KING.  Chester and Mowbray, march away to Windsor: 
Suppress that traitor Bruce.  What, if his dam
In wilful fury would receive no meat,
Nor suffer her young child any to eat,
Is it our fault? haste ye with speed away,
And we will follow.  Go; begone, I pray.

[Exeunt CHESTER, MOWBRAY.

HUB.  O black and woful deed!  O piteous thing,
When slaves attend the fierce thoughts of a king.

LEI.  My lord, shall we go too?

KING.  Leicester and Richmond, ay, I pray ye, do.

LEI.  Get I my bear and ragged staff once more
Rais’d in the field, for these wrongs some shall roar.

[Exeunt RICHMOND, LEICESTER.

KING.  Fetch in the monk of Bury, that I talk’d of,
                      [Exeunt HUBERT for the MONK. 
And bid Will Brand, my instrument of death,
Come likewise in.  Convert to raging hate

Enter MONK, HUBERT, BRAND.

My long-resisted love! welcome, good monk.

MONK.  Thanks to my liege.

KING.  Thou hast been long in suit
To be installed abbot of your house,
And in your favour many friends have stirr’d. 
Now is the hour that you shall be preferr’d
Upon condition—­and the matter small. 
Short shrift to make, good honest confessor,
I love a fair nun, now in Dunmow Abbey: 
The abbess loves you, and you pleasure her;
Now, if between you two this pretty lady
Could be persuaded to affect a king,
Your suit is granted, and on Dunmow Abbey
I will bestow a hundred marks a year.

MONK.  A holy nun! a young nun! and a lady! 
Dear wear, my lord; yet bid you well as may be. 
Strike hands; a bargain:  she shall be your own,
Or if she will not—­

KING.  Nay, if she do refuse,
I’ll send a death’s man with you; this is he. 
If she be wilful, leave her to his hands,
And on her own head be her hasted end.

MONK.  The matter shall be done.

KING.  Sirrah, what poisons have you ready?

BRAND.  Store, store.

KING.  Wait on the monk, then, and ere we take horse,
I’ll give you such instructions as you need. 
Hubert, repair[343] to Windsor with our host.

[Exeunt KING, MONK, and BRAND.

HUB.  Your tyrannies have lost my love almost,
And yet I cannot choose but love eternally
This wanton king, replete with cruelty. 
O, how are all his princely virtues stain’d
With lust abhorred and lascivious heat
Which, kindling first to fire, now in a flame,
Shows to the whole world clearly his foul shame. 
To quench this flame full many a tide of tears,
Like overflowing-full seas, have been spent;
And many a dry land drunk with human blood;
Yet nothing helps his passions violent: 
Rather they add oil to his raging fire,
Heat to his heat, desire to his desire. 
Somewhat, I fear, is now a-managing,