This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the , and go boast of this;
And if thou tell'st the story right, 160
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!'
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! 168
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how sorrow gripes his soul.
Queen. What! 172
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath; here's for my father's death. [Stabbing him.]
Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him.]
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies.]
Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York. 180
159 napkin: handkerchief
160 heavy: grievous
164 Cf. n.
171 inly: inward
172 weeping-ripe: ready for tears