At Stony-Stratford they do reft to night:
To morrow, or next day, they will be here.

Duch. I long with all my heart to fee the Prince ; I hope he is much grown fince laft I faw him.

Queen. But I hear, not; they fay my fon of York Has almost overta'en him in his growth.

York. Ay, mother; but I would not have it fo. Duch. Why, my young coufin, it is good to grow. York. Grandam, one night as we did fit at fupper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow

More than my brother. Ay, quoth my uncle Glo'ster,
Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.
And fince, methinks I would not grow fo fast,
Becaule fweet flow'rs are flow, and weeds make hafte.
Duch. Good faith, good faith, the faying did not hold
In him that did object the fame to thee.

He was the wretched'it thing when he was young;
So long a growing, and fo leifurely,

That if his rule were true, he should be gracious.
York. And to 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 giv'n 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 fay my uncle grew fo faft, That he coul gnaw a cruit at two hours old; 'Twas full two years ere i could get a tooth. Grandam, this would have been a biting jeft.

Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this? York. Grandam, his nurfe.

Duch. His nurfe! why, fhe was dead ere thou waft born.

Tork It'twere not fhe, I cannot tell who told me. Queen. A parlous boy go to, you are too fhrewd. Duch. Good Madam, be not angry with a child, Queen. Pitchers have ears.

Enter a Messenger.

Arch. Here comes a meffenger. What news?
Me. Such news, my Lord, as grieves me to report.

Queen. How doth the Prince?

Me Well, Madam, and in health.

Duch. What is thy news?

Me. Lord Rivers and Lord Gray are fent to Pomfret, With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, pritoners.

Duch. Who hath committed them?
Me. The mighty Dukes,
Glo iter and Buckingham.

Arch. For what offence?

Me. The fum of all I can I have disclos'd. Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, Is all unknown to me, my gracious Lady.

Quen. Ah me! I fee the ruin of my house;
The tyger now hath feiz'd the gentle hind.
Infulting tyranny begins to jut

Upon the innocent and awle's throne:
Welcome, deftruction, blood, and maffacre !
I fee, as in a map, the end of all.

Duch. 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 fons were tofs'd,
For me to joy and weep their gain and lofs:
And being feated, and domestic broils
Clean overblown, themselves the conquerors
Make war upon themselves, blood against blood,
Self against felf; O most preposterous

And frantic outrage! end thy damned fpleen;
Or let me die, to look on death no more.

Queen, Come, come, my boy, we will to fanctuary.

Madam, farewel.

Duch. 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 feal I keep; and fo betide it me,
As well I tender you, and all of your's!
Go, I'll conduct you to the fanctuary.

[Exeunt.

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

Buck.

W

Elcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your

chamber *.

Glo. Welcome, dear coufin, my thoughts' fovereign; The weary way hath made you melancholy.

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

Gla. Sweet Prince, th' untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit :
Nor more can you distinguish 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 fugar'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

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

Enter Lord Mayor..

Mayor. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!

fall:

Prince. I thank you, good my Lord, and thank you I thought my mother and my brother York Would long ere this have met us on the way. Fie, what a flug is Haltings! that he comes not To tell us whether they will come or no.

Enter Lord Haltings..

Buck. And in good time here comes the fweating Lord..

Prince. Welcome, my Lord. What, will our mother

come?

• London was anciently called Camera regia. Mr Pope.

Haf. On what occafion, God he knows, not I, The Queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken fanctuary; 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 peevith course
Is this of her's? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace
Perfuade the Queen to fend the Duke of York
Unto his princely brother prefently?

If fhe deny, Lord Haftings, you go with him,
And froin 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 intreaties, God forbid
We fhould infringe the holy privilege
Of fanctuary! not for all this land
Would I be guilty of fo deep a sin.

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

Weigh it but with the greenness of his age,

You break not fanctuary, 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 neither claim'd it, nor deterv'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 fanctuary-men,

But fanctuary children ne'er till now..

Arch. My Lord, you fhall o'er-rule my mind for once; Come on, Lord Haftings, will

Haft. I go, my Lord.

you go

with me?

[Exeunt Archbishop and Haltings. Prince Good Lords, make all the fpeedy hafte you

Say, uncle Glo'fter, if our brother come,

n?

Where fhall we fojourn till our coronation

Glo. Where it seems beft unto your Royal felf.

If I may counsel you, fome day or

*

two

[may.

Ceremonious, for fuperflitious; traditional, for adherent to old

cuftoms.

Your Highness fhall repose you at the Tower:

Then where you please, and fhall be thought most fis For your best health and recreation.

Prince. I do not like the Tower of any place. Did Julius Cæfar build that place, my Lord?

Buck. He did, my gracious Lord, begin that place, Which fince fucceeding ages have re-built.

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

Buck. Upon record, my gracious Lord.
Prince. But fay, my Lord, it were not register'd,
Methinks the truth fhould live from age to age,
As 'twere intail'd to all posterity,

Even to the general all-ending day.

Gla. So wife, fo young, they fay, do ne'er live long. Prince. What fay you, ut cle?

Glo. I fay, without characters Fame lives long. Thus like the formal-wife Antiquity

I moralize: two meanings in one word.

Afide.

Prince. That Julius Cæfar was a famous man;
With what his valour did enrich his wit,
His wit fet down to make his valour live.
Death made no conqueft of this 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 foldier, as i liv'd a King.

Glo. Short fummer lighely has a forward fpring.

Enter York, Haftings, ana Archibald.

Buck. Now in good time here comes the Duke of
York.

Prince Richard of York, how fares our Noble bro

ther?

Tork. Well, my dread Lord, fo must I call you now. Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is your's; Too late be dy'd that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath loft much majesty.

Glo. How fares our coufin, Noble Lord of York?
York. I thank you, gentle uncle. my Lord,