’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
[♦] What, is he in his bed?
[♦] Hast. He is.
Glou. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Hastings
145 He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
[♦] Till George be pack’d with post-horse up to heaven.
I’ll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
[♦] With lies well steel’d with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
150 Clarence hath not another day to live: