Act 5, Scene 6: Windsor castle

SCENE VI. Windsor castle.

    Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK, with other Lords, and Attendants

HENRY 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 Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:
    The manner of their taking may appear
    At large discoursed in this paper here.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

    We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
    And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

    Enter LORD FITZWATER

LORD 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.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

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

    Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE

HENRY 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.

HENRY 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 livest 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 persons 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.

HENRY 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.

HENRY 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 murdered.
    The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
    But neither my good word nor princely favour:
    With Cain go wander through 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 that 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