Page 829 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. [45]
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

WARWICK

Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

GEORGE

Yet let us all together to our troops
And give them leave to fly that will not stay, [50]
And call them pillars that will stand to us,
And if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
For yet is hope of life and victory. [55]
Forslow no longer, make we hence amain!

Exeunt.

Scene IV IT

[Alarums.] Excursions. Enter Richard [at one door] and Clifford [at the
other].

RICHARD

Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environed with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD

Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: [5]
This is the hand that stabbed thy father York,
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland,
And here’s the heart that triumphs in their death
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother
To execute the like upon thyself; [10]
And so, have at thee!

[Alarums.] They fight. Warwick comes [and rescues Richard]. Clifford