Glo.
How now, how now, what say the citizens?

Buck.
Now by the holy Mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum, say not a word.

Glo.
Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

Buck.
I did, with his Contract with lady Lucy,
And his Contract by Deputy in France;
Th' unsatiate greediness of his desires,
And his enforcement of the city-wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,

As being got, your father then in France,
And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.
Withal, I did infer your lineaments,
Being the right idea of your father,
Both in your form and nobleness of mind:
Laid open all your victories in Scotland;
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility:
Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
Untouch'd, or slightly handled in discourse.
And when my Oratory grew tow'rd end,
I bid them, that did love their Country's Good,
Cry, God save Richard, England's royal King!

Glo.
And did they so?

Buck.
No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
But like dumb statues, or unbreathing stones,
Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale:
Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
And ask'd the Mayor, what meant this wilful silence?
His Answer was, the people were not used
To be spoke to, except by the Recorder.
Then he was urg'd to tell my Tale again:
Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd,
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some Followers of mine own,
At lower end o'th' Hall, hurl'd up their caps,
And some ten voices cry'd, God save King Richard!
And thus I took the vantage of those few:
Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I,
This general applause and chearful shout
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard.
And even here brake off, and came away.

Glo.
What tongueless blocks were they, would they not speak?
Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?

Buck.
The Mayor is here at hand; intend some fear;
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit;
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand between two Churchmen, good my lord;
For on that ground I'll build a holy descant:

And be not easily won to our requests:
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.

Glo.
I go: and if you plead as well for them,
As I can say nay to thee, for myself;
No doubt, we'll bring it to a happy issue. [Ex. Glo.

Buck.
Go, go up to the leads, the Lord Mayor knocks. Enter Lord Mayor, and Citizens.
Welcome my lord. I dance attendance here;
I think, the Duke will not be spoke withal. Enter Catesby.

Buck.
Catesby, what says your lord to my request?

Cates.
He doth intreat your Grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to morrow, or next day;
He is within, with two right-reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;
And in no worldy suits would he be mov'd,
To draw him from his holy exercise.

Buck.
Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;
Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our gen'ral Good,
Are come to have some conf'rence with his Grace.

Cates.
I'll signifie so much unto him strait. [Exit.

Buck.
Ah, ah! my lord, this Prince is not an Edward;
He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,
But on his knees at meditation:
Not dallying with a brace of Curtezans,
But meditating with two deep Divines:
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.
Happy were England, would this virtuous Prince
Take on his Grace the Sov'raignty thereof;
But, sure, I fear, we shall not win him to it.

Mayor.
Marry, God shield, his Grace should say us nay!

Buck.
I fear he will; here Catesby comes again.

Enter Catesby.
Catesby, what says his Grace?

Cates.
He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of Citizens to come to him,
His Grace not being warn'd thereof before:
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.

Buck.
Sorry I am, my noble Cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
By heav'n, we come to him in perfect love,
And so once more return, and tell his Grace. [Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So sweet is zealous Contemplation. Enter Gloucester above, between two Bishops. Catesby returns.

Mayor.
See, where his Grace stands 'tween two Clergymen.

Buck.
Two props of Virtue, for a Christian Prince,
To stay him from the fall of Vanity:
And see, a book of prayer in his hand,
True ornaments to know a holy man.
Famous Plantagenet! most gracious Prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion and right-christian zeal.

Glo.
My lord, there needs no such apology;
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.
But leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure?

Buck.
Ev'n That, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
And all good men of this ungovern'd Isle.

Glo.
I do Suspect, I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the City's eye;
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

Buck.
You have, my lord: would it might please your Grace,
On our entreaties, to amend your fault.

Glo.
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian Land?

Buck.
Know then, it is your fault that you resign
The supream Seat, the Throne majestical,
The scepter'd Office of your Ancestors,
Your State of fortune, and your due of Birth,
The lineal Glory of your royal House,
To the corruption of a blemish'd Stock:
While in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
Which here we waken to our Country's Good,
The noble Isle doth want her proper limbs:
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,
Her royal Stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulph
Of dark forgetfulness, and deep oblivion.
Which to re-cure, we heartily sollicit
Your gracious self to take on you the Charge
And kingly Government of this your Land.
Not as Protector, Steward, Substitute,
Or lowly Factor for another's gain;
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your Right of Birth, your Empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the Citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,
In this just suit come I to move your Grace.

Glo.
I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition.
For not to answer, you might, haply, think,
Tongue-ty'd Ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoak of Sov'raignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me.
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So season'd with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
Therefore to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then, in speaking, not incur the last,
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert,
Unmeritable, shuns your high request.

First, if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the Crown,
As the ripe revenue and due of Birth;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty and so many my defects,
That I would rather hide me from my Greatness,
Being a Bark to brook no mighty Sea;
Than in my Greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my Glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there is no Need of me,
And much I need to help you, were there Need:
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the Seat of Majesty;
And make us, doubtless, happy by his Reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The Right and Fortune of his happy stars;
Which, God defend, that I should wring from him!

Buck.
My lord, this argues conscience in your Grace,
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.
You say, that Edward is your brother's son;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife:
For first was he contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to that Vow;
And afterward by Substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the King of France.
These both put off, a poor Petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother of a many children,
A beauty-waining, and distressed Widow,
Ev'n in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye;
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy.
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that for reverence of some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.

Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of Dignity:
If not to bless Us and the Land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble Ancestry
From the corruption of abusing time,
Unto a lineal, true-derived course.

Mayor.
Do, good my lord, your Citizens intreat you.

Buck.
Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

Cates.
O make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.

Glo.
Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
I am unfit for State and Majesty.
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you.

Buck.
If you refuse it, as in love and zeal,
Loth to depose the Child, your brother's son,
(As well we know your tenderness of heart,
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred,
And equally, indeed, to all estates)
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no,
Your brother's son shall never reign our King;
But we will plant some other in the Throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your House:
And in this resolution here we leave you.
Come, Citizens, we will intreat no more. [Exeunt.

Cates.
Call them again, sweet Prince, accept their suit:
If you deny them, all the Land will rue it.

Glo.
Will you inforce me to a world of cares?
Call them again; I am not made of stone, [Exit Catesby.
But penetrable to your kind entreaties;
Albeit against my conscience and my soul. Re-enter Buckingham, and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave men,
Since you will buckle fortune on my back
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load.
But if black Scandal, or foul-fac'd Reproach

Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your meer enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof.
For God doth know, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.

Mayor.
God bless your Grace! we see it, and will say it.

Glo.
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

Buck.
Then I salute you with this royal Title,
Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!

All.
Amen.

Buck.
To morrow may it please you to be crown'd?

Glo.
Ev'n when you please, for you will have it so.

Buck.
To morrow then we will attend your Grace,
And so most joyfully we take our leave.

Glo.
Come, let us to our holy Work again.
Farewel, my Cousin; farewel, gentle friends. [Exeunt.

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