Flourish. Enter King Edward IV, Gloucester, Clarence, and soldiers; with Queen Margaret, Oxford, and Somerset, prisoners
Now here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.
Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded
Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward Shall have a high reward, and he his life?
Enter soldiers, with Prince Edward
Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak. What! can so young a thorn begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?
Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York! Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, Which traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.
That you might still have worn the petticoat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.
I know my duty; you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are: And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
Offers to kill her
Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother; I'll hence to London on a serious matter: Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers! They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it: He was a man; this, in respect, a child: And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak: And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! You have no children, butchers! if you had, The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse: But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!
Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here, Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.
Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.
Exit, led out forcibly