[♦] The honourable blood of Lancaster,
[♦] Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kiss’d thy hand and held my stirrup?
[♦] Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
55 And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
How often hast thou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneel’d down at the board,
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall’n,
60 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;