Clifford. Patience is for Poultroones, such as he:
He durst not sit there, had your Father liu'd.
My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament
Let vs assayle the Family of Yorke
North. Well hast thou spoken, Cousin be it so
Henry. Ah, know you not the Citie fauours them,
And they haue troupes of Souldiers at their beck?
Westm. But when the Duke is slaine, they'le quickly
flye
Henry. Farre be the thought of this from Henries heart,
To make a Shambles of the Parliament House.
Cousin of Exeter, frownes, words, and threats,
Shall be the Warre that Henry meanes to vse.
Thou factious Duke of Yorke descend my Throne,
And kneele for grace and mercie at my feet,
I am thy Soueraigne
Yorke. I am thine
Exet. For shame come downe, he made thee Duke of
Yorke
Yorke. It was my Inheritance, as the Earledome was
Exet. Thy Father was a Traytor to the Crowne
Warw. Exeter thou art a Traytor to the Crowne,
In following this vsurping Henry
Clifford. Whom should hee follow, but his naturall
King?
Warw. True Clifford, that's Richard Duke of Yorke