Bull. Goe some of you, conuey him to the Tower
Rich. Oh good: conuey: Conueyers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true Kings fall
Bull. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set downe
Our Coronation: Lords, prepare your selues.
Exeunt.
Abbot. A wofull Pageant haue we here beheld
Carl. The Woes to come, the Children yet vnborne,
Shall feele this day as sharpe to them as Thorne
Aum. You holy Clergie-men, is there no Plot
To rid the Realme of this pernicious Blot
Abbot. Before I freely speake my minde herein,
You shall not onely take the Sacrament,
To bury mine intents, but also to effect
What euer I shall happen to deuise.
I see your Browes are full of Discontent,
Your Heart of Sorrow, and your Eyes of Teares.
Come home with me to Supper, Ile lay a Plot
Shall shew vs all a merry day.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.