Cam. (R.) Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’d
Than is your majesty: there’s not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.
Grey. (R.) Even those that were your father’s enemies
Have steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you
With hearts create[2] of duty and of zeal.
K.Hen. (C.) We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;
And shall forget the office of our hand,
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit