MOW. You must not go:
The king is mov'd, and will not hear you speak.
LADY B. But he shall hear me! pity me, King John!
Call Mowbray back: hear me, for pity's sake!
Regard the Lady Bruce's woful cry!
KING. What dost thou ask?
LADY B. First call back Mowbray.
KING. Stay, Mowbray. Now, be brief.
LADY B. I have some linen garments, jewels, 'tires,
Pack'd in a hamper here within the lodge:
O, let me save it from consuming fire!
KING. And is this all?
LADY B. It's all the little all I here have left.
KING. Away! set fire! linen and trash!
LADY B. Once more hear me! there's a precious gem,
You have not any richer in all the realm:
If fire do blemish it, art never more
To his true colour can the same restore.