SCENE XXII.

_Enter_[423] _two_ Murderers, _dragging in the_ CARDINAL.

_Card._ Murder me not; I am a cardinal.

_First Murd._ Wert thou the Pope thou might'st not scape from us.

_Card._ What, will you file your hands with churchmen's blood?

_Sec. Murd._ Shed your blood! O Lord, no! for we intend to strangle you.

_Card._ Then there is no remedy, but I must die?

_First Murd._ No remedy; therefore prepare yourself.

_Card._ Yet lives my brother Duke Dumaine, and many mo, To revenge our deaths upon that cursèd king; Upon whose heart may all the Furies gripe, 10 And with their paws drench his black soul in hell!

_First Murd._ Yours, my Lord Cardinal, you should have said.-- [_They strangle him._ So, pluck amain: He is hard-hearted; therefore pull with violence. Come, take him away. [_Exeunt with the body._