Queen. What, will your highness leave the parliament?
King. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown’d with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
200 My body round engirt with misery,
For what’s more miserable than discontent?
Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
205 That e’er I proved thee false or fear’d thy faith.
What louring star now envies thy estate,