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Test3

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All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.
Second Citizen:
Truly, the souls of men are full of dread:
Ye cannot reason almost with a man
That looks not heavily and full of fear.
Third Citizen:
Before the times of change, still is it so:
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see
The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
But leave it all to God. whither away?
Second Citizen:
Marry, we were sent for to the justices.
Third Citizen:
And so was I: I'll bear you company.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;
At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I long with all my heart to see the prince:
I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But I hear, no; they say my son of York
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.
YORK:
Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.
YORK:
Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle
Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
In him that did object the same to thee;
He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
So long a-growing and so leisurely,
That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.
YORK:
Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.
YORK:
Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?
YORK:
Grandam, his nurse.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.
YORK:
If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Good madam, be not angry with the child.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Pitchers have ears.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Here comes a messenger. What news?