Page 2942 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2942
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
CARLISLE
The woe’s to come. The children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
AUMERLE
You holy clergymen, is there no plot [320]
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
ABBOT
My lord,
Before I freely speak my mind herein
You shall not only take the Sacrament
To bury mine intents, but also to effect [325]
Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to supper, I will lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day. [330]
Exeunt.
