[♦] Queene. Are you the kyte Bewford, where’s your talants?
Is Suffolke the butcher, where’s his knife?
80 Suffolke. I weare no knife to slaughter sleeping men,
[♦] But heres a vengefull sword rusted with case,
[♦] That shall be scoured in his rankorous heart,
That slanders me with murthers crimson badge,
Say if thou dare, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
85 That I am guiltie in Duke Humphreys death. Exet Cardinall.
War. What dares not Warwicke, if false Suffolke dare him?
Queene. He dares not calme his contumelious spirit,