Chapter 9

Enter_ HENRY _and_ RICHARD, _fettered and guarded_.

_Henry_.--Would it were morning, and the hour were come. For still my heart misgives me, lest our parents Do, in fond weakness, save us by dishonour!

_Richard_.--Rather than purchase life at such a price, And have my father sell his faith for me, And sell his country, I would rather thou, My brother in my birth and in my death, Should be my executioner! We know them better!

_Henry_.--Now I seem old and weary of this life, So joy I in our death for Scotland's sake; For this death will so wed us to our country, We shall be old in years to all posterity! And it will place a blot on Edward's name, That time may blacken, but can ne'er efface.

_Richard_.--My heart, too, beats as light as if tomorrow Had been, by young love, destined for my bridal; Yet oft a tear comes stealing down my cheek, When I do think me of our _mother_, Henry!

_Henry_.--Oh speak not of our parents! or my heart Will burst ere morning, and from the tyrant rob His well-earned infamy.

_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 _and_ HENRY, _and unbinds their fetters_.

_Friar_.--In chains as criminals! Ye are free, but speak not.

_Richard_.--Here, holy father, let me kneel to thank thee.

_Henry_.--And let me hear but my deliverer's name, That my first prayer may waft it to the skies.

_Friar_.--Kneel not, nor thank me here. There's need of neither; But be ye silent, for the ground has ears; Nor let it hear your footsteps.

_[He approaches the fire; kindles a torch and fires the camp_.

_Henry_.--Behold, my brother, he has fired the camp! Already see the flames ascend around him.

_Friar_.--Now! now, my country! here thou art avenged! Fly with me to the beach! pursuit is vain! Thou, Heaven, hast heard me! thou art merciful! _[Exit_.