Buckingham.
Welcome sweet Prince to London, to your † ^notechamber.

Glo.
Welcome dear cousin, my thoughts Soveraign,
The weary way hath made you melancholy.

Prince.
No, uncle, but our crosses on the way
Have made it tedious, wearisom and heavy.
I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Glo.
Sweet Prince, th' untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit:

No more can you distinguish of a man,
Than of his outward shew, which, God he knows,
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles which you want were dangerous:
Your grace attended to their suger'd words,
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts:
God keep you from them, and from such false friends.

Prince.
God keep me from false friends, but they were none.

Glo.
My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you. Enter Lord Mayor.

Mayor.
God bless your grace with health and happy days.

Prince.
I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all:
I thought my mother, and my brother York,
Would long ere this have met us on the way.
Fie, what a slug is Hastings? that he comes not
To tell us, whether they will come or no. Enter Lord Hastings.

Buck.
And in good time here comes the sweating lord.

Prince.
Welcome, my lord; what, will our mother come?

Hast.
On what occasion God he knows, not I,
The Queen your mother, and your brother York,
Have taken Sanctuary; the tender Prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,
But by his mother was perforce with-held.

Buck.
Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York
Unto his Princely brother presently?
If she deny, lord Hastings, you go with him,
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

Arch.
My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory

Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
Anon expect him here; but if she be
Obdurate to entreaties, God forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege
Of sanctuary; not for all this land
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

Buck.
You are too senseless, obstinate, my lord,
Too ceremonious and traditional.
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
You break not sanctuary, in seizing him;
The benefit thereof is always granted
To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place,
And those who have the wit to claim the place:
This Prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it,
Therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.
Then taking him from thence that is not there,
You break no privilege nor charter there:
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men,
But sanctuary children ne'er 'till now.

Arch.
My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.
Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me?

Hast.
I go, my lord. [Exeunt Archbishop and Hastings.

Prince.
Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.
Say, uncle Glo'ster, if our brother come,
Where shall we sojourn 'till our coronation?

Glo.
Where it seems best unto your royal self?
If I may counsel you, 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.

Prince.
I do not like the Tower of any place;
Did Julius Cæsar build that place, my lord?

Buck.
He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,

Which since, succeeding ages have re-edify'd.

Prince.
Is it upon record? or else reported
Successively from age to age he built it?

Buck.
Upon record, my gracious lord.

Prince.
But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
Methinks the truth should live from age to age,
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
Even to the general ending day.

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

Prince.
What say you, uncle?

Glo.
I say, without characters fame lives long.
Thus, like the formal vice, iniquity, [Aside.
I moralize two meanings in one word.

Prince.
That Julius Cæsar was a famous man;
With what his valour did enrich his wit,
His wit set down to make his valour live:
Death makes no conquest of his conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham.

Buck.
What, my gracious lord?

Prince.
And if I live until I be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again,
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a King.

Glo.
Short summers lightly has a forward spring. Enter York, Hastings, and Archbishop.

Buck.
Now in good time here comes the Duke of York.

Prince.
Richard of York, how fares our noble brother?

York.
Well, my dread lord, so must I call you now.

Prince.
Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours;
Too late he dy'd that might have kept that title,
Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

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

York.
I thank you, gentle uncle. O my lord,
You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth:
The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

Glo.
He hath, my lord.

York.
And therefore is he idle?

Glo.
Oh my fair cousin I must not say so.

York.
Then he is more beholden to you than I.

Glo.
He may command me as my Soveraign,
But you have pow'r in me, as in a kinsman.

York.
I pray you uncle, give me this dagger.

Glo.
My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.

Prince.
A beggar, brother?

York.
Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,
And being a toy it is no grief to give.

Glo.
A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

York.
A greater gift? O, that's the sword to it.

Glo.
Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

York.
O then I see you'll part but with light gifts,
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

Glo.
It is too weighty for your grace to wear.

York.
I weigh it lightly were it heavier.

Glo.
What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

York.
I would, that I might thank you, as you call me.

Glo.
How?

York.
Little.

Prince.
My lord of York will still be cross in talk:
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

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.

Buck.
With what a sharp provided wit he reasons!
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,

He prettily and aptly taunts himself;
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful.

Glo.
My lord, will't please you pass along?
My self, and my good cousin Buckingham
Will to your mother, to entreat of her
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you.

York.
What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

Prince.
My lord Protector will have it so.

York.
I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Glo.
Why, what should you fear?

York.
Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
My grandam told me he was murther'd there.

Prince.
I fear no uncles dead.

Glo.
Nor none that live, I hope.

Prince.
And if they live, I hope I need not fear.
But come my lord, and with a heavy heart,
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. [Exeunt Prince, York, Hastings and Dorset.

Next section