Queen. Thou wilt meet him fairly, thou wilt think
Not on thy woes, but on thy dear son’s hopes.
Hen. Fear not Margaret, meeting such a devil,
Who thinketh him a God, but I’ll dissemble.
I’m not the olden Henry that I was.
Mine inward pride will make mine outward meeker,
Subtility with subtility I’ll match
To wipe out this dishonour.
[Knocks at the gate.
Enter Warder.