Wor.
O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
The liberal kind offer of the King.

Ver.
'Twere best, he did.

Wor.
Then we are all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be,
The King shou'd keep his word in loving us;
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To punish this offence in other faults:
Suspicion, all our lives, shall be stuck full of eyes;
For treason is but trusted like a Fox,
Who ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up,
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
Look how we can, or sad, or merrily,
Interpretation will misquote our looks;
And we shall feed like Oxen at a stall,
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot,
It hath th' excuse of youth and heat of blood;
And an adopted name of privilege,
A hair-brain'd Hot-spur, govern'd by a Spleen:
All his Offences live upon my head,
And on his father's. We did train him on;
^{2 note}

Ver.
Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so.
Here comes your cousin.

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