Northumb. Yes Warwicke, I remember it to my griefe,
And by his Soule, thou and thy House shall rue it

Westm. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy Sonnes,
Thy Kinsmen, and thy Friends, Ile haue more liues
Then drops of bloud were in my Fathers Veines

Cliff. Vrge it no more, lest that in stead of words,
I send thee, Warwicke, such a Messenger,
As shall reuenge his death, before I stirre

Warw. Poore Clifford, how I scorne his worthlesse
Threats

Plant. Will you we shew our Title to the Crowne?
If not, our Swords shall pleade it in the field

Henry. What Title hast thou Traytor to the Crowne?
My Father was as thou art, Duke of Yorke,
Thy Grandfather Roger Mortimer, Earle of March.
I am the Sonne of Henry the Fift,
Who made the Dolphin and the French to stoupe,
And seiz'd vpon their Townes and Prouinces

Warw. Talke not of France, sith thou hast lost it all

Henry. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I:
When I was crown'd, I was but nine moneths old

Rich. You are old enough now,