Henry.—My brother! oh my brother!
Enter FRIAR.
Guard.—Who would pass here?
Friar.—A friend! a friend!—a messenger of mercy!
Guard.—Nay, wert thou mercy's self, you cannot pass.
Friar.—Refuse ye, then, your prisoners their confessor?
Guard.—Approach not, or ye die!
Friar.—Would ye stretch forth your hand 'gainst Heaven's anointed?
Guard.—Ay! 'gainst the Pope himself, if he should thwart me.
Friar.—Mercy ye have not, neither shall ye find it.