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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