I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father’s head, which Clifford placed there;
[♦] Instead whereof let this supply the room:
55 Measure for measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
[♦] And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[60] War. I think his understanding is bereft.