Shall pitch a field when we are dead. Begin again.
Glo.Stay, stay, I say!
And, if you love me, as you say you do, 104
Let me persuade you to forbear a while.
King. O! how this discord doth afflict my soul!
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears and will not once relent? 108
Who should be pitiful if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
War. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester; 112
Except you mean with obstinate repulse
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief and what murder too
Hath been enacted through your enmity: 116
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
Win. He shall submit or I will never yield.
Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
Or I would see his heart out ere the priest 120
Should ever get that privilege of me.
War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: 124
Why look you still so stern and tragical?
Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
King. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin; 128
And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
But prove a chief offender in the same?
War. Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.
103 pitch a field: do battle
121 privilege: advantage
131 gird: rebuke
