[Exit.]

QUEEN MARGARET.
O Ned! sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy.
Canst thou not speak?--O traitors! murtherers!
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 murtherer, that I may name it?
No, no, my heart will burst, an 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, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD.
Away with her! go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET.
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.

CLARENCE.