If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds
Behold the pattern of thy butcheries!
O, Gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells.

Thou was provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries.
Didst thou not kill this King?

Gloucester.⁠I grant thee.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then God grant me too

Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O! he was gentle, mild and virtuous.

Gloucester. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Gloucester. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither,

For he was fitter for that place than earth.