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Enter Exton and Servants. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude affault? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's inftrument; [Snatching a Sword from one of the Servants kills him. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [Kills another. [Exton ftrikes bim down. That hand shall burn in neverer-quenching fire, That ftaggers thus my perfon: thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood ftain'd the King's own land. Mount, mount, my foul! thy feat is up on high, Whilft my grofs flesh finks downward, here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood; Both have I fpilt: Oh, would the deed were good! For now the devil that told me I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the living King I'll bear;

Take hence the reft, and give them burial here. [Exeun SCENE XIII. The Court at Windfor. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords and Attendants.

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear,
Is that the rebels have confum'd with fire
Our town of Cicefter in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or flain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome, my Lord: what is the news?

North. First to thy facred state with I all happiness
The next news is, I have to London fent

The heads of Sal'sbury, Spencer, Blunt and Kent &
The manner of their taking may appear
At large difcourfed in this paper here. [Prefenting a paper«.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains,
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitz-water.

Fitzw. My Lord, I have from Oxford fent to London
The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous conforted traitors,
That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitz-water, fhall not be forgot,
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter

Enter Percy and the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand confpirator Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of confcience, and four melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave:
But here is Carlife, living to abide
Thy kingly doom, and fentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlife, this is your doom:
Chufe out fome fecret place, fome reverend room
More than thou haft, and with it 'joy thy life
So as thou liv'ft in peace, die free from ftrife,
For though mine enemy thou haft ever been,
High fparks of honour in thee I have seen.
Enter Exton with a coffin.

;

Exton. Great King, within this coffin I prefent
Thy bury'd fear. Herein all breathless lyes
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou haft wrought A deed of flander with thy fatal hand,

Upon my head, and all this famous land.

1

Exton. From your own mouth, my Lord, did I this deed.
Boling. They love not poifon, that do poifon need;
Nor do I thee, though I did with him dead;
I hate the murth'rer, love him murthered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour.
With Cain go wander through the fhade of night,
And never thew thy head by day, or light.
Lords, I proteft my foul is full of woe,

That blood fhould fprinkle me, to make me grow.
Come mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on fullen black incontinent :
I'll make a voyage to the Holy-land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March fadly after, grace my mourning here,
In weeping over this untimely bier.

[Exeunt omnes,

The End of the FOURTH VOLUME.

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