Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
[25] And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
Glou. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
Duch. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
For whilst I think I am thy married wife
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
30 Methinks I should not thus be led along,
Mail’d up in shame, with papers on my back,
And follow’d with a rabble that rejoice