Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Glosters Dukedome is too ominous
War. Tut, that's a foolish obseruation: Richard, be Duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these Honors in possession.
Enter Sinklo, and Humfrey, with Crosse-bowes in their hands.
Sink. Vnder this thicke growne brake, wee'l shrowd our selues: For through this Laund anon the Deere will come, And in this couert will we make our Stand, Culling the principall of all the Deere
Hum. Ile stay aboue the hill, so both may shoot
Sink. That cannot be, the noise of thy Crosse-bow Will scarre the Heard, and so my shoot is lost: Heere stand we both, and ayme we at the best: And for the time shall not seeme tedious, Ile tell thee what befell me on a day, In this selfe-place, where now we meane to stand
Sink. Heere comes a man, let's stay till he be past: Enter the King with a Prayer booke.
Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue, To greet mine owne Land with my wishfull sight: No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine, Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee, Thy Balme washt off, wherewith thou was Annointed: No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now, No humble suters prease to speake for right: No, not a man comes for redresse of thee: For how can I helpe them, and not my selfe? Sink. I, heere's a Deere, whose skin's a Keepers Fee: This is the quondam King; Let's seize vpon him
Hen. Let me embrace the sower Aduersaries, For Wise men say, it is the wisest course
Hum. Why linger we? Let vs lay hands vpon him
Sink. Forbeare a-while, wee'l heare a little more
Hen. My Queene and Son are gone to France for aid: And (as I heare) the great Commanding Warwicke I: thither gone, to craue the French Kings Sister To wife for Edward. If this newes be true, Poore Queene, and Sonne, your labour is but lost: For Warwicke is a subtle Orator: And Lewis a Prince soone wonne with mouing words: By this account then, Margaret may winne him, For she's a woman to be pittied much: Her sighes will make a batt'ry in his brest, Her teares will pierce into a Marble heart: The Tyger will be milde, whiles she doth mourne; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To heare and see her plaints, her Brinish Teares. I, but shee's come to begge, Warwicke to giue: Shee on his left side, crauing ayde for Henrie; He on his right, asking a wife for Edward. Shee Weepes, and sayes, her Henry is depos'd: He Smiles, and sayes, his Edward is instaul'd; That she (poore Wretch) for greefe can speake no more: Whiles Warwicke tels his Title, smooths the Wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion winnes the King from her, With promise of his Sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edwards place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poore soule) Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorne
Hum. Say, what art thou talk'st of Kings & Queens? King. More then I seeme, and lesse then I was born to: A man at least, for lesse I should not be: And men may talke of Kings, and why not I? Hum. I, but thou talk'st, as if thou wer't a King
King. Why so I am (in Minde) and that's enough
Hum. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crowne? King. My Crowne is in my heart, not on my head: Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian stones: Nor to be seene: my Crowne, is call'd Content, A Crowne it is, that sildome Kings enioy
Hum. Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content, Your Crowne Content, and you, must be contented To go along with vs. For (as we thinke) You are the king King Edward hath depos'd: And we his subiects, sworne in all Allegeance, Will apprehend you, as his Enemie