Lord Lovell

Hastings
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Come, lead me to the block.
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Lovell
Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
Richard
So dear I loved the man that I must weep.
I took him for the plainest harmless creature
That breathed upon the Earth a Christian;
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
The history of all her secret thoughts.
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