_Richard_.--Oh! I must speak of them:
They now will wander weeping in their chamber,
Or from their window through the darkness gaze,
And stretch their hands and sigh towards the camp;
Then, when the red east breaks the night away--
Ah! what a sight will meet their eyes, my brother!

_Henry_.--My brother! oh my brother!

_Enter_ FRIAR.

_Guard_.--Who would pass here?

_Friar_.--A friend! a friend!--a messenger of mercy!

_Guard_.--Nay, wert thou mercy's self, you cannot pass.

_Friar_.--Refuse ye, then, your prisoners their confessor?

_Guard_.--Approach not, or ye die!

_Friar_.--Would ye stretch forth your hand 'gainst Heaven's
anointed?

_Guard_.--Ay! 'gainst the Pope himself, if he should thwart
me.

_Friar_.--Mercy ye have not, neither shall ye find it.

_[Springs forward and stabs him_--_approaches_ RICHARD