Queen. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
Henry. Poor queen! how love to me and to her son 264
Hath made her break out into terms of rage.
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke,
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle 268
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!
The loss of those three lords torments my heart:
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair.
Come, cousin; you shall be the messenger. 272
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
Scene Two
[A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire]
Flourish. Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.
Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter the Duke of York.
York. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? 4
What is your quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
York. About what?
Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us: 8
268 cost: assail
empty: famished
269 Tire: gorge
271 entreat . . . fair: propitiate them
1 give me leave: Let me speak
