Page 807 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, [Draws.]
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
I am your butt and I abide your shot.

NORT HUMBERLAND

Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. [30]

CLIFFORD

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm
With downright payment showed unto my father.
Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car
And made an evening at the noontide prick.

Y ORK

My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth [35]
A bird that will revenge upon you all;
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.
Why, come you not? What, multitudes and fear?

CLIFFORD

So cowards fight when they can fly no further; [40]
So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

Y ORK

O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again
And in thy thought o’errun my former time; [45]
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face
And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

CLIFFORD

I will not bandy with thee word for word
But buckler with thee blows twice two for one. [50]

MARGARET

Hold, valiant Clifford. For a thousand causes