Glo. Short Summers lightly haue a forward Spring.
Enter young Yorke, Hastings, and Cardinall.
Buck. Now in good time, heere comes the Duke of
Yorke
Prince. Richard of Yorke, how fares our Noble Brother?
Yorke. Well, my deare Lord, so must I call you now
Prince. I, Brother, to our griefe, as it is yours:
Too late he dy'd, that might haue kept that Title,
Which by his death hath lost much Maiestie
Glo. How fares our Cousin, Noble Lord of Yorke?
Yorke. I thanke you, gentle Vnckle. O my Lord,
You said, that idle Weeds are fast in growth:
The Prince, my Brother, hath out-growne me farre
Glo. He hath, my Lord
Yorke. And therefore is he idle?
Glo. Oh my faire Cousin, I must not say so
Yorke. Then he is more beholding to you, then I
Glo. He may command me as my Soueraigne,
But you haue power in me, as in a Kinsman
Yorke. I pray you, Vnckle, giue me this Dagger