And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles.]

CLIFFORD.
Ay, ay; so strives the woodcock with the gin.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
So doth the cony struggle in the net.

[York is taken prisoner.]

YORK.
So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
What would your grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET.
Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.--
What! was it you that would be England's king?
Was 't you that revell'd in our Parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,