen’s great power!