War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
[♦] Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
[10] Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
O, torture me no more! I will confess.
Alive again? then show me where he is:
I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
15 Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.