PRINCE

No Uncle, but our crosses on the way, Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy. I want more Uncles here to welcome me. God keep me from false Friends, But they were none. 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, whither they will come, or no. Welcome, my Lord: what, will our Mother come? Good Lords, make all the speedy hast you may. Say, Uncle Gloucester, if our Brother come, Where shall we sojourn, till our Coronation? I do not Like the Tower, of any place: Did Julius Caesar built that place, my Lord? Is it upon record? or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it? But say, my Lord, it were not registered, Me thinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general ending day. What say you, Uncle? 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 his Conqueror, For now he lives in Fame, though not in Life. I'll tell you what, my Cousin Buckingham. And 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. Richard of York, how fares our Noble Bro there? I, Brother, to our grief, as it is yours: Too late he died, that might have kept that Title, Which by his death hath lost much Majesty. A Beggar, Brother? My Lord of York will still be cross in talk: Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him. My Lord Protector will have it so. I fear no Uncles dead. And if they live, I hope I needs not fear. But come my Lord: and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.