ACT 5, SCENE 6: Windsor castle.

Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, with other Lords, and Attendants.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.
Welcome, my lord: what is the news?                                                 [5]

NORTHUMBERLAND: First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.                                                  [10]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.


LORD FITZWATER: My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors                                              [15]
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.


HENRY PERCY: The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy                                    [20]
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,                        [25]
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin.

EXTON: Great king, within this coffin I present                                             [30]
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand                                                   [35]
Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON: From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE: They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.                                           [40]
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander through shades of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,                                                 [45]
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent:
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:                                      [50]
March sadly after; grace my mournings here;
In weeping after this untimely bier.


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