The execution of my big-swoln heart
[♦] Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. I slew thy father, call’st thou him a child?
Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
115 As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
[♦] But ere sunset I’ll make thee curse the deed.
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
K. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:
120 I am a king, and privileged to speak.