WARWICK
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father’s head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let this supply the room:
Measure for measure must be answered.
EDWARD
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
May 15, 2009 at 9:12 pm |
[...] Henry 6: “nothing sung but death to us and ours” (2.6.52-59). “Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease, where having nothing nothing can he lose.” [...]