SCENE VI. Windsor castle. The Life and Death of Richard the Second  Shakespeare homepage  |  Richard II  | Act 5, Scene 6 

 Previous scene  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 