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To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;
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And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,
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Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.
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BUCKINGHAM:
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Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.
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CATESBY:
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My good lords both, with all the heed I may.
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GLOUCESTER:
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Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?
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CATESBY:
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You shall, my lord.
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GLOUCESTER:
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At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.
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BUCKINGHAM:
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Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive
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Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?
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GLOUCESTER:
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Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:
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And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
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The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
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Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.
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BUCKINGHAM:
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I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.
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GLOUCESTER:
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And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
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Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
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We may digest our complots in some form.
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Messenger:
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What, ho! my lord!
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HASTINGS:
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Messenger:
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A messenger from the Lord Stanley.
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HASTINGS:
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What is't o'clock?
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Messenger:
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Upon the stroke of four.
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HASTINGS:
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Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?
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Messenger:
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So it should seem by that I have to say.
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First, he commends him to your noble lordship.
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HASTINGS:
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And then?
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Messenger:
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And then he sends you word
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He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:
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Besides, he says there are two councils held;
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And that may be determined at the one
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which may make you and him to rue at the other.
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Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,
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If presently you will take horse with him,
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And with all speed post with him toward the north,
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To shun the danger that his soul divines.
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HASTINGS:
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Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
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Bid him not fear the separated councils
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His honour and myself are at the one,
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And at the other is my servant Catesby
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Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
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Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
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Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:
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And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
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To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers
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To fly the boar before the boar pursues,
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Were to incense the boar to follow us
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And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
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Go, bid thy master rise and come to me
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And we will both together to the Tower,
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Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.
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Messenger:
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My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.
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CATESBY:
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Many good morrows to my noble lord!
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HASTINGS:
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Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring
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What news, what news, in this our tottering state?
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CATESBY:
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