_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._