SCENE VI.

Windfor. A Room in the Caftle.

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

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear,

Is that the rebels have confum'd with fire

Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ;

But whether they be ta'en, or flain, we hear not.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?

North. First, to thy facred state wish I all happiness. The next news is,-I have to London fent

The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear

At large difcourfed in this paper here. [Presenting a paper.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter FITZWATER.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford fent to London
The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous conforted traitors,
That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

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

Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of Carlisie.

Percy. The grand confpirator, abbot of Weftininfter, With clog of confcience, and four melancholy,

Hath yielded up his body to the grave;

But here is Carlisle living, to abide

Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :-

Choose out fome fecret place, fome reverend room,
More than thou haft, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'ft in peace, die free from ftrife:
For though mine enemy thou haft ever been,
High fparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I prefent
Thy buried fear: herein all breathlefs lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou haft wrought A deed of flander, with thy fatal hand,

Upon my head, and all this famous land.

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poifon need, Nor do I thee; though I did with him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of confcience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.Lords, I proteft, my foul 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 fullen black incontinent;

I'll make a voyage to the Holy land,

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :-
March fadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier.

[Exeunt.