_Lord H._ I am not read, Nor skill'd and practis'd, in the arts of greatness, To kindle thus, and give a scope to passion. The duke is surely noble; but he touch'd me Ev'n on the tend'rest point; the master-string That makes most harmony or discord to me. I own the glorious subject fires my breast, And my soul's darling passion stands confess'd; Beyond or love's or friendship's sacred band, Beyond myself, I prize my native land: On this foundation would I build my fame, And emulate the Greek and Roman name; Think England's peace bought cheaply with my blood, And die with pleasure for my country's good. [_exit._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. THE SAME. _Enter Duke of Gloster, Ratcliffe, and Catesby._ _Glos._ This was the sum of all: that he would brook No alteration in the present state. Marry, at last, the testy gentleman Was almost mov'd to bid us bold defiance: But there I dropp'd the argument, and, changing The first design and purport of my speech, I prais'd his good affection to young Edward, And left him to believe my thoughts like his. Proceed we then in this fore-mention'd matter, As nothing bound or trusting to his friendship. _Sir R._ Ill does it thus befall. I could have wish'd This lord had stood with us. His name had been of 'vantage to your highness, And stood our present purpose much in stead. _Glos._ This wayward and perverse declining from us, Has warranted at full the friendly notice, Which we this morn receiv'd. I hold it certain, The puling, whining, harlot rules his reason, And prompts his zeal for Edward's bastard brood. _Cates._ If she have such dominion o'er his heart, And turn it at her will, you rule her fate; And should, by inference and apt deduction, Be arbiter of his. Is not her bread, The very means immediate to her being, The bounty of your hand? Why does she live, If not to yield obedience to your pleasure, To speak, to act, to think, as you command! _Sir R._ Let her instruct her tongue to bear your message; Teach every grace to smile in your behalf, And her deluded eyes to gloat for you; His ductile reason will be wound about, Be led and turn'd again, say and unsay, Receive the yoke, and yield exact obedience. _Glos._ Your counsel likes me well, it shall be follow'd, She waits without, attending on her suit. Go, call her in, and leave us here alone. [_exeunt Ratcliffe and Catesby._ How poor a thing is he, how worthy scorn, Who leaves the guidance of imperial manhood To such a paltry piece of stuff as this is! A moppet made of prettiness and pride; That oftener does her giddy fancies change, Than glittering dew-drops in the sun do colours-- Now, shame upon it! was our reason given For such a use; to be thus puff'd about? Sore there is something more than witchcraft in them, That masters ev'n the wisest of us all. _Enter Jane Shore._