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, |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| 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? |
| 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? |
| 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? |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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; |
| 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: |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| 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? |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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, |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| |
Enter WESTMORELAND. |
| Who's here? Westmoreland! |
| West. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness |
| Added to that that I am to deliver! |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| K. Hen. O Westmoreland! thou art a summer bird, |
| Which ever in the haunch of winter sings |
| The lifting up of day. |
| |
Enter HARCOURT. |
| 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! |
| 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 |
| 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? |
| 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. |
| 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! |
| 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: |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| Into some other chamber: softly, pray. |
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