[♦] Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
[30] And I’ll salute your grace of York as mother,
[♦] And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.
[♦] [To Anne] Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen.
[♦] Q. Eliz. O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart
[35] May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon
[♦] With this dead-killing news!
[♦] Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
[♦] Dor. Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?