Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

PRINCE.
Speak like a subject, proud, ambitious York!
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Ah, thy father had been so resolv'd!

GLOSTER.
That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

PRINCE.
Let Aesop fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddle sorts not with this place.

GLOSTER.
By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

GLOSTER.
For God's sake, take away this captive scold.