infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 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 deserved the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place: This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it; And 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. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? I go, my lord. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? 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. I do not like the Tower, of any place. Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord? He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it? Upon record, my gracious lord. 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 all-ending day. So wise so young, they say, do never live long. What say you, uncle? I say, without characters, fame lives long. Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word. That Julius Caesar 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 this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life. I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,-- What, my gracious lord? An if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. Short summers lightly have a forward spring. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York. Richard of York! how fares our loving brother? Well, my dread lord; so