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Pursuivant:
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The better that your lordship please to ask.
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HASTINGS:
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I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now
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Than when I met thee last where now we meet:
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Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
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By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
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But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--
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This day those enemies are put to death,
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And I in better state than e'er I was.
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Pursuivant:
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God hold it, to your honour's good content!
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HASTINGS:
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Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.
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Pursuivant:
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God save your lordship!
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Priest:
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Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.
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HASTINGS:
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I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
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I am in your debt for your last exercise;
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Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.
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BUCKINGHAM:
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What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?
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Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
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Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.
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HASTINGS:
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Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
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Those men you talk of came into my mind.
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What, go you toward the Tower?
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BUCKINGHAM:
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I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay
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I shall return before your lordship thence.
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HASTINGS:
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'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.
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BUCKINGHAM:
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HASTINGS:
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I'll wait upon your lordship.
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RATCLIFF:
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Come, bring forth the prisoners.
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RIVERS:
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Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
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To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
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For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
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GREY:
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God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
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A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!
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VAUGHAN:
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You live that shall cry woe for this after.
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RATCLIFF:
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Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.
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RIVERS:
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O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
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Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
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Within the guilty closure of thy walls
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Richard the second here was hack'd to death;
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And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
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We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.
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GREY:
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Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
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For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.
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RIVERS:
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Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,
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Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God
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To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
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And for my sister and her princely sons,
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Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
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Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.
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RATCLIFF:
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Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
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RIVERS:
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Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
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And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.
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HASTINGS:
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My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
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Is, to determine of the coronation.
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In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?
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