Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield
Alarum. 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, forced 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 threat'ning look!
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;
Be thou reveng'd 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 I 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-
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.
Exit