As deathsmen you haue rid this sweet yong Prince
King. Away with her, go beare her hence perforce
Qu. Nay, neuer beare me hence, dispatch me heere:
Here sheath thy Sword, Ile pardon thee my death:
What? wilt thou not? Then Clarence do it thou
Cla. By heauen, I will not do thee so much ease
Qu. Good Clarence do: sweet Clarence do thou do it
Cla. Did'st thou not heare me sweare I would not do it?
Qu. I, but thou vsest to forsweare thy selfe.
'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity
What wilt y not? Where is that diuels butcher Richard?
Hard fauor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not heere; Murther is thy Almes-deed:
Petitioners for Blood, thou ne're put'st backe
Ed. Away I say, I charge ye beare her hence,
Qu. So come to you, and yours, as to this Prince.
Exit Queene.
Ed. Where's Richard gone
Cla. To London all in post, and as I guesse,
To make a bloody Supper in the Tower
Ed. He's sodaine if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence, discharge the common sort
With Pay and Thankes, and let's away to London,
And see our gentle Queene how well she fares,
By this (I hope) she hath a Sonne for me.
Enter.
Enter Henry the sixt, and Richard, with the Lieutenant on the
Walles.
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