Glo.
Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining star;

But none can help our harms by wailing them.
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
I did not see you.—Humbly on my knee
I crave your Blessing.

Dutch.
God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast,
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.

Glo.
Amen, and make me die a good old man!—
That is the butt end of a mother's Blessing;
I marvel, that her Grace did leave it out.

Buck.
You cloudy Princes, and heart-sorrowing Peers,
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
Now chear each other in each other's love;
Though we have spent our harvest of this King,
We are to reap the harvest of his son.
The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
But lately splinter'd, knit and join'd together,
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd and kept:
Me seemeth good, that, with some little train,
^{1 note}Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fetch'd
Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.

Riv.
Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

Buck.
Marry, my Lord, lest by a multitude
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out;
Which would be so much the more dangerous,
By how much the Estate is yet ungovern'd.
Where every horse bears his commanding rein,

And may direct his course as please himself.
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
In my opinion ought to be prevented.

Glo.
I hope, the King made peace with all of us;
And the compact is firm, and true in me.

Riv.
And so in me; and so, I think, in all.
Yet since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach,
Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd;
Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.

Hast.
And so say I.

Glo.
Then be it so; and go we to determine,
Who they shall be that strait shall post to Ludlow.
—Madam, and you my sister, will you go,
To give your censures in this weighty business? [Exeunt. [Manent Buckingham and Gloucester.

Buck.
My Lord, whoever journies to the Prince,
For God's sake, let not us Two stay at home;
For by the way, I'll sort occasion,
As index to the story we late talk'd of,
To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince.

Glo.
My other self, my counsel's consistory,
My oracle, my prophet!—My dear cousin,
I, as a child, will go by thy direction.
Tow'rd Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. [Exeunt.

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