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3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on

their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth: All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear: You cannot reason almost? with a man That looks not heavily, and full of dread.

3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so: By a divine instínct, men's minds mistrust Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see The water swell before a boist'rous storm. But leave it all to God. Whither away?

2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 3 Cit. And so was I; I'll bear you company.



The same.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter the Archbishop of York, the young Duke of

York, Queen ELIZABETH, and the Duchess of
Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Strat-

And at Northampton they do rest to-night:
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince; I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him.

Q. Eliz. But I hear, no; they say, my son of York Hath almost over-ta'en him in his growth.

York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.

• You cannot reason almost -] To reason, is to converse.

Duch. Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.

York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster,
Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste.
Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did

not hold
In him that did object the same to thee:
He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young,
So long a growing, and so leisurely,
That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.

Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam.
Duch. I hope, he is; but yet let mothers doubt.
York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remem-

I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine.
Duch. How, my young York? I pr’ythee, let me

hear it.
York. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast,
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old;
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

Duch. I pr’ythee, pretty York, who told thee this?
York. Grandam, his nurse.
Duch. His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou

wast born.
York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.
Q. Eliz. A parlous boy:* Go to, you are too

shrewd. Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears.

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-been remember'd,] To be remiembered is, in Shakspeare, to have one's memory quick, to have one's thoughts about one.

A parlous boy:] Parlous is keen, shrewd.

Enter a Messenger.

Here comes a messenger: What news?

Mess. Such news, my lord,
As grieves me to unfold.
Q. Eliz.

How doth the prince?
Mess. Well, madam, and in health.

What is thy news? Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to

With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

Duch. Who hath committed them?

The mighty dukes,
Gloster and Buckingham.
Q. Eliz.

For what offence?
Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd;
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed,
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house!
The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;
Insulting tyranny begins to jut
Upon the innocent and awless* throne: -
Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre !
see, as in a map, the end of all.

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days!
of you have mine eyes

beheld ? My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were tost, For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss: And being seated, and domestick broils Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, Make war upon themselves; brother to brother, Blood to blood, self 'gainst self:-0, preposterous

- awless ---] Not producing awe, nor reverenced. To jut upon is to encroach.

And frantick courage, end thy damned spleen;
Or let me die, to look on death no more!
Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc-

tuary:Madam, farewell. Duch.

Stay, I will


Q. Eliz. You have no cause.

My gracious lady, go,

[To the Queen. And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The seal I keep; And so betide to me, As well I tender you, and all of yours ! Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt.


SCENE I. The same. A Street.


The Trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales,

GLOSTER, BUCKINGHAM, Cardinal BOURCHIER, and Others. Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your

chamber. Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove

reign: The weary way hath made you melancholy.

Prince. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy: I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Glo. Sweet prince, theuntainted virtue of your years

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to your chamber.] London was anciently called Camera regis. This title it began to have immediately after the Norman conquest.

Hath not yet div’d into the world's deceit:
No more can you distinguish of a man,
Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous;
Your grace attended to the sugar'd words,
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts:
God keep you from them, and from such false friends!

Prince. God keep me from false friends! but they

were none.

Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to

greet you.

Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. May. God bless your grace with health and happy

days! Prince. I thank you, good my lord;—and thank

Exeunt Mayor, &c. I thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way: Fye, what a slug is Hastings ! that he comes not To tell us, whether they will come, or no.

you all.

Enter HASTINGS. Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweating

lord. Prince. Welcome, my lord: What, will our mo

ther come? Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary: The tender prince Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld.

Buck. Fye! what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers?--Lord cardinal, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the duke of York

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