This hand was made to handle nought but gold.
[♦] I cannot give due action to my words,
Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
[10] A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
[♦] On which I’ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
Enter BUCKINGHAM.
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.
Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.
15 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.