| ACT V SCENE VI | Windsor castle. | |
| [
Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
with other Lords, and Attendants
] |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear |
| Is that the rebels have consumed with fire |
| Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; |
| But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. |
[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND] |
| Welcome, my lord what is the news? | 5 |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. |
| The next news is, I have to London sent |
| The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: |
| The manner of their taking may appear |
| At large discoursed in this paper here. | 10 |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; |
| And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. |
| [Enter LORD FITZWATER] |
| LORD FITZWATER | My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London |
| The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, |
| Two of the dangerous consorted traitors | 15 |
| That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; |
| Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. |
| [Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE] |
| HENRY PERCY | The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, |
| With clog of conscience and sour melancholy | 20 |
| Hath yielded up his body to the grave; |
| But here is Carlisle living, to abide |
| Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Carlisle, this is your doom: |
| Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, | 25 |
| More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; |
| So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife: |
| For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, |
| High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. |
| [Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin] |
| EXTON | Great king, within this coffin I present | 30 |
| Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies |
| The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, |
| Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought |
| A deed of slander with thy fatal hand | 35 |
| Upon my head and all this famous land. |
| EXTON | From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | They love not poison that do poison need, |
| Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, |
| I hate the murderer, love him murdered. | 40 |
| The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, |
| But neither my good word nor princely favour: |
| With Cain go wander through shades of night, |
| And never show thy head by day nor light. |
| Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, | 45 |
| That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: |
| Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, |
| And put on sullen black incontinent: |
| I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, |
| To wash this blood off from my guilty hand: | 50 |
| March sadly after; grace my mournings here; |
| In weeping after this untimely bier. |
| [Exeunt] |
