He waft his hand to me and cride aloud:
Richard, commend me to my valiant sonne,
And still he cride Warwike revenge my death,
[♦] And with those words he tumbled off his horse,
25 And so the noble Salsbury gave vp the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with his bloud,
Ile kill my horse because I will not flie:
And here to God of heauen I make a vow,
Neuer to passe from forth this bloudy field
30 Till I am full reuenged for his death.