In presence brought, the king to him thus spake: “Fond wretch,” said he, “what did thy thoughts excite To come within my kingdome’s bounds, and take Rebellious armes t’oppugne thy soueraigne’s right, And traytor-like in field ’gainst me to fight?” To which the prince, in whose bold breast did lie An inbred courage, made this stout replie: 13. “I came,” said he, “to set my father free, Whom thou in hold vniustly dost retaine: I came to reobtaine my dignitie, And in the throne to seate my sire againe, In which as king thou wrongfully dost raigne: I am by might enforc’d to stoope to thee, Who should by right be subiect vnto mee.” 14. The king being mou’d with this his stout replie, Thrust him away, in whose heroicke brest My brother _Clarence_, _Hastings_, _Grey_, and I, Did sheath our blades, which fact heau’n did detest, Permitting vs not vnreueng’d to rest: For none of vs in peacefull bed did lie, When from this world our wretched soules did flie. 15. He dead, his sire, that poore deposed king, The aged _Henrie_, sixt of that same name, Liu’d in the Tower, depriu’d of euery thing Which to a king pertain’d: yet did he frame His thoughts with patience to endure the same, Liuing a paterne of a patient spirit, Who for his fame a golden verse doth merit. 16. I thought, that while this noble king had breath, His friends my brother’s peace would still inuade: Wherefore I did contriue his sudden death, And in the Tower the butcher’s part I plaide, For th’hatefull point of that same bloodie blade, Scarce cold with luke-warm blood of his owne sonne, Vnlooked for, I through his sides did runne. 17. He dead, the battels fought in field before, Were turn’d to meetings of sweet amitie, The war-gods thundring cannons dreadfull rore, And ratling drum-sounds warlike harmonie, To sweet tun’d noise of pleasing minstralsie, The haile-like shot, to tennis balles were turn’d, And sweet perfumes in stead of smoakes were burn’d. 18. God Mars laid by his launce and tooke his lute, And turn’d his rugged frownes to smiling lookes, In stead of crimson fields, warre’s fatall fruits, He bath’d his limbes in Cypris’ warbling brookes, And set his thoughts vpon her wanton lookes, All noise of warre was husht vpon our coast, Plentie each where in easefull pride did boast. 19.