Sta. They, for their truth, might better wear their Heads, Then some that haue accus'd them, weare their Hats. But come, my Lord, let's away. Enter a Pursuiuant.
Hast. Goe on before, Ile talke with this good fellow.
Exit Lord Stanley, and Catesby.
How now, Sirrha? how goes the World with thee? Purs. The better, that your Lordship please to aske
Hast. I tell thee man, 'tis better with me now, Then when thou met'st me last, where now we meet: Then was I going Prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the Queenes Allyes. But now I tell thee (keepe it to thy selfe) This day those Enemies are put to death, And I in better state then ere I was
Purs. God hold it, to your Honors good content
Hast. Gramercie fellow: there, drinke that for me.
Throwes him his Purse.
Purs. I thanke your Honor.
Exit Pursuiuant.
Enter a Priest.
Priest. Well met, my Lord, I am glad to see your Honor
Hast. I thanke thee, good Sir Iohn, with all my heart. I am in your debt, for your last Exercise: Come the next Sabboth, and I will content you
Priest. Ile wait vpon your Lordship. Enter Buckingham.
Buc. What, talking with a Priest, Lord Chamberlaine? Your friends at Pomfret, they doe need the Priest, Your Honor hath no shriuing worke in hand
Hast. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, The men you talke of, came into my minde. What, goe you toward the Tower? Buc. I doe, my Lord, but long I cannot stay there: I shall returne before your Lordship, thence
Hast. Nay like enough, for I stay Dinner there
Buc. And Supper too, although thou know'st it not. Come, will you goe? Hast. Ile wait vpon your Lordship.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe, with Halberds, carrying the Nobles to death at Pomfret.
Riuers. Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this, To day shalt thou behold a Subiect die, For Truth, for Dutie, and for Loyaltie
Grey. God blesse the Prince from all the Pack of you, A Knot you are, of damned Blood-suckers
Vaugh. You liue, that shall cry woe for this heereafter
Rat. Dispatch, the limit of your Liues is out
Riuers. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody Prison! Fatall and ominous to Noble Peeres: Within the guiltie Closure of thy Walls, Richard the Second here was hackt to death: And for more slander to thy dismall Seat, Wee giue to thee our guiltlesse blood to drinke
Grey. Now Margarets Curse is falne vpon our Heads, When shee exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, For standing by, when Richard stab'd her Sonne
Riuers. Then curs'd shee Richard, Then curs'd shee Buckingham, Then curs'd shee Hastings. Oh remember God, To heare her prayer for them, as now for vs: And for my Sister, and her Princely Sonnes, Be satisfy'd, deare God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know'st, vniustly must be spilt
Rat. Make haste, the houre of death is expiate
Riuers. Come Grey, come Vaughan, let vs here embrace. Farewell, vntill we meet againe in Heauen.
Exeunt.