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The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare
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Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso
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05_06
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1991-04-10
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77 lines
Windsor. A Room in the Castle.
Flourish.
Enter BOLINGBROKE and DUKE OF YORK, with other LORDS and ATTENDANTS.
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.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
Northumberland First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt and Kent.
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursd in this paper here.
Bolingbroke We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains,
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER.
Fitzwater My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Bolingbroke Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter HARRY PERCY with the BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
Harry Percy The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.
Bolingbroke Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So as thou liv'st 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 ATTENDANTS bearing a coffin.
Exton Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
Bolingbroke Exton, I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
Upon my head and all this famous land.
Exton From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
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 murderd.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word nor princely favour.
With Cain go wander through the shades of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
Come, mourn with me for what 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.
March sadly after; grace my mournings here
In weeping after this untimely bier.
[Exeunt.