Ere ye be cursèd.
Bam. He seemeth distracted.
Lord. This curse doth lie full heavy of a truth.
Damn that Pope, if I but get to Rome
There’ll be two Popes. I’ll slice him i’ the middle.
Yea, I’ll create a fleshy schism ’twill bother
These damned, lewd priests to reckon.
Bam. My Lord, great Henry, hearken to thy friend,
’Tis Bamburg, he who loved thee as a child.
Dost know me?