_Q. Mar._ My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. [cbb057] You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. ·cbb060· _K. Hen._ Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. _Prince._ My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. ·cbb065· _Clif._ Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. _Enter a_ Messenger. _Mess._ Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, ·cbb070· Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. [cbb072] _Clif._ I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. _Q. Mar._ Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. ·cbb075· _K. Hen._ Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay. _North._ Be it with resolution then to fight. _Prince._ My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ‘Saint George!’ [cbb080] _March. Enter_ EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, _and_ Soldiers. _Edw._ Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, [cbb081] And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? _Q. Mar._ Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms ·cbb085· Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? _Edw._ I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, [cbb089] You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, ·cbb090· Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. _Clif._ And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? _Rich._ Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! [cbb095] _Clif._ Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. _Rich._ ’Twas you that kill’d young Rutland, was it not? _Clif._ Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. _Rich._ For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight. ·cbb100· _War._ What say’st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? [cbb101] _Q. Mar._ Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban’s last, Your legs did better service than your hands. _War._ Then ’twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis thine. ·cbb105· _Clif._ You said so much before, and yet you fled. _War._ ’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. _North._ No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. _Rich._ Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain [cbb110]