75 Begun through malice of the bishop’s men. [A noise again, ‘Stones! stones!’
Enter Mayor.
[♦] May. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
[♦] Pity the city of London, pity us!
[♦] The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester’s men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
[80] Have fill’d their pockets full of pebble stones
[♦] And banding themselves in contrary parts
[♦] Do pelt so fast at one another’s pate
That many have their giddy brains knock’d out: