Re-enter Glo’ster and Buckingham.
‘Glo’ster.—I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail’d
Upon my body with their hellish charms?
Hastings.—The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
To doom the offenders: whosoe’er they be,
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
Glo’ster.—Then be your eyes the witness of their evil;