[♦] Prince. Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?
[♦] York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.
Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
[♦] Too late he died that might have kept that title,
100 Which by his death hath lost much majesty.
Glou. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?
York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth:
[♦] The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
Glou. He hath, my lord.