He threw his wounded arm, and kiss’d his lips;
And so espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc’d
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp’d;
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.
Re-enter English Herald and Trumpeter, R.H.
K. Hen.