SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in YorkshireAlarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK
WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe;
For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
Enter EDWARD, running
EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death;
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?
Enter GEORGE
GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?
EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings;
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter RICHAR
