Groo. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall
say.
Enter.
Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall too?
Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo
Keep. My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary
Rich. The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee;
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it
Keep. Helpe, helpe, helpe.
Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ri. How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt?
Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,
Go thou and fill another roome in hell.
Exton strikes him downe.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand,
Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land.
Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high,
Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye
Exton. As full of Valor, as of Royall blood,
Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good.
For now the diuell, that told me I did well,
Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell.
This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,
Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere.
Enter.
Scoena Quinta.