Adolf. Her Grace receives the court!
Gui. [Aside.] Now, sursum corda, quoth the mass-priest! Do—
Whoever's my kind saint, do let alone
These pushings to and fro, and pullings back;
Peaceably let me hang o' the devil's arm
The downward path, if you can't pluck me off
Completely! Let me live quite his, or yours!
[The Courtiers begin to range themselves, and move toward the door.
After me, Valence! So, our famous Cleves
Lacks bread? Yet don't we gallants buy their lace?