4. SCENE IV. The Same
That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears;
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears,
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears
And say 'Alas! it was a piteous deed!'--
There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!--
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not, for my life, but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
What! weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.
Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York.