Gloucest.
Insult me not, proud Mignion!—Thou art not
Privileged in abusive Words, like Beaufort.

Beauf.
Why, my Lord Suffolk, should you hold Discourse
With over-boiling Choler?—'Tis his Temper:
It, ever, was.—He thinks it, Manliness;
A most Exalted Vertue!—

Gloucest.
'Tis a Temper,
An Openness of Heart, in which I glory;
The Failing (if you please) of honest Minds:
A Quality, unsafe for Men, like Thee!

Beauf.
A Quality, indeed, I envy not;
Content with Talents of an humbler Kind.

Suff.
The Queen.—
We leave your Highness.

Gloucest.
I beseech you, stay.
I will not, long, detain you: And, my Business
Regards the Publick; not, my own Concerns.

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