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Edward IV Have I a tongue to doom my Brother's death And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My Brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who su'd to me for him? who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, & bid me be advis'd? Who spoke of Brotherhood, who spoke of love? Who told me how the poor youth did forsake The mighty Warwick, & did fight for me? Who told me, in the feild of Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me And said, dear Brother, live, & be a King"! Who told me when we both lay in the feild Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments; and did give himself All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from remembrance, brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. --
