As Index to the Story we lately talk'd of,

To part the Queen's proud Kindred from the Prince.
Glo. My other felf, my Counfel's Confiftory,
My Oracle, my Prophet, my dear Coufin,
I, as a Child, will go by thy direction.
Towa d London then, for we'll not stay behind.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter one Citizen at one Door, and another at the other.

1 Cit. Good morrow, Neighbour, whither away fo faft 2 Cit. I promise you I hardly know my felf:

Hear you the News abroad?

1 Cit. Yes, the King is dead.

2 Cit. Ill News by'r Lady, feldom comes the better: I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy World.

Enter another Citizen.

3 Cit. Neighbours, God fpeed.

1 Cit. Give you good morrow, Sir.

3 Cit. Doth the News hold of good King Edward's Death? 2 Cit. Ay, Sir, it is too true, God help the while.

3 Cit. Then Mafters look to fee a troublous World. 1 Cit. No, no, by God's good Grace, his Son fhall Reign. 3 Cit. Wo to that Land that's govern'd by a Child. 2 Cit. In him there is a hope of Government: Which in his Non-age, Counfel under him, And in his full and ripened Years, himself No doubt fhall then, and 'till then govern well. 1 Cit. So ftood the State when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris, but at nine Months old.

3 Cit. Stood the State fo? No, no, good Friends, God wot; For then this Land was famoufly enrich'd

With politick grave Counfel; then the King

Had virtuous Uncles to protect his Grace.

1 Cit. Why fo hath this, both by his Father and Mother. 3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his Father;

Or by his Father there were none at all:

For Emulation, who fhall now be nearest,
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
O full of danger is the Duke of Glo'fter,
I 4

?

And

And the Queen's Sons, and Brothers, haught and proud:
And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,
This fickly Land might folace as before.

1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst, all will be well. 3 Cit. When Clouds are feen, wife Men put on their Cloaks; When great Leaves fall, then Winter is at hand; When the Sun fets, who doth not look for Night? Untimely Storms make Men expect a Dearth: All may be well; but if God fort it fo, 'Tis more than we deferve, or I expect.

2 Cit. Truly the Hearts of Men are full of fear: You cannot reason, almost, with a Man That looks not heavily, and full of dread.

3 Cit. Before the days of Change, ftill is it fo; By a divine inftin&t Mens Minds miftruft Pursuing Danger; as by proof we fee

The Water (well before a boift'rous Storm;
But leave it all to God. Whither away?

2 Cit. Marry we were fent for to the Juftices.

3 Cit. And fo was I, I'll bear you Company. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Archbishop of York, the young Duke of York, the
Queen, and the Dutchess.

Arch. Laft Night I heard they lay at Stony Stratford,
And at Northampton they do reft to Night:
To morrow or next day they will be here.

Dutch. I long with all my Heart to fee the Prince;
I hope he is much grown fince laft I saw him.
Queen. But I hear no, they fay my Son of York
Has almoft overtaken him in his growth.

Tork. Ay, Mother, but I would not have it fo.
Dutch. Why, my good Coufin, it is good to grow.
York. Grandam, one Night as we did fit at Supper,
My Uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow

More than my Brother. Ay, quoth my Uncle Glofter, Small Herbs have Grace, great Weeds do grow apace. And fince, methinks I would not grow fo faft,

Because sweet Flowers are flow, and Weeds make haste.

Dutch.

Dutch. Good faith, good faith, the faying did not hold In him that did object the fame to thee.

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

That if his Rule were true, he should be gracious,
York. And fo no doubt he is, my gracious Madam.
Dutch. I hope he is, but yet let Mothers doubt.
York. Now by my troth, if I had been remembred,
I could have given my Uncle's Grace a flout
To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine.
Dutch. How, my young York.

I prithee let me hear it.

Tork. Marry, they fay, my Uncle grew fo faft,
That he could gnaw a Cruft at two Hours old;
'Twas full two Years e'er I could get a Tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting Jeft.
Dutch. I prithee, pretty Tork, who told thee this?
York. Grandam, his Nurfe..

Dutch. His Nurfe! why fhe was dead e'er thou waft born.
York. If 'twere not fhe, I cannot tell who told me.
Queen. A parlous BoyGo to, you are too fhrewd.
Dutch. Good Madam, be not angry with a Child.
Queen. Pitchers have Ears.

Enter a Messenger.

Arch. Here comes a Meffenger: What News?
Mef. Such News, my Lord, as grieves me to report.
Queen. How doth the Prince?

Mef. Well, Madam, and in Health.

Dutch. What is thy News?

Mef. Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey, Are fent to Pomfret, and with them

Sir Thomas Vaughan, Prifoners.

Dutch. Who hath committed them?

Mef. The mighty Dukes, Glo'fter and Buckingham.

Arch. For what Offence?

Mef. 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 Lord.
Queen. Ah me! I fee the ruin of my Houfe;
The Tiger now hath feiz'd the gentle Hind.
Infulting Tyranny begins to jut

Upon

Upon the innocent and awless Throne;
Welcome Deftruction, 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, themfelves, 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 cause.

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& you to the San&uary.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

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

Buck. 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 crosses on the Way Have made it tedious, wearifom 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

No more can you distinguish of a Man,

Than of his outward fhew, which, God he knows,
Seldom or never jumpeth with the Heart,
Thofe 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 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 Tork, 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 previfh 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 bleffed San&uary; 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.