Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?
Sir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
And so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight
King. Stay, and breath awhile.
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,
And shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my life
In this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee
Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,
That euer said I hearkned to your death.
If it were so, I might haue let alone
The insulting hand of Dowglas ouer you,
Which would haue bene as speedy in your end,
As all the poysonous Potions in the world,
And sau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne
K. Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gausey.
Exit
Enter Hotspur.
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth
Prin. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name
Hot. My name is Harrie Percie
Prin. Why then I see a very valiant rebel of that name.
I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:
Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere,
Nor can one England brooke a double reigne,
Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales
Hot.
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