Rich. Nay, he is dead, and slaine by Edwards hands

An. In thy foule throat thou Ly'st,
Queene Margaret saw
Thy murd'rous Faulchion smoaking in his blood:
The which, thou once didd'st bend against her brest,
But that thy Brothers beate aside the point

Rich. I was prouoked by her sland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt, vpon my guiltlesse Shoulders

An. Thou was't prouoked by thy bloody minde,
That neuer dream'st on ought but Butcheries:
Did'st thou not kill this King?
Rich. I graunt ye

An. Do'st grant me Hedge-hogge,
Then God graunt me too
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deede,
O he was gentle, milde, and vertuous

Rich. The better for the King of heauen that hath him

An. He is in heauen, where thou shalt neuer come

Rich. Let him thanke me, that holpe to send him thither:
For he was fitter for that place then earth

An. And thou vnfit for any place, but hell