3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 31 of 34

Ah Warwick, Warwick, cheer up thyself and liue, For yet there's hope enough to win the day. Our warlike Queen with troops is come from France, And at South-Hampton landed all his train, And mightst thou l●ue then would we never fly. Which then I would not fly nor have I now, But Hercules himself must yield to odds, For m●●e wounds received, and many more repaid, Hath robbed my strong knit ●●news of their strength, And spite of spites needs must I yield to death. Thy brother Montague hath breathed his last, And at the pangs of death I heard him cry And say, commend me to my valiant brother, And more he would have spoke and 〈◊〉 he said, Which sounded like a 〈…〉 a vault, That could not be distinguished for the sound, And so the valiant Montague gave up the ghost. What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust▪ And live we how we can, yet the w● must. Sweet rest his soul, she Lords and 〈◊〉 yourselves, For Warwick bids you all farewell to meeten heaven. Come noble Summerset, let's take our horse, And cause retreat be sounded through the camp, That all our friends that yet remain alive▪, May be awarned and ●aue themselves by flight. That done, with them we'll post unto the Queen, And once mo●eui● our fortune in the field Thus still our fortune 〈◊〉 us victory, And gnats our temples with triumphant The bigboond traitor Warwick hath breathed his last, An I heaven this day hath smilde vpon v●●all, But in this clear and brightsome ●a●e, I see a black suspicious cloud appear That will encounter with our glorious sun Before he gain his easeful w● ste●e be ●●es, I mean those powers which the Queen hath got in France Are landed, and mean once more to menace us. Oxford and Summerset are sled to hi●, And 〈◊〉 likely if she have time to breath, Her fact on will be full as strong as ours. We are advertisde by our loving friends, That they do hold their course towards Tow●burie. Th●ther will we 〈◊〉 for willingness rids way, And in every county as we pass along, O●● stir engthes shall be augmented. Come let's go, for if we slack this fair B●●ght Summers' day, sharp winter's Showers will make our hope for haie. Welcome to England, my loving friends of France, And welcome Summerset, and Oxford too. Once more have we spread our sails abroad, And though our tackling be almost consumed, And Warwick as our main mast overthrown, Yet warlike Lords raise you that sturdy post, That bears the sails to bring us unto rest, And Ned and I as willing Pilots should For once with careful minds guide on the stern, To bear us through that dangerous gulf That heretofore hath swallowed up our friends.