Good father staie you with the rude multitude, till I returne.
Salb. I will sonne. Exet Salbury. Warwicke drawes the curtaines and showes Duke Humphrey in his bed.
50 King. Ah vnkle Gloster, heauen receive thy soule.
Farewell poore Henries ioy, now thou art gone.
War. Now by his soule that tooke our shape vpon him,
To free vs from his fathers dreadfull curse,
I am resolu’d that violent hands were laid,
[55] Vpon the life of this thrise famous Duke.
[♦] Suffolk. A dreadfull oth sworne with a solemne toong,
What instance giues Lord Warwicke for these words?