already. Sirs, take up the corse. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. If he were dead, what would betide of me? No other harm but loss of such a lord. The loss of such a lord includes all harm. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. Is it concluded that he shall be protector? It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it