Not to-day, O Lord

"Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new: And on it have bestowed more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood: Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their withered hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon."

Henry V., act iv., sc. 1.