Either be patient, and intreat me fayre,
Or with the clamorous report of Warre,
Thus will I drowne your exclamations
Dut. Art thou my Sonne?
Rich. I, I thanke God, my Father, and your selfe
Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience
Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition,
That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe
Dut. O let me speake
Rich. Do then, but Ile not heare
Dut. I will be milde, and gentle in my words
Rich. And breefe (good Mother) for I am in hast
Dut. Art thou so hasty? I haue staid for thee
(God knowes) in torment and in agony
Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Dut. No by the holy Rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth, to make the earth my Hell.
A greeuous burthen was thy Birth to me,
Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancie.
Thy School-daies frightfull, desp'rate, wilde, and furious,
Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous:
Thy Age confirm'd, proud, subtle, slye, and bloody,
More milde, but yet more harmfull; Kinde in hatred:
What comfortable houre canst thou name,
That euer grac'd me with thy company?
Rich. Faith none, but Humfrey Hower,
That call'd your Grace
To Breakefast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on, and not offend you Madam.
Strike vp the Drumme