SCENE V.

_Enter_ VORTIGERN, _with Guards, as having viewed the dead body of the King behind the scenes_.

_Vor._ O! this preposterous and inhuman act, Doth stir up pity in the blackest hell. Heav’n’s aspect did foretell some ill this night; For each dread shrieking minister of darkness Did chatter forth his rude and dismal song, While bellowing thunder shook the troubled earth, “And the livid and flaky lightning, “Widely burst ope each crack in heav’n’s high portal.” Have ye the traitor seiz’d? Is he yet dead?

_Off._ Hard by, my lord, he lies reeking in’s blood! Despair and horror master’d each man’s breast; The attempt to check their rage would have been useless, His body is become one gaping wound.

_Vor._ O! my good friends, would ye had spar’d his life, And that your zeal had been more temperate! For, by the workings of my soul, I find This was the instrument, but not the head.

_Off._ Name him you deem the murderer, good my lord!

_Vor._ Be silent, and mark well, that I shall say: The Scots, you know, bear us fell enmity: Many of rank do tarry in our court; On them the guilt of this foul murder rests. I pray you, instantly despatch the guard, And seize each Scotsman ye shall chance to meet. I will go summon all the lords to council, And well consider that ’twere best to do.

[_Exeunt._