Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

CLIFFORD.
In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

RUTLAND.
Then let my father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me.
No; if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore--

RUTLAND.
O, let me pray before I take my death!--
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!


CLIFFORD.
Such pity as my rapier's point affords.