[♦] Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen’d corn,
[♦] Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load?
Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
As frowning at the favours of the world?
5 Why are thine eyes fix’d to the sullen earth,
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem,
Enchased with all the honours of the world?
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
10 Until thy head be circled with the same.