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 overta'en him in his growth.

York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.
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 remember'd, 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:
'T was 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't were 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.

Enter a Messenger.

Arch. Here comes a messenger: what news?

Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.
Q. Eliz. How doth the prince?

Mess.

Duch. What is thy news?

Well, Madam, and in health.

Mess. Lord Rivers and lord Grey are sent to Pomfret, And with them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

Duch. Who hath committed them?

Mess.

Gloster and Buckingham.

Arch.

The mighty dukes,

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 jet

Upon the innocent and awless throne:
Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!
I see, as in a map, the end of all.

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
How many 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 domestic broils

Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors,
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,
Blood to blood, self against self:-O! preposterous
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;

Or let me die, to look on death no more.

Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary. Madam, farewell.

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.

Go; I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

London. 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' sovereign:

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, the untainted virtue of your years 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 their 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 you all. ·
[Exeunt Mayor, &c.

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

Enter HASTINGS.

Buck. And in good time here comes the sweating lord.
Prince. Welcome, my lord. What! will our mother 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. Fie! what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers. Lord cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York
Unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, lord Hastings, go with him,
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
Can from his mother win the duke of York,

Anon expect him here: but if she be obdurate

To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege

Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land,
Would I be guilty of so great a sin.

Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,

Too ceremonious, and traditional:

Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
The benefit thereof is always granted

To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place,
And those who have the wit to claim the place:
This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it;
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
Then, taking him from thence, that is not there,
You break no privilege nor charter there.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men,

But sanctuary children, ne'er till now.

Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Come on, lord Hastings; will you go with me?

Hast. I go, my lord.

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. -
[Exeunt Cardinal and HASTINGS.

Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come,
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self.
If I may counsel you, some day, or two,

Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:

Then, where you please, and shall be thought most fit
For your best health and recreation.

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place.

Did Julius Cæsar build that place,

my ford?

Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place, Which, since, succeeding ages have re-cdified.

Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it?

Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord.

Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
Methinks, the truth should live from age to age,
As 't were retail'd to all posterity,

Even to the general all-ending day.

Glo. So wise so young, they say, do never live long. [Aside.

Prince. What say you,

uncle?

Glo. I say without characters fame lives long. Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity,

I moralize two meanings in one word.

Prince. That Julius Cæsar was a famous man:

With what his valour did enrich his wit,
His wit set down to make his valour live:
Death makes no conquest of his conqueror,
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham.
Buck. What, my gracious lord?
Prince. An if I live until I be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again,
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king.

Glo. Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

[Aside.

[Aside.