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. 

 KING HENRY. 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

 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. 

 KING HENRY. 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. 

 KING HENRY. 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. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander thorough 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.]

 

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