KING RICHARD II: How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.