Riv.
Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this^{1 note}:—
To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

Grey.
God bless the prince^{2 note} 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 of your lives is out^{3 note}.

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^{4 note},
We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.

Grey.
Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our heads,
When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I^{5 note},
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

Riv.
Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she Buckingham,
Then curs'd she Hastings^{6 note}:—O, remember, God,
To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!
And for my sister, and her princely sons,
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt!

Rat.
Make haste: the hour of death is expiate^{7 note}.

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

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