| Exeter |
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggledhacked or cut about with wounds over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep’d,
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;
He cries aloud “Tarry, my cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry!”
Upon these words I came and cheer’d him up:
He smiled me in the face, raughtheld out or extended; York holds out his hand to Exeter me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, says, “Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.”
So did he turn and over Suffolk’s neck
He threw his wounded arm and kiss’d his lips;
And so espoused to death, with blood he seal’d
A testamenta will; here, a final declaration or proof of love of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopp’d;
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.
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| King Henry |
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. Alarm.
But hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforced their scatter’d men:
Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
Give the word through. Exeunt.
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