So long a-growing and so leisurely,

That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious. Arch. Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.

Duch. I hope so too; 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,

2.I

To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. Duch. How, my pretty York? I pray thee, 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 pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?
York. Grandam, his nurse.

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Duch. His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert 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.

Enter a Messenger.

Arch. Here comes a messenger.

What news?

Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

Q. Eliz. How fares the prince?

Mess.

Well, madam, and in health.

Duch. What is thy news then?

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

Duch. Who hath committed them?

Mess.

Gloucester and Buckingham.

Q. Eliz.

The mighty dukes,

For what offence?

Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclosed;
Why or for what these nobles were committed
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.
Q. Eliz. Ay me, I see the downfall of our house!
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;
Insulting tyranny begins to jet

Upon the innocent and aweless throne:
Welcome, destruction, death, 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 toss'd,
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; blood against blood,
Self against self: O, preposterous

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60

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.

Duch.

I'll go along with you.

My gracious lady, go;

Q. Eliz. You have no cause.

Arch.

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!

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Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt.

Act Third.

Scene I.

London. A street.

The trumpets sound. Enter the

young Prince, the Dukes of

Gloucester and Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchier,
Catesby, and others.

Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

Glou. 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.
Glou. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit :
Nor more can you distinguish of a man

II

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.

Glou. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

Enter the Lord Mayor, and his train.

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May. God bless your grace with health and happy days!
Prince. I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.
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 Lord 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

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