QUEEN ELIZABETH.
But I hear no; they say my son of York
Has almost overta’en him in his growth.
YORK.
Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.
DUCHESS.
Why, my good cousin? It is good to grow.
YORK.
Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talked how I did grow
More than my brother. “Ay,” quoth my uncle Gloucester,
“Small herbs have grace; great weeds do grow apace.”
And since, methinks I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
DUCHESS.
Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
In him that did object the same to thee!
He was the wretched’st thing when he was young,
So long a-growing and so leisurely,
That if his rule were true, he should be gracious.
ARCHBISHOP.
And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.
DUCHESS.
I hope he is, but yet let mothers doubt.
YORK.
Now, by my troth, if I had been remembered,
I could have given my uncle’s Grace a flout
To touch his growth nearer than he touched mine.
DUCHESS.
How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.
YORK.
Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.
’Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.