Page:Richard II (1921) Yale.djvu/96

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Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. My lord,

Before I freely speak my mind herein,

You shall not only take the sacrament

To bury mine intents, but also to effect

Whatever I shall happen to devise.

I see your brows are full of discontent,

Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears:

Come home with me to supper; I will lay

A plot shall show us all a merry day.

Exeunt.

 

Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord

Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth

Have any resting for her true king's queen.

But soft, but see, or rather do not see,

My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,

That you in pity may dissolve to dew,

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.

 329 bury: conceal

intents: designs  2 ill-erected: built under evil auspices

tower: the Tower of London

