York.
Your Grief, for this ill-fated Duke, transports you
Beyond the Bounds of Prudence.

Warw.
Fear it not.—
Though, for a Vengeance, horrid as the Deed,
I could grow desperate!—Could delight to torture—

York.
What Evidence?—That You, so boldly venture
To charge the Cardinal!

Warw.
My Father bade me do it.
'Tis Beaufort's Guilt, he said:—Make haste, my Son!
Divulge it to the People!—Cry, Bloody Beaufort!—
And leave the Proof, in Parliament, to Me.

York.
Inhuman Cardinal!—

Warw.
But, see;—my Father.

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