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Upon the innocent and awlefs Throne;
Welcome Destruction, Blood and Maffacre,
I fee, as in a Map, the end of all.

Dutch. Accurfed and unquiet wrangling Days,
How many of you have mine Eyes beheld;
My Husband loft his Life to get the Crown,
And often up and down my Sons were toft,
For me to joy and weep, their gain and lofs.
And being feated, and Domeftick broils

Clean over blown, themselves, the Conquerors,
Make War upon themfelves, Brother to Brother,
Blood to Blood, felf against felf: O prepoft'rous
And frantick Outrage! end thy damned Spleen,
Or let me die, to look on Earth no more.

Queen. Come, come, my Boy, we will to Sanctuary. Madam, farewel.

Dutch. Stay, I will go with you.
Queen. You have no caufe.

Arch. My.gracious Lady, go,

And thither bear your Treasure and your Goods,

For my part, I'll refign unto your Grace

The Seal I keep, and fo betide it me,
As well I tender you, and all of yours.
Go, I'll condu&t you to the Sanctuary.




The Trumpets found. Enter Prince of Wales, the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, Archbishop, with others.

Back. W Elcome sweet Prince to London,

Το your Chamber.

Glo. Welcome dear Coufin, my thoughts Sovereign, The weary way hath made you Melancholy.

Prince. No, Uncle, but our croffes on the Way Have made it tedious, wearifom and heavy.

I want more Uncles here to welcome mé.

Gla. Sweet Prince, the untainted Virtue of your Years Hath not yet div'd into the World's deceit;


No more can you diftinguish of a Man,

Than of his outward fhew, which, God he knows,
Seldom or never jumpeth with the Heart.
Those Uncles which you want were dangerous:
Your Grace attended to their fuger'd Words,
But look'd not on the poifon of their Hearts:
God keep you from them, and from fuch falfe Friends.
Prince. God keep me from falfe Friends,

But they were none.

Glo. My Lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you. Enter Lord Mayor.

Mayor. God blefs 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 e'er this have met us on the way. Fie, what a flug is Haftings, that he comes not To tell us, whether they will come or no. Enter Lord Haftings.

Buck. And in good time, here comes the fweating Lord.
Prince. Welcome, my Lord; what, will our Mother come?
Haft. On what Occafion 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 with-held.

Buck. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace
Perfuade the Queen to fend the Duke of York
Unto his princely Brother prefently?

If the deny, Lord Haftings, you go with him,
And from her jealous Arms pluck him perforce.

Arch. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak Oratory

Can from his Mother win the Duke of York,

Anon expect him here; but if the be obdurate

To mild Entreaties, God forbid

We should infringe the holy Privilege

Of blessed Sanctuary; not for all this Land

Would I be guilty of fo great Sin.

Buck. You are too fenfelefs obftinate, my Lord, Too ceremonious and traditional.


Weigh it but with the grofsnefs of this Age,
You break not San&uary, in feizing him;
The benefit thereof is always granted

To those whofe dealings have deferv'd the Place,
And those who have the wit to claim the Place:
This Prince hath never claim'd it, nor deferv'd it,
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.

Arch. My Lord, you shall o'er-rule my Mind for once. Come on, Lord Haftings, will you go with me?

Haft. I go, my Lord. [Exeunt Archbishop and Haftings. Prince. Good Lords, make all the fpeedy hafte you may. Say, Uncle Glo'fter, if our Brother come, Where fhall we fojourn 'till our Coronation?

Glo. Where it feems beft unto your Royal fe lf.
If I may counsel you, fome day or two

Your Highnefs fhall repofe you at the Tower:
Then where you pleafe, and fhall be thought most fit
For your best Health and Recreation.

Prince. I do not like the Tower of any Place;
Did Julius Cafar build that Place, my Lord?
Buck. He did, my gracious Lord, begin that Place,
Which fince, fucceeding Ages have re-edify'd.
Prince. Is it upon Record? or elfe reported
Succeffively from Age to Age he built it?

