2794Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,

2795Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fire

2796Our Towne of Ciceter in Gloucestershire,

2797But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not.

2799Welcome my Lord: What is the newes?

2800Nor. First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse:

2801The next newes is, I haue to London sent

2802The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:

2803The manner of their taking may appeare

2804At large discoursed in this paper heere.

2805Bul. We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines,

2806And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines.

2808Fitz. My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,

2809The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely,

2810Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors,

2811That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow.

2812Bul. Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot,

2813Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot.

2815Per. The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,

2816With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly,

2817Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue:

2818But heere is Carlile, liuing to abide

2819Thy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride.

2820Bul. Carlile, this is your doome:

2821Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roome

2822More then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life:

2823So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife:

2824For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene,

2825High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene.

2827Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I present

2828Thy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse lies

2829The mightiest of thy greatest enemies

2830Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought.

2831Bul. Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wrought

2832A deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand,

2833Vpon my head, and all this famous Land.

2834Ex. From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed.

2835Bul. They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede,

2836Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,

2837I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered.

2838The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,

2839But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour.

2840With Caine go wander through the shade of night,

2841And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light.

2842Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,

2843That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.

2844Come mourne with me, for that I do lament,

2845And put on sullen Blacke incontinent:

2846Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land,

2847To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.

2848March sadly after, grace my mourning heere,

2849In weeping after this vntimely Beere. Exeunt.