SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. The Third part of King Henry the Sixth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry VI, part 3  | Act 1, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. 

 Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor  RUTLAND  Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? 

 Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! 



 Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers  CLIFFORD  Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. 

 As for the brat of this accursed duke, 

 Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 

 Tutor  And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

 CLIFFORD  Soldiers, away with him! 

 Tutor  Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, 

 Lest thou be hated both of God and man! 



 Exit, dragged off by Soldiers  CLIFFORD  How now! is he dead already? or is it fear 

 That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. 

 RUTLAND  So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 

 That trembles under his devouring paws; 

 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, 

 And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. 

 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 

 And not with such a cruel threatening look. 

 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. 

 I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: 

 Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. 

 CLIFFORD  In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood 

 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. 

 RUTLAND  Then let my father's blood open it again: 

 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

 CLIFFORD  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 

 Is as a fury to torment my soul; 

 And till I root out their accursed line 

 And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 

 Therefore-- 



 Lifting his hand  RUTLAND  O, let me pray before I take my death! 

 To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! 

 CLIFFORD  Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

 RUTLAND  I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? 

 CLIFFORD  Thy father hath. 

 RUTLAND  But 'twas ere I was born. 

 Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, 

 Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 

 He be as miserably slain as I. 

 Ah, let me live in prison all my days; 

 And when I give occasion of offence, 

 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

 CLIFFORD  No cause! 

 Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. 



 Stabs him  RUTLAND  Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! 



 Dies  CLIFFORD  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. 



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