Speeches (Lines) for Lord Clifford in "History of Henry VI, Part III"

Earl of Northumberland. If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!

Lord Clifford. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

Henry VI. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.

Lord Clifford. 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.

Warwick. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
In following this usurping Henry.

Lord Clifford. Whom should he follow but his natural king?

Earl of Westmoreland. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

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

Earl of Northumberland. Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
Can set the duke up in despite of me.

Lord Clifford. 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!

Henry VI. I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

Lord Clifford. What wrong is this unto the prince your son!

Earl of Westmoreland. Base, fearful and despairing Henry!

Lord Clifford. How hast thou injured both thyself and us!

Earl of Northumberland. Nor I.

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

Earl of Northumberland. Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

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

Edmond, Earl of Rutland. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

Lord 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 of Rutland. And I, my lord, will bear him company.

Lord Clifford. Soldiers, away with him!

Tutor of Rutland. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

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

Edmond, Earl of 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.

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

Edmond, Earl of Rutland. Then let my father's blood open it again:
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Lord 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--

Edmond, Earl of Rutland. O, let me pray before I take my death!
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

Lord Clifford. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

Edmond, Earl of Rutland. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

Lord Clifford. Thy father hath.

Edmond, Earl of 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.

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

Edmond, Earl of Rutland. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

Lord 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.

Earl of Northumberland. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

Lord Clifford. 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.

Richard Plantagenet - Duke of York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
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?

Lord Clifford. 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.

Richard Plantagenet - Duke of York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
And, if though 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!

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

Earl of Northumberland. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

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

Queen Margaret. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
What! was it you that would be England's king?
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
And if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
[Putting a paper crown on his head]
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king
Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

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

Queen Margaret. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

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

Henry VI. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

Lord Clifford. 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 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York doth level at thy crown,
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offer their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,
And long hereafter say unto his child,
'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got
My careless father fondly gave away'?
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

Prince Edward. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Lord Clifford. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Messenger. Royal commanders, be in readiness:
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York;
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

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

Edward - Earl of March, later King Edward IV. I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted heir by his consent:
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
You, that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Have caused him, by new act of parliament,
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

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

Richard - Duke of Gloucester - Richard III after enthronement. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

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

Richard - Duke of Gloucester - Richard III after enthronement. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

Lord Clifford. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

Warwick. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

Lord Clifford. You said so much before, and yet you fled.

Richard - Duke of Gloucester - Richard III after enthronement. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

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

Henry VI. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:
I am a king, and privileged to speak.

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

Richard - Duke of Gloucester - Richard III after enthronement. 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 environ'd with a brazen wall.

Lord Clifford. 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 like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee!

Henry VI. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

Lord Clifford. 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 Henry, strengthening misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
[He faints]
[Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,]
MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]