Rat.
Come, bring forth the prisoners^{9 note}.

Riv.
Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,—
To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die,
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

Grey.
God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.

Vaugh.
You live, that shall cry woe for this hereafter.

Rat.
Despatch; the limit^{1 note} of your lives is out.

Riv.
O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
Within the guilty closure of thy walls,
Richard the second here was hack'd to death:
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.

Grey.
Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our heads,
When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

Riv.
Then curs'd she Hastings, then curs'd she Buckingham,
Then curs'd she Richard:—O, remember, God,
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us!
And for my sister, and her princely sons,—
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods,
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt!

Rat.
Make haste, the hour of death is expiate^{2 note}

Riv.
Come, Grey,—come, Vaughan,—let us here embrace:
Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section