Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!

Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,
To be your comforter when he is gone.

In that you brook it in, it makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.