That faultlesse may condemne a Noble man:
Pray God he may acquit him of suspition

King. I thanke thee Nell, these wordes content mee
much.
Enter Suffolke.

How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our Vnckle? what's the matter, Suffolke?
Suff. Dead in his Bed, my Lord: Gloster is dead

Queene. Marry God forfend

Card. Gods secret Iudgement: I did dreame to Night,
The Duke was dumbe, and could not speake a word.

King sounds.

Qu. How fares my Lord? Helpe Lords, the King is
dead

Som. Rere vp his Body, wring him by the Nose

Qu. Runne, goe, helpe, helpe: Oh Henry ope thine eyes

Suff. He doth reuiue againe, Madame be patient

King. Oh Heauenly God

Qu. How fares my gracious Lord?