Glo'st.
Now, my royal cousin, welcome to London:
Welcome to all those honour'd dignities,
Which by your father's will, and by your birth,
You stand the undoubted heir possess'd of:
And, if my plain simplicity of heart
May take the liberty to shew itself,
You're farther welcome to your uncle's care
And love—Why do you sigh, my lord?
The weary way has made you melancholy.

P. Ed.
No, uncle; but our crosses on the way,
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy:
I want more uncles here, to welcome me!

Tres.
More uncles! what means his highness?

Stanley.
Why, sir, the careful duke of Glo'ster has
Secur'd his kinsmen on the way—Lord Rivers, Grey,
Sir Thomas Vaughan, and others of his friends,
Are prisoners now in Pomfret castle;
On what pretence it boots not—there they are,
Let the devil and the duke alone to accuse 'em.

Glo'st.
My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you. Enter Lord Mayor and Citizens.

Ld. Mayor.
Vouchsafe, most gracious sovereign, to accept
The general homage of your loyal city:
We farther beg your royal leave to speak
In deep condolement of your father's loss;
And, as far as our true sorrow would permit,
To 'gratulate your accession to the throne.

P. Ed.
I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.
Alas, my youth is yet unfit to govern,

Therefore the sword of justice is in abler hands:
But be assur'd of this, so much already
I perceive I love you, that tho' I know not yet
To do you offices of good; yet this I know,
I'll sooner die, than basely do you wrong.

Glo'st.
So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long. [Aside.

P. Ed.
My lords,
I thought my mother, and my brother York,
Would long ere this have met us on the way:
Say, uncle Glo'ster, if our brother come,
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

Glo'st.
Where it shall seem best to your royal self.
May I advise you, sir, some day or two
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower;
Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
For your best health and recreation.

P. Ed.
Why at the Tower? But be it as you please.

Buck.
My lord—your brother's grace of York. Enter Duke and Dutchess of York.* ^note

P. Ed.
Richard of York! how fares our dearest brother? [Embracing.

D. of York.
Oh, my dear lord! So I must call you, now.

P. Ed.
Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours.
Too soon he dy'd who might have better worn
That title, which in me will lose its majesty.

Glo'st.
How fares our cousin, noble lord of York?

D. of York.
Thank you kindly, dear uncle—Oh my lord,
You said that idle weeds were fast in growth;
The king my brother has out-grown me far.

Glo'st.
He has, my lord.

D. of York.
And therefore is he idle?

Glo'st.
Oh, pretty cousin, I must not say so.

D. of York.
Nay, uncle, I don't believe the saying's true,
For, if it were, you'd be an idle weed.

Glo'st.
How so, cousin?

D. of York.
Because I have heard folks say, you grew so fast,
Your teeth would gnaw a crust at two hours old:
Now 'twas two years ere I could get a tooth.

Glo'st.
Indeed! I find the brat is taught this lesson— Aside.
Who told thee this, my pretty merry cousin?

D. of York.
Why, your nurse, uncle.

Glo'st.
My nurse, child! she was dead 'fore thou wert born.

D. of York.
If 'twas not she, I can't tell who told me.

Glo'st.
So subtle, too—'tis pity thou art short-liv'd. [Aside.

P. Ed.
My brother, uncle, will be cross in talk.

Glo'st.
Oh, fear not, my lord: we shall never quarrel.

P. Ed.
I hope your grace knows how to bear with him—

D. of York.
You mean to bear me—not to bear with me—
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me:
Because that I am little like an ape,
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

P. Ed.
Fye, brother, I have no such meaning.

Stanley.
With what a sharp, provided wit he reasons:
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts himself.

Tres.
So cunning and so young is wonderful!

Glo'st.
My lord, wilt please you pass along?
Myself and my good cousin of Buckingham,
Will to your mother, to intreat of her
To meet and bid you welcome at the Tower.

D. of York.
What! will you go to the Tower, my dear lord?

P. Ed.
My Lord Protector will have it so.

D. of York.
I shant't sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Glo'st.
I'll warrant you—King Henry lay there,
And he sleeps in quiet. [Aside.

P. Ed.
What should you fear, brother?

D. of York.
My uncle Clarence' ghost, my lord;
My grandmother told me he was kill'd there.

P. Ed.
I fear no uncles dead.

Glo'st.
Nor any, sir, that live, I hope.

P. Ed.
I hope so too—but come, my lords,
To the Tower, since it must be so. [Exeunt all but Glo'ster and Buckingham.

Buck.
Think you, my lord, this little prating York
Was not instructed by his subtle mother,
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

Glo'st.
No doubt; no doubt; oh, 'tis a shrewd young master;
Stubborn, bold, quick, forward, and capable!
He is all the mother's, from the top to the toe:
But let them rest—now what says Catesby?

Buck.
My lord, 'tis much as I suspected, and
He's here himself to inform you. Enter Catesby.

Glo'st.
So, Catesby—hast thou been tampering?
What news?

Catesby.
My lord, according to th'instruction given me,
With words at distance dropt, I sounded Hastings,
Piercing how far he did affect your purpose;
To which indeed I found him cold, unwilling;
The sum is this—he seem'd a while to understand me not.
At length, from plainer speaking urg'd to answer,
He said in heat, rather than wrong the head
To whom the crown was due, he'd lose his own.

Glo'st.
Indeed! his own then answer for that saying:
He shall be taken care of—mean while, Catesby,
Be thou near me—Cousin of Buckingham,
Let's lose no time—the mayor and citizens
Are now at busy meeting in Guild-Hall:
Thither I'd have you haste, immediately,
And at your meetest 'vantage of the time,
Improve those hints I gave you late to speak of:
But above all, infer the bastardy
Of Edward's children;

Buck.
Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator,

As if myself might wear the golden fee,
For which I plead.

Glo'st.
If you thrive well, bring 'em to see me here,
Where you shall find me seriously employ'd,
With the most learned fathers of the church.

Buck.
I fly, my lord, to serve you.

Glo'st.
To serve thyself, my cousin;
For look, when I am king, claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford, and all those moveables
Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.

Buck.
I shall remember that your grace was bountiful.

Glo'st.
Cousin, I have said it.

Buck.
I am gone, my lord. [Exit.

Glo'st.
So, I've secur'd my cousin here. These moveables
Will never let his brains rest, till I'm king.
Catesby, go you with speed to doctor Shaw,
And thence, to friar Beuker—bid 'em both
Attend me here, within an hour at farthest;
Mean while my private orders shall be given, [Exit Catesby.
To lock out all admittance to the princes.
Now, by St. Paul, the work goes bravely on.
How many frightful stops would conscience make,
In some soft heads, to undertake like me?
Come, this conscience is a convenient scare-crow* ^note;
It guards the fruit which priests and wise men taste,
Who never set it up to fright themselves;
They know 'tis rags, and gather in the face on't;
While half-starv'd shallow daws thro' fear are honest.
Why were laws made, but that we're rogues by nature?
Conscience! 'tis our coin, we live by parting with it;
And he thrives best, that has the most to spare.
The protesting lover buys hope with it,
And the deluded virgin short-liv'd pleasure:
Old grey-beards cram their avarice with it;
Your lank-jaw'd hungry judge will dine upon't,
And hang the guiltless, rather than eat his mutton cold:

The crown'd head quits it for despotic sway,
The stubborn people for unaw'd rebellion.
There's not a slave but has his share of villain:
Why then shall after-ages think my deeds
Inhuman! since my worst are but ambition.
Ev'n all mankind to some lov'd ills incline:
Great men choose greater sins, ambition's mine. [Exit.

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