perverse, As he will have me, how am I so poor? Or how haps it I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissension, who preferreth peace More than I do?--except I be provoked. No, my good lords, it is not that offends; It is not that that hath incensed the duke: It is, because no one should sway but he; No one but he should be about the king; And that engenders thunder in his breast And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good-- As good! Thou bastard of my grandfather! Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne? Am I not protector, saucy priest? And am not I a prelate of the church? Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps And useth it to patronage his theft. Unreverent Gloster! Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Rome shall remedy this. Roam thither, then. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. Methinks my lord should be religious And know the office that belongs to such. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; it fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king? Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue, Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?' Else would I have a fling at Winchester. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal, I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. What tumult's this? An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the bishop's men. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, Pity the city of London, pity us! The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones And banding themselves in contrary parts Do pelt so fast at one another's pate That many have their giddy brains knock'd out: Our windows are broke down in every street And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. We