ill make a voyage to the holy land…
to wash this blood off from my guilty hand
though I did wish him dead…
I hate the murd’rer, love him murdered.
the shadow of your sorrow
hath destroyed the shadow of your face
I thank thee
gentle percy
If that my cousin King be king in England
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster
Bushy, Bagot, and their complices
the caterpillars of the commonwealth
Enter Bolingbroke, York, and Northumberland
with Bushy and Green, prisoners (stage direction)
Royally?
why, it contains no king