Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again.
[♦] Glou. Stay, stay, I say!
[♦] And if you love me, as you say you do,
105 Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
King. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
[110] Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?