’Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she
[65] That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
[♦] Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
[♦] That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
[♦] From whence this present day he is deliver’d?
70 We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
[♦] Clar. By heaven, I think there’s no man is secure
But the queen’s kindred and night-walking heralds