[♦] Talkers are no good doers: be assured
[♦] We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
[♦] Glou. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears.
[355] I like you, lads: about your business straight.
[♦] Go, go, dispatch.
First Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt.
fad SCENE IV. London. The Tower.
Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY.
[♦] Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clar. O, I have pass’d a miserable night,