I am too meane a subiect for thy Wrath,
Be thou reueng'd on men, and let me liue

Clifford. In vaine thou speak'st, poore Boy:
My Fathers blood hath stopt the passage
Where thy words should enter

Rutland. Then let my Fathers blood open it againe,
He is a man, and Clifford cope with him

Clifford. Had I thy Brethren here, their liues and thine
Were not reuenge sufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd vp thy fore-fathers Graues,
And hung their rotten Coffins vp in Chaynes,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the House of Yorke,
Is as a furie to torment my Soule:
And till I root out their accursed Line,
And leaue not one aliue, I liue in Hell.
Therefore-
Rutland. Oh let me pray, before I take my death:
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford pitty me

Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords

Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay
me?
Clifford. Thy Father hath

Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne.