Mad, is he?
Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the King will confirm it.

This very morrow shall he be installed in his princely dignity in due and ancient form.

Take instant order for it, my lord Hertford." One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said-- "The King's majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal of England lieth attainted in the Tower.

It were not meet that one attainted--" "Peace! Insult not mine ears with his hated name.

Is this man to live for ever?
Am I to be baulked of my will?
Is the prince to tarry uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an Earl Marshal free of treasonable taint to invest him with his honours?
No, by the splendour of God! Warn my Parliament to bring me Norfolk's doom before the sun rise again, else shall they answer for it grievously!" {1} Lord Hertford said-- "The King's will is law;" and, rising, returned to his former place.
Gradually the wrath faded out of the old King's face, and he said-- "Kiss me, my prince.