KING. Despatch, Fitzwater: hinder not thy child: Many preferments do on her await.
FITZ. Ay, girl, I know thou shalt be offer'd wealth, Which is a shrewd enticement in sad want, Great honours to lift up thy low estate, And glorious titles to eternise thee. All these do but gild over ugly shame; Such wealth, my child, foreruns releaseless need, Such honour ever proves dishonourate. For titles, none comes near a virtuous name: O, keep it ever, as thou hast done yet! And though these dark times should forget thy praise, An age will come that shall eternise it. Bid me farewell, and speak it in a word.
FITZ. O, farewell, sweet child. My liege, farewell: Leicester, Richmond, Hubert, Chester and Mowbray, friends and foes, farewell. Matilda, see thou keep thy spotless fame, And live eternis'd, else die soon with shame. [_Exit_.
MAT. Amen, amen: father, adieu, adieu! Grief dwells with me, sweet comfort follow you!
ABB. Come, daughter, come. This is a woful sight, When good endeavours are oppress'd by might.
KING. Ah, Hubert! seest thou not the sun go down, Cloudy and dark? Matilda, stay! one word. She shakes her head, and scornfully says nay.
LEI. Mad, man, at my state, That cannot raise true honour ruinate.
KING. I will not be disdain'd. I vow to see Quick vengeance on this girl for scorning me.
MES. Young Bruce, my lord, hath gotten Windsor Castle, Slain Blunt your constable, and those that kept it; And finding in a tower his mother dead, With his young brother starv'd and famished, That every one may see the rueful sight, In the thick wall he a wide window makes; And as he found them, so he lets them be, A spectacle to every comer-by, That heaven and earth your tyrant shame may see. All people cursing, crying fie upon, The tyrant, merciless, inhuman John.
KING. Chester and Mowbray, march away to Windsor: Suppress that traitor Bruce. What, if his dam In wilful fury would receive no meat, Nor suffer her young child any to eat, Is it our fault? haste ye with speed away, And we will follow. Go; begone, I pray.
HUB. O black and woful deed! O piteous thing, When slaves attend the fierce thoughts of a king.
KING. Leicester and Richmond, ay, I pray ye, do.
LEI. Get I my bear and ragged staff once more Rais'd in the field, for these wrongs some shall roar.