The Mayor should lose his title with his office!
Well, who knows? he may be won.
Lord M. Ah, my lord!

Buck. See, he comes forth-my friends, be resolute; I know he's cautious to a fault: but do not Leave him, till our honest suit be granted.

Enter GLOSTER, with a Book.

Glost. Cousin of Buckingham,

I do beseech your grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in my zealous meditation,
So long deferr'd the service of my friends.
Now do I fear I've done some strange offence;
That looks disgracious in the city's eye. If so,
'Tis just you should reprove my ignorance.
Buck. You have, my lord: we wish your grace,
On our entreaties, would amend your fault.

Glost. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land? Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you resign The scepter'd office of your ancestors,

Fair England's throne, your own due right of birth,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;

In this just cause, I come, to move your highness,
That on your gracious self you'd take the charge,
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively from blood to blood,
Your own by right of birth, and lineal glory.
Glost. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Fits best with my degree, or your condition;
Therefore, to speak in just refusal of your suit,
And then in speaking not to check my friends,
Definitively thus I answer you:

Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert,
Unmeritable, shuns your fond request;

For, Heav'n be thank'd, there is no need of me;

Catesby. My lord, he humbly does entreat your

grace

To visit him to-morrow, or the next day:

He's now retir'd with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;

And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd,
To interrupt his holy exercise.

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke: Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Citizens,

In deep designs, in matters of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,

Are come to have some conference with his grace.
Catesby. My lord, I'll instantly inform his high-

ness.

Buck. Al, 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 courtezans;
But with two deep divines in sacred praying:
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince
Take on himself the toil of sov'reignty.

Lord M. Happy indeed, my lord.

He will not, sure, refuse our proffer'd love?

Buck. Alas, my lord! you know him not: his

mind's

Above this world-he's for a crown immortal.

Look there, his door opens; now where's our hope? Lord. M. See where his grace stands, 'tween two clergymen !

Buck. Ay, ay, 'tis there he's caught-there's his ambition.

Lord M. How low he bows, to thank them for their care!

And see! a prayer-book in his hand!

Buck. 'Would he were king, we'd give him leave to pray!

Methinks I wish it, for the love he bears the city.
How have I heard him vow, he thought it hard

The Mayor should lose his title with his office!
Well, who knows? he may be won.
Lord M. Ah, my lord!

Buck. See, he comes forth-my friends, be resolute; I know he's cautious to a fault: but do not Leave him, till our honest suit be granted.

Enter GLOSTER, with a Book.

Glost. Cousin of Buckingham,

I do beseech your grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in my zealous meditation,
So long deferr'd the service of my friends.
Now do I fear I've done some strange offence;
That looks disgracious in the city's eye. If so,
'Tis just you should reprove my ignorance.

Buck. You have, my lord: we wish your grace, On our entreaties, would amend your fault.

Glost. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land? Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you resign The scepter'd office of your ancestors,

Fair England's throne, your own due right of birth,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;

In this just cause, I come, to move your highness,
That on your gracious self you'd take the charge,
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively from blood to blood,
Your own by right of birth, and lineal glory.
Glost. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Fits best with my degree, or your condition;
Therefore, to speak in just refusal of your suit,
And then in speaking not to check my friends,
Definitively thus I answer you:

Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert,
Unmeritable, shuns your fond request;

For, Heav'n be thank'd, there is no need of me;

The royal stock has left us royal fruit,

Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make us (no doubt) happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happier stars;
Which Heav'n forbid my thoughts should rob him of!
Lord M. Upon our knees, my lord, we beg your
grace

To wear this precious robe of dignity,

Which on a child must sit too loose and heavy; 'Tis yours, befitting both your wisdom and your birth. Catesby. My lord, this coldness is unkind,

Nor suits it with such ardent loyalty.

Buck. Oh, make them happy! grant their lawful suit.

Glost. Alas! why would you heap this care on me? I am unfit for state and majesty.

I thank you for your loves, but must declare (I do beseech you take it not amiss)

I will not, dare not, must not, yield to you.

Buck. If you refuse us, through a soft remorse, Loath to depose the child, your brother's son (As well we know your tenderness of heart); Yet know, tho' you deny us to the last, Your brother's son shall never reign our king, But we will plant some other on the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house: And, thus resolv'd, I bid you, sir, farewell. My lord, and gentlemen, I beg your pardon; For this vain trouble-my intent was good, I would have serv'd my country and my king: But 'twill not be-farewell, till next we meet. Lord M. Be not too rash, my lord: his grace relents.

Buck. Away, you but deceive yourselves.

Catesby. Sweet prince, accept their suit.

[Exit.

Lord M. If you deny us, all the land will rue it.

Glost. Call him again-[Exit CATESBY.] you will

enforce me to

A world of cares-I am not made of stone,
But penetrable to your kind entreaties;
Tho', Heav'n knows, against my own inclining.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and CATESBY.

Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave, men,
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load;
But, if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me;
For Heaven knows, as you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.

Lord M. Heaven guard your grace! we see it, and will say it.

Glost. You will but say the truth, my lord.

Buck. My heart's so full, it scarce has vent for words;

My knee will better speak my duty, now!

Long live our sovereign, Richard, king of England. Glost. Indeed, your words have touch'd me nearly, cousin!

Pray rise-I wish you could recall them.

Buck. It would be treason, now, my lord; to

If it so please your majesty, from council
Orders shall be given for your coronation.

Glost. E'en when you please, for you will have it so. Buck, To-morrow then we will attend your majesty. And now we take our leaves with joy.

Glost. Cousin, adieu-my loving friends, farewell. I must unto my holy work again.

[Exeunt all but RICHARD. Why, now my golden dream is outAmbition, like an early friend, throws back