Bristol. BOLINGBROKE'S Camp. |
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Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, HENRY PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, ROSS; Officers behind, with BUSHY and GREEN prisoners. |
Boling. Bring forth these men. |
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls— |
Since presently your souls must part your bodies— |
With too much urging your pernicious lives, |
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood |
From off my hands, here in the view of men |
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. |
You have misled a prince, a royal king, |
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, |
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean: |
You have in manner with your sinful hours |
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, |
Broke the possession of a royal bed, |
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks |
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. |
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, |
Near to the king in blood, and near in love |
Till you did make him misinterpret me, |
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, |
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, |
Eating the bitter bread of banishment; |
Whilst you have fed upon my signories, |
Dispark'd my parks, and felled my forest woods, |
From mine own windows torn my household coat, |
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, |
Save men's opinions and my living blood, |
To show the world I am a gentleman. |
This and much more, much more than twice all this, |
Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over |
To execution and the hand of death. |
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me |
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. |
Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls |
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. |
Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and Others, with BUSHY and GREEN. |
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; |
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: |
Tell her I send to her my kind commends; |
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. |
York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd |
With letters of your love to her at large. |
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, |
To fight with Glendower and his complices: |
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. |
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