[♦] Glou. [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man!
[110] That is the butt-end of a mother’s blessing:
[♦] I marvel why her grace did leave it out.
Buck. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,
[♦] That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
[♦] Now cheer each other in each other’s love:
[115] Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
[♦] We are to reap the harvest of his son.
[♦] The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
[♦] But lately splinter’d, knit and join’d together,