Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber. | |
| |
Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and Others. | |
| K. Hen. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end | |
| To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, | 4 |
| We will our youth lead on to higher fields | |
| And draw no swords but what are sanctified. | |
| Our navy is address’d, our power collected, | |
| Our substitutes in absence well invested, | 8 |
| And everything lies level to our wish: | |
| Only, we want a little personal strength; | |
| And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, | |
| Come underneath the yoke of government. | 12 |
| War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty | |
| Shall soon enjoy. | |
| K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, | |
| Where is the prince your brother? | 16 |
| Glo. I think he’s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. | |
| K. Hen. And how accompanied? | |
| Glo. I do not know, my lord. | |
| K. Hen. Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him? | 20 |
| Glo. No, my good lord; he is in presence here. | |
| Cla. What would my lord and father? | |
| K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. | |
| How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? | 24 |
| He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; | |
| Thou hast a better place in his affection | |
| Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy, | |
| And noble offices thou mayst effect | 28 |
| Of mediation, after I am dead, | |
| Between his greatness and thy other brethren: | |
| Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, | |
| Nor lose the good advantage of his grace | 32 |
| By seeming cold or careless of his will; | |
| For he is gracious, if he be observ’d: | |
| He hath a tear for pity and a hand | |
| Open as day for melting charity; | 36 |
| Yet, notwithstanding, being incens’d, he’s flint; | |
| As humorous as winter, and as sudden | |
| As flaws congealed in the spring of day. | |
| His temper therefore must be well observ’d: | 40 |
| Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, | |
| When you perceive his blood inclin’d to mirth; | |
| But, being moody, give him line and scope, | |
| Till that his passion like a whale on ground, | 44 |
| Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, | |
| And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, | |
| A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, | |
| That the united vessel of their blood, | 48 |
| Mingled with venom of suggestion— | |
| As, force perforce, the age will pour it in— | |
| Shall never leak, though it do work as strong | |
| As aconitum or rash gunpowder. | 52 |
| Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. | |
| K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? | |
| Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. | |
| K. Hen. And how accompanied? canst thou tell that? | 56 |
| Cla. With Poins and other his continual followers. | |
| K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; | |
| And he, the noble image of my youth, | |
| Is overspread with them: therefore my grief | 60 |
| Stretches itself beyond the hour of death: | |
| The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape | |
| In forms imaginary the unguided days | |
| And rotten times that you shall look upon | 64 |
| When I am sleeping with my ancestors. | |
| For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, | |
| When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, | |
| When means and lavish manners meet together, | 68 |
| O! with what wings shall his affections fly | |
| Towards fronting peril and oppos’d decay. | |
| War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: | |
| The prince but studies his companions | 72 |
| Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, | |
| ’Tis needful that the most immodest word | |
| Be look’d upon, and learn’d; which once attain’d, | |
| Your highness knows, comes to no further use | 76 |
| But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, | |
| The prince will in the perfectness of time | |
| Cast off his followers; and their memory | |
| Shall as a pattern or a measure live, | 80 |
| By which his Grace must mete the lives of others, | |
| Turning past evils to advantages. | |
| K. Hen. ’Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb | |
| In the dead carrion. | 84 |
| |
Enter WESTMORELAND. | |
| Who’s here? Westmoreland! | |
| West. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness | |
| Added to that that I am to deliver! | 88 |
| Prince John your son doth kiss your Grace’s hand: | |
| Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all | |
| Are brought to the correction of your law. | |
| There is not now a rebel’s sword unsheath’d, | 92 |
| But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. | |
| The manner how this action hath been borne | |
| Here at more leisure may your highness read, | |
| With every course in his particular. | 96 |
| K. Hen. O Westmoreland! thou art a summer bird, | |
| Which ever in the haunch of winter sings | |
| The lifting up of day. | |
| |
Enter HARCOURT. | 100 |
| Look! here’s more news. | |
| Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; | |
| And, when they stand against you, may they fall | |
| As those that I am come to tell you of! | 104 |
| The Earl Northumberland, and the Lord Bar dolph, | |
| With a great power of English and of Scots, | |
| Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown. | |
| The manner and true order of the fight | 108 |
| This packet, please it you, contains at large. | |
| K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? | |
| Will Fortune never come with both hands full | |
| But write her fair words still in foulest letters? | 112 |
| She either gives a stomach and no food; | |
| Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast | |
| And takes away the stomach; such are the rich, | |
| That have abundance and enjoy it not. | 116 |
| I should rejoice now at this happy news, | |
| And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy. | |
| O me! come near me, now I am much ill. | |
| Glo. Comfort, your majesty! | 120 |
| Cla. O my royal father! | |
| West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself: look up! | |
| War. Be patient, princes: you do know these fits | |
| Are with his highness very ordinary: | 124 |
| Stand from him, give him air; he’ll straight be well. | |
| Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs: | |
| The incessant care and labour of his mind | |
| Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in | 128 |
| So thin, that life looks through and will break out. | |
| Glo. The people fear me; for they do observe | |
| Unfather’d heirs and loathly births of nature: | |
| The seasons change their manners, as the year | 132 |
| Had found some months asleep and leap’d them over. | |
| Cla. The river hath thrice flow’d, no ebb between; | |
| And the old folk, time’s doting chronicles, | |
| Say it did so a little time before | 136 |
| That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick’d and died. | |
| War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. | |
| Glo. This apoplexy will certain be his end. | |
| K. Hen. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence | 140 |
| Into some other chamber: softly, pray. | |
