London. A Room in the Palace. |
| |
Enter KING HENRY, the PRINCE, and Lords. |
| K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I |
| Must have some private conference: but be near at hand, |
| For we shall presently have need of you. [Exeunt Lords. |
| I know not whether God will have it so, |
| For some displeasing service I have done, |
| That, in his secret doom, out of my blood |
| He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me; |
| But thou dost in thy passages of life |
| Make me believe that thou art only mark'd |
| For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven |
| To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, |
| Could such inordinate and low desires, |
| Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, |
| Such barren pleasures, rude society, |
| As thou art match'd withal and grafted to, |
| Accompany the greatness of thy blood |
| And hold their level with thy princely heart? |
| Prince. So please your majesty, I would I could |
| Quit all offences with as clear excuse |
| As well as I am doubtless I can purge |
| Myself of many I am charg'd withal: |
| Yet such extenuation let me beg, |
| As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, |
| Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, |
| By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, |
| I may, for some things true, wherein my youth |
| Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, |
| Find pardon on my true submission. |
| K. Hen. God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry, |
| At thy affections, which do hold a wing |
| Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. |
| Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, |
| Which by thy younger brother is supplied, |
| And art almost an alien to the hearts |
| Of all the court and princes of my blood. |
| The hope and expectation of thy time |
| Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man |
| Prophetically do forethink thy fall. |
| Had I so lavish of my presence been, |
| So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, |
| So stale and cheap to vulgar company, |
| Opinion, that did help me to the crown, |
| Had still kept loyal to possession |
| And left me in reputeless banishment, |
| A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. |
| By being seldom seen, I could not stir, |
| But like a comet I was wonder'd at; |
| That men would tell their children, 'This is he;' |
| Others would say, 'Where? which is Boling-broke?' |
| And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, |
| And dress'd myself in such humility |
| That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, |
| Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, |
| Even in the presence of the crowned king. |
| Thus did I keep my person fresh and new; |
| My presence, like a robe pontifical, |
| Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state, |
| Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast, |
| And won by rareness such solemnity. |
| The skipping king, he ambled up and down |
| With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, |
| Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state, |
| Mingled his royalty with capering fools, |
| Had his great name profaned with their scorns, |
| And gave his countenance, against his name, |
| To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push |
| Of every beardless vain comparative; |
| Grew a companion to the common streets, |
| Enfeoff'd himself to popularity; |
| That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, |
| They surfeited with honey and began |
| To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little |
| More than a little is by much too much. |
| So, when he had occasion to be seen, |
| He was but as the cuckoo is in June, |
| Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes |
| As, sick and blunted with community, |
| Afford no extraordinary gaze, |
| Such as is bent on sun-like majesty |
| When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; |
| But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down, |
| Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect |
| As cloudy men use to their adversaries, |
| Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. |
| And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou; |
| For thou hast lost thy princely privilege |
| With vile participation: not an eye |
| But is aweary of thy common sight, |
| Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; |
| Which now doth that I would not have it do, |
| Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. |
| Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, |
| Be more myself. |
| K. Hen. For all the world, |
| As thou art to this hour was Richard then |
| When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh; |
| And even as I was then is Percy now. |
| Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot, |
| He hath more worthy interest to the state |
| Than thou the shadow of succession; |
| For of no right, nor colour like to right, |
| He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, |
| Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, |
| And, being no more in debt to years than thou, |
| Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on |
| To bloody battles and to bruising arms. |
| What never-dying honour hath he got |
| Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds, |
| Whose hot incursions and great name in arms, |
| Holds from all soldiers chief majority, |
| And military title capital, |
| Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. |
| Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes, |
| This infant warrior, in his enterprises |
| Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once, |
| Enlarged him and made a friend of him, |
| To fill the mouth of deep defiance up |
| And shake the peace and safety of our throne. |
| And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, |
| The Archbishop's Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, |
| Capitulate against us and are up. |
| But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? |
| Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, |
| Which art my near'st and dearest enemy? |
| Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, |
| Base inclination, and the start of spleen, |
| To fight against me under Percy's pay, |
| To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns, |
| To show how much thou art degenerate. |
| Prince. Do not think so; you shall not find it so: |
| And God forgive them, that so much have sway'd |
| Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! |
| I will redeem all this on Percy's head, |
| And in the closing of some glorious day |
| Be bold to tell you that I am your son; |
| When I will wear a garment all of blood |
| And stain my favours in a bloody mask, |
| Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it: |
| And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, |
| That this same child of honour and renown, |
| This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, |
| And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. |
| For every honour sitting on his helm,— |
| Would they were multitudes, and on my head |
| My shames redoubled!—for the time will come |
| That I shall make this northern youth exchange |
| His glorious deeds for my indignities. |
| Percy is but my factor, good my lord, |
| To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; |
| And I will call him to so strict account |
| That he shall render every glory up, |
| Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, |
| Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. |
| This, in the name of God, I promise here: |
| The which, if he be pleas'd I shall perform, |
| I do beseech your majesty may salve |
| The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: |
| If not, the end of life cancels all bands, |
| And I will die a hundred thousand deaths |
| Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. |
| K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this: |
| Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. |
| |
Enter SIR WALTER BLUNT. |
| How now, good Blunt! thy looks are full of speed. |
| Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. |
| Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word |
| That Douglas and the English rebels met, |
| The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. |
| A mighty and a fearful head they are,— |
| If promises be kept on every hand,— |
| As ever offer'd foul play in a state. |
| K. Hen. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day, |
| With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; |
| For this advertisement is five days old. |
| On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; |
| On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting |
| Is Bridgenorth; and Harry, you shall march |
| Through Gloucestershire; by which account, |
| Our business valued, some twelve days hence |
| Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. |
| Our hands are full of business: let's away; |
| Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.