SCENE II. The palace.

Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE

BOY
Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?

DUCHESS OF YORK
No, boy.

BOY
Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,
And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'

GIRL
Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
And call us wretches, orphans, castaways
If that our noble father be alive?

DUCHESS OF YORK
My pretty cousins, you mistake me much;
I do lament the sickness of the king.
As loath to lose him, not your father's death;
It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

BOY
Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
The king my uncle is to blame for this:
God will revenge it; whom I will importune
With daily prayers all to that effect.