RIVERS

Have patience Madam, ther's no doubt his Majesty Will soon recover his accustomed health. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? She may my Lord, for— What marry may she? My Lord of Gloucester: in those busy days, Which here you urge, to prove us Enemies, We followed then our Lord, our Sovereign King, So should we you, if you should be our King. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. And so does mine, I muse why she's at liberty. A virtuous, and a Christianlike conclusion To pray for them that have done scathe to us. We wait upon your Grace. And so in me, and so (I think) in all. Yet since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with Noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince Let me fit heavy in thy soul to morrow, Rivers, that died at Pomfret: despair, and die. Madam, bethink you Like a careful Mother Of the young Prince your son: send straight for him, Let him be Crowned, in him your comfort lives. Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edwards graven, And plant your joys in living Edwards Throne. Why with some little Train, My Lord of Buckingham? Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this, To day shalt thou behold a Subject die, For Truth, for Duty, and for Loyalty. Oh Pomfret, Pomfret! Oh thou bloody Prison! Fatal and ominous to Noble Peers: Within the guilty Closure of thy Walls, Richard the Second here was hacked to death: And for more slander to thy dismal Seat, We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. Then cursed she Richard, Then cursed she Buckingham, Then cursed she Hastings. O remember God, To hear her prayer for them, as now for us: And for my Sister, and her Princely Sons, Be satisfied, deer God, with our true blood, Which, as thou knowest, unjustly must be spilled. Come Gray, come Vaughan, let us here embrace. Farewell, until we meet again in Heaven.