Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing ...

Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand that stabb'd 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 ...

My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.

I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child?

You said so much before, and yet you fled.

Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

And reason too:
Who should succeed the father but the son?

I would your highness would depart the field:
The queen hath best success when you are absent.

Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
Not his that spoils her young before her face.
Who ...

Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

That is my office, for my father's sake.

Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

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

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

Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
Exit
3 KING HENRY VI

No cause!
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

Thy father hath.

Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York ...

In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

Soldiers, away with him!

Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.

In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
Or live in peace abandon'd and despised!

Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.

How hast thou injured both thyself and us!

What wrong is this unto the prince your son!

King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
As shall revenge his death before I stir.

Whom should he follow but his natural king?

Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
He durst not sit there, had your father lived.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.

The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.