But like dumb ftatues, or unbreathing stones,
Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale;
Which when I faw, I reprehended them,

And afk'd the May'r, what meant this wilful filence?
His Anfwer was, the People were not us'd
To be spoke to, except by the Recorder.
Then he was urg'd to tell my Tale again:
Thus faith the Duke, thus bath the Duke inferr'd,
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, fome followers of mine own,
At lower end o'th'Hall, hurl'd up their caps,
And fome ten voices cry'd, God fave kind Richard!
And thus I took the vantage of those few.
Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I,
This general applaufe and chearful fhout
Argues your wifdom, and your love to Richard.
And even here brake off, and came away.

Glo. What tonguelefs blocks were they, would they not speak?

Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?
Buck. The Mayor is here at hand; intend fome
fear;

Be not you spoke with, but by mighty fuit;
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And ftand between two Churchmen, good my Lord,
For on that ground I'll build a holy defcant;
And be not eafily won to our requests,

Play the maid's part, ftill anfwer, nay, and take it.
Glo. I go and if you plead as well for them,

* As I can say, nay to thee, for myself;

No doubt, we'll bring it to a happy iffue. [Exit Glo. Buck. Go, go up to the leads, the Lord Mayor knocks.

Enter Lord Mayor, and Citizens.

-Welcome, my Lord. I dance attendance here;
I think, the Duke will not be spoke withal.

Enter Catesby.

Buck. Catesby, what fays your Lord to my request? Catef. He doth intreat your Grace, my noble Lord, To vifit him to morrow, or next day.

He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation,

And in no worldly fuits would he be mov'd,
To draw him from his holy exercise.

Buck. Keturn, good Catefly, to the gracious Duke;
Tell him, myfelf, the Mayor and Aldermen,
In deep defigns, in matter of great moment,
No lefs importing than our gen'ral Good,

Are come to have fome conf'rence with his Grace.
Catef. I'll fignify fo much unto him ftrait.

[Exit.

Buck. Ah, ah! my Lord, this Prince is not an Edward;

He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,

But on his knees at meditation;

Not dallying with a brace of Curtezans,
But meditating with two deep Divines;
Not fleeping, to engrofs his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful foul.
Happy were England, would this virtuous Prince
Take on his Grace the Sov'reignty thereof;

But, fure, I fear, we fhall not win him to it.
Mayor. Marry, God fhield, his Grace fhould fay
us, nay!

Buck. I fear, he will; here Catesby comes again.

To engros] To fatten; to pamper.

Enter

Enter Catesby.

Cafefby, what fays his Grace?

Catef. He wonders to what end you have affembled Such troops of Citizens to come to him,

His Grace not being warn'd thereof before.
He fears, my Lord, you mean no good to him.
Buck. Sorry I am, my noble Coufin fhould
Sufpect me, that I mean no good to him;
By heav'n, we come to him in perfect love,
And fo once more return, and tell his Grace.

[Exit Catesby.

When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So fweet is zealous Contemplation.

Enter Gloucefter above, between two Bishops.
Catesby returns.

Mayor. See, where his Grace ftands 'tween two
Clergymen.

Buck. Two props of Virtue, for a Christian Prince, To stay him from the fall of Vanity;

And fee, a book of prayer in his hand,

True ornaments to know a holy man.

-Famous Plantagenet! moft gracious Prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption

Of thy devotion and right-christian zeal.

Glo. My Lord, there needs no fuch apology;
I do befeech your Grace to pardon me,
Who, earneft in the fervice of my God,
Deferr'd the vifitation of my friends.

But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure?
Buck. Ev'n that, I hope, which pleafeth God above,
And all good men of this ungovern'd Ile.

Glo. I do fufpect, I have done fome offence,
That feem difgracious in the City's eye;
X 2

And

And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Buck. You have, my Lord; would it might pleafe your Grace,

On our entreaties, to amend your fault.

Glo. Elfe wherefore breathe I in a Chriftian Land?
Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you refign
The fupream Seat, the Throne majestical,
The feepter'd Office of your Ancestors,
Your State of fortune, and your due of Birth,
The lineal Glory of your royal Houfe,
To the corruption of a blemish'd Stock,
While in the mildness of your fleepy thoughts,
Which here we waken to our Country's Good,
The noble Ifle doth want her proper limbs;
Her face defac'd with fcars of Infamy,
Her royal Stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd in the fwallowing gulph
Of dark forgetfuluefs, and deep oblivion;
Which to re-cure, we heartily follicit

Your gracious felf to take on you the Charge
And kingly Government of this your Land,
Not as Protector, Steward, Substitute,
Or lowly Factor for another's gain,

But as fucceffively, from blood to blood,
Your Right of Birth, your Empery, your own
For this, conforted with the Citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,

In this juft fuit come I to move your Grace.
Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in filence,

And almost fhoulder'd in the
fralloring gulf

Of dark forgetfulness.] What it is to be boulder'd in a gulph, Hanner is the only Editor who feems not to have known: for the reft let it pafs without obfervation. He reads,

I

Almoft fhoulder'd into th' faallowing gulph.

believe we should read,

And almost fmoulder'd in the fwallowing gulph.

That is, almoft meter'd, covered and loft.

Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Beft fitteth my degree, or your condition.
For not to answer, you might, haply, think,
Tongue-ty'd Ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of Sov'reignty,
Which fondly you would here impofe on me.
If to reprove you for this fuit of yours,
So feafon'd with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other fide, I check'd my friends.
Therefore to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then, in speaking, not incur the last,
Definitively thus I answer you.

Your love deferves my thanks; but my defert,
Unmeritable, fhuns your high request.
First, if all obftacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the Crown,
As the ripe revenue and due of birth;
Yet fo much is my poverty of fpirit,
So mighty and fo many my defects,

That I would rather hide me from my Greatness,
Being a Bark to brook no mighty Sea,
Than in my Greatnefs covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my Glory fmother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me,
3 And much I need to help you, were there Need;
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,

Which, mellow'd by the ftealing hours of time,
Will well become the feat of Majesty;
And make us, doubtless, happy by his Reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,

The Right and Fortune of his happy stars;

Which, God defend, that I fhould wring from him! Buck. My Lord, this argues confcience in your Grace.

But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,

All circumstances well confidered.

And much I need to help you.] And I want much of the ability

requifite to give you help, if help were needed,

You