Hen. I and for much more slaughter after this.
O God forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee. He dies.
50 Glo. What? will the aspiring bloud of Lancaster
[♦] Sinke into the ground, I had thought it would haue mounted,
See how my sword weepes for the poore kings death.
[♦] Now maie such purple teares be alwaies shed,
For such as seeke the downefall of our house.
[55] If anie sparke of life remaine in thee, Stab him againe.
Downe, downe to hell, and saie I sent thee thither.
I that haue neither pittie, loue nor feare.