I'll wear my own. [Hangs dagger at his belt]
Now is the earl of Kent
A murderer. How feels it with you, sir?
[Enter officers and attendants]
Officer. My lord of Kent, you are our prisoner.
Kent. By whose command?
Off. The king's.
Kent. O, April heart,
Dost think 'twill ne'er be winter? What the crime?
Off. You're charged, on pain of death, to show the son