[♦] Buck. Hastings, and Edward’s children, Rivers, Grey,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
5 Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction!
[10] This is All-Souls’ day, fellows, is it not?
[♦] Sher. It is, my lord.
[♦] Buck. Why, then All-Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday.