OX. Can noble English hearts bear the French yoke? No, Leicester: Richmond, think on Louis' sire, That left you and your king in Palestine. QUEEN. And think, beside, you know not Louis's nature, Who may be as bad as John, or, rather, worse Than he. HUB. And look, my lords, upon his silent woe; His soul is at the door of death, I know. See how he seeks to suck, if he could draw Poison from dead Matilda's ashy lips. I will be sworn his very heart-string nips. A vengeance on that slave, that cursed Brand! I'll kill him, if I live, with this right hand. OX. Thou canst not, Hubert; he hath kill'd himself-- But to our matter. Leicester, pray thee speak. Young Bruce, for God's sake, let us know thy mind. BRUCE. I would be loth to be a stranger's slave: For England's love, I would no French king have. LEI. Well, Oxford, if I be deceiv'd in John again, It's 'long of you, Lord Hubert, and the queen. Yield up the castle, Bruce: we'll once more try King John's proceedings. Oxford, tell him so. [OXFORD _goes to the_ KING, _does his duty, and talks with him_. BRUCE. I will come down. But first farewell, dear mother, [_Kiss her_. Farewell, poor little George, my pretty brother! Now will I shut my shambles in again: Farewell, farewell! [_Closes the casement_. In everlasting bliss your sweet souls dwell. Ox. But you must mend, i' faith; in faith you must[380]. LEI. My lord, once more your subjects do submit, Beseeching you to think how things have pass'd; And let some comfort shine on us, your friends, Through the bright splendour of your virtuous life. KING. I thank you all; and, Leicester, I protest, I will be better than I yet have been. BRUCE. Of Windsor Castle here the keys I yield. KING. Thanks, Bruce: forgive me, and I pray thee see Thy mother and thy brother buried [BRUCE _offers to kiss_ MATILDA. In Windsor Castle church. Do, kiss her cheek: Weep thou on that, on this side I will weep. QUEEN. Chaste virgin, thus I crown thee with these flowers. KING. Let us go on to Dunmow with this maid: Among the hallow'd nuns let her be laid. Unto her tomb a monthly pilgrimage Doth King John vow, in penance for this wrong. Go forward, maids; on with Matilda's hearse, And on her tomb see you engrave this verse. "Within this marble monument doth lie Matilda, martyr'd for her chastity." [_Exeunt_. EPILOGUS. Thus is Matilda's story shown in act, And rough-hewn out by an uncunning hand: Being of the most material points compact, That with the certain'st state of truth do stand. FINIS. CONTENTION BETWEEN LIBERALITY AND PRODIGALITY. _EDITION_ _A Pleasant Comedie, shewing the contention betweene Liberalitie and Prodigalitie. As it was playd before her Maiestie. London Printed by Simon Stafford for George Vincent, and are to be sold at the signs of the Hand in hand in Wood-street over against S. Michaels Church_. 1602. 4to.