Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay:
These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.
Scene Three
[A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire]
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick.
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe;
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 4
And spite of spite needs must I rest a while.
Enter Edward, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? 8
Enter Clarence.
Clar. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair,
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? 11
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter Richard.
Rich. Ah! Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
1 Forspent: utterly exhausted; cf. n.
8 hap: fortune
12 Bootless: fruitless
15 Thy brother's blood; cf. n.
