What wilt thou do, renowned Falconbridge?

       Second a villain and a murderer?

       HUBERT.

       Lord Bigot, I am none.

       BIGOT.

       Who kill’d this prince?

       HUBERT.

       ‘Tis not an hour since I left him well:

       I honour’d him, I lov’d him, and will weep

       My date of life out for his sweet life’s loss.

       SALISBURY.

       Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,

       For villainy is not without such rheum;

       And he, long traded in it, makes it seem

       Like rivers of remorse and innocency.

       Away with me, all you whose souls abhor

       Th’ uncleanly savours of a slaughterhouse;

       For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

       BIGOT.

       Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

       PEMBROKE.

       There tell the king he may inquire us out.

       [Exeunt LORDS.]

       BASTARD.

       Here’s a good world!—Knew you of this fair work?

       Beyond the infinite and boundless reach

       Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,

       Art thou damn’d, Hubert.

       HUBERT.

       Do but hear me, sir.

       BASTARD.

       Ha! I’ll tell thee what;

       Thou’rt damn’d as black—nay, nothing is so black;

       Thou art more deep damn’d than Prince Lucifer:

       There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell

       As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

       HUBERT.

       Upon my soul,—

       BASTARD.

       If thou didst but consent

       To this most cruel act, do but despair;

       And if thou want’st a cord, the smallest thread

       That ever spider twisted from her womb

       Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam

       To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,

       Put but a little water in a spoon

       And it shall be as all the ocean,

       Enough to stifle such a villain up.

       I do suspect thee very grievously.

       HUBERT.

       If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,

       Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath

       Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,

       Let hell want pains enough to torture me!

       I left him well.

       BASTARD.

       Go, bear him in thine arms.—

       I am amaz’d, methinks, and lose my way

       Among the thorns and dangers of this world.—

       How easy dost thou take all England up!

       From forth this morsel of dead royalty,

       The life, the right, and truth of all this realm

       Is fled to heaven; and England now is left

       To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth

       The unow’d interest of proud-swelling state.

       Now for the bare-pick’d bone of majesty

       Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,

       And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:

       Now powers from home and discontents at home

       Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,

       As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,

       The imminent decay of wrested pomp.

       Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can

       Hold out this tempest.—Bear away that child,

       And follow me with speed: I’ll to the king;

       A thousand businesses are brief in hand,

       And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

       [Exeunt.]