Gloster.
K. E.
Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in top of all their pride!
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound:
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mountague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our foot-stool of security.—
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy:—
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself,
-- 364 --
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
Glo.
I'll blast his harvest, if your head were lay'd;
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:—
Work thou the way,—and thou shalt execute.
[Aside.
K. E.
Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Cla.
The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
Que.
Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.
Glo.
And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit:—
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master;
[Aside.
And cry'd—all hail, when as he meant—all harm.
K. E.
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Cla.
What will your grace have done with Margaret?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
K. E.
Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
And now what rests, [rising.] but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shews,
Such as befit the pleasures of a court?—
Sound, drums and trumpets!—farewel, sour annoy;
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
[Flourish. Exeunt† note.