Buck. Upon Record, my gracious Lord.
Prince. But fay, my Lord, it were not Regiftred,
Methinks the Truth fhould live from Age to Age,
As 'twere retail'd to all Pofterity,

Even to the general ending Day.

Glo. So wife, fo young, they fay do never live long.

Prince. What fay you, "Uncle?

Glo. I fay, without Characters Fame lives long. Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity,

I moralize two meanings in one Word.


Prince. That Julius Cafar was a famous Man;

With what his Valour did enrich his Wit,

His Wit fet down, to make his Valour live:


Death makes no Conqueft of his Conqueror;
For now he lives in Fame, though not in Life.
I'll tell you what, my Coufin Buckingham,
Buck, What, my gracicus Lord?

Prince. And 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.
Enter York, Haftings, and Archbishop.


Buck. Now in good time, here comes the Duke of York. Prince. Richard of York, how fares our Noble Brother? York. Well, my dear Lord, fo muft I call you now. Prince. Ay, Brother, to our Grief, as it is Too late he dy'd that might have kept that Title, Which by his Death hath loft much Majefty. Glo. How fares our Coufin, Noble Lord of York? York. I thank you, gentle Uncle. O my Lord, You faid, that idle Weeds are faft in growth: The Prince my Brother hath outgrown me far. Glo. He hath, my Lord.

York. And therefore is he idle?

Glo. Oh my fair Coufin I muft not fay fo.
York. Then he is more beholden to you than I.
Glo. He may command me as my Sovereign,
But you have power in me, as in a Kinfman.
York. I pray you, Uncle, give me this Dagger.
Glo. My Dagger, little Coufin? with all my Heart.
Prince. A Beggar, Brother?

York. Of my kind Uncle, that I know will give,
And being a Toy it is no grief to give.

Glo. A greater Gift than that I'll give my Coufin.
York. A greater Gift? O, that's the Sword to it.
Glo. Ay, gentle Coufin, were it light enough.
York. O then I fee you will part but with light Gift,
In weightier things you'll fay a Beggar Nay.
Glo. It is too weighty for your Grace to wear.
York. I weigh it lightly were it heavier.

Glo. What, would you have my Weapon, little Lord?
Tork. I would, that I might thank you, as you call me.
Glo. How?

Tork. Little.


Prince. My Lord of York will ever be cross in talk:
Uncie, your Grace knows how to bear with him.
York. You mean to bear me, not to bear with me:
Uncle, my Brother mocks both you and me,
Becaufe that 'I am little, like an Ape,

He thinks that you should bear me on your Shoulders.
Buck With what a sharp provided Wit he reafons:
To mitigate the Scorn he gives his Uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts himfelf;
So cunning, and fo young, is wonderful.

Glo. My Lord, wilt please you pass along?
My felf, and my good Coufin Buckingham,
Will to your Mother, to entreat of her
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you.
York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my Lord? ·
Prince. My Lord Protector will have it fo..
York. I fhall not fleep in quiet at the Tower.
Glo. Why, what fhould you fear?

York. Marry, my Uncle Clarence angry Ghoft:
My Grandam told me, he was murther'd there.
Prince. I fear no Uncles dead.

Glo. Nor none that live, I hope.

Prince. And if I live, I hope I need not fear. But come, my Lord, and with a heavy Heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

[Exeunt Prince, York, Haftings and Dorfet. Manent Gloucester, Buckingham and Catesby. Buck. Think you, my Lord, this little prating York Was not incenfed by his fubtle Mother,

To taunt and fcorn you thus opprobriously?

Glo. No doubt, no doubt: Oh 'tis a parlous Boy,
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable;
He is all the Mother's, from the top to toe.
Buk. Well, let them reft: Come hither, Catesby,
Thou art fworn as deeply to effect what we intend,
As clofely to conceal what we impart:

Thou know'ft our Reafons urg'd upon the Way,
What think'ft thou? is it not an eafie Matter
To make William Lord Haftings of our Mind,
For the Inftalment of this Noble Duke,
In the feat Royal of this famous Ifle?


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