“I am used to nipping air and scant apparel, ’tis little I shall mind the cold!” — then walked up and down the room, to keep his blood in motion, soliloquising as before.

“His injured mind persuades him he is Prince of Wales; ’twill be odd to have a Prince of Wales still with us, now that he that was the prince is prince no more, but king — for this poor mind is set upon the one fantasy, and will not reason out that now it should cast by the prince and call itself the king.

. . If my father liveth still, after these seven years that I have heard nought from home in my foreign dungeon, he will welcome the poor lad and give him generous shelter for my sake; so will my good elder brother, Arthur; my other brother, Hugh — but I will crack his