King. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life!
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
140 For judgement only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
[♦] With twenty thousand kisses and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk
145 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: