And by their friendship much content will grow. 
Sink, earth to earth; fade, flower ordain’d to fade,
But pass forth, soul, unto the shrine of peace;
Beg there atonement may be quickly made. 
Fair queen, kind Oxford, all good you attend. 
Fly forth, lay soul, heaven’s King be there thy friend.
          
                                      [Dies.

OX.  O pity-moving sight![361] age pitiless! 
Are these the messages King John doth send? 
Keep in, my tears, for shame! your conduits keep,
Sad woe-beholding eyes:  no, will ye not? 
Why, then, a God’s name, weep. [Sit.

QUEEN.  I cannot weep for ruth.[362] Here, here! take in
The blessed body of this noble maid: 
In milk-white clothing let the same be laid
Upon an open bier, that all may see
King John’s untimely lust and cruelty.

[Exeunt with the body.

OX.  Ay, be it so; yourself, if so you please,
Will I attend upon, and both us wait
On chaste Matilda’s body, which with speed
To Windsor Castle we will hence convey. 
There is another spectacle of ruth,
Old Bruce’s famish’d lady and her son.

QUEEN.  There is the king besieging of young Bruce: 
His lords are there who, when they see this sight,
I know will have small heart for John to fight.

OX.  But where’s the murderer, ha? is not he stay’d?

SER.[363] Borne with a violent rage he climb’d a tree,
And none of us could hinder his intent;
But getting to the top-boughs, fast he tied
His garters to his neck and a weak branch;
Which being unable to sustain his weight,
Down to the ground he fell, where bones and flesh
Lie pash’d[364] together in a pool of blood.

OX.  Alas for woe! but this is just heaven’s doom
On those that live by blood:  in blood they die. 
Make[365] an example of it, honest friends: 
Do well, take pains, beware of cruelty. 
Come, madam, come:  to Windsor let us go,
And there to Bruce’s grief add greater woe.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter BRUCE upon the walls.

BRUCE.  Will not my bitter bannings[366] and sad plaints,
My just and execrable execrations,
My tears, my prayers, my pity-moving moans
Prevail, thou glorious bright lamp of the day,
To cause thee keep an obit for their souls,
And dwell one month with the Antipodes? 
Bright sun, retire; gild not this vault of death
With thy illustrate rays:  retire, retire,
And yield black night thy empery awhile—­
A little while, till as my tears be spent,
My blood be likewise shed in raining drops
By the tempestuous rage of tyrant John. 
Learn of thy love, the morning:  she hath wept
Shower upon shower of silver-dewy tears;
High trees, low plants, and pretty little flowers
Witness her woe:  on them her grief appears,