Lincoln. Here he stands.
King. Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy!—Lincoln, speak,
What canst thou lay unto thy nephew’s charge?
Lincoln. This, my dear liege: your Grace, to do me honour,
Heaped on the head of this degenerate boy
Desertless favours; you made choice of him,
To be commander over powers in France.
But he——
King. Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while!
Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak.
I know how Lacy did neglect our love,
Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree,
Into vile treason——
Lincoln. Is he not a traitor?
King. Lincoln, he was; now have we pardoned him.
’Twas not a base want of true valour’s fire,
That held him out of France, but love’s desire.
Lincoln. I will not bear his shame upon my back.
King. Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive you both.
Lincoln. Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed
One whose mean birth will much disgrace his bed.