King Edward

’Tis all a trick! but I am ripe for vengeance. Hell rot their flags! my purpose now is vengeance! Lead forth the hostages unto the ramparts, And hang them in the very teeth of Berwick! Let Seton’s son be strung above the rest To rot like carrion in his mother’s face. Let it be done in silence, that their cries, Wafted across the Tweed, may ring i’ their ears Through every future age the wrath of England! Meanwhile, my warriors, Percy, John of Hainault, And gallant D’Arcy, be upon the watch.