London. A Room in the Tower. |
| |
KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOUCESTER. |
| Glo. Good day, my lord. What! at your book so hard? |
| K. Hen. Ay, my good lord:my lord, I should say rather; |
| Tis sin to flatter, good was little better: |
| Good Gloucester and good devil were alike, |
| And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. |
| Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant. |
| K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; |
| So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, |
| And next his throat unto the butchers knife. |
| What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? |
| Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; |
| The thief doth fear each bush an officer. |
| K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush, |
| With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; |
| And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, |
| Have now the fatal object in my eye |
| Where my poor young was limd, was caught, and killd. |
| Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, |
| That taught his son the office of a fowl! |
| And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drownd. |
| K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; |
| Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; |
| The sun, that seard the wings of my sweet boy, |
| Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea, |
| Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. |
| Ah! kill me with thy weapon, not with words. |
| My breast can better brook thy daggers point |
| Than can my ears that tragic history. |
| But wherefore dost thou come? ist for my life? |
| Glo. Thinkst thou I am an executioner? |
| K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: |
| If murdring innocents be executing, |
| Why, then thou art an executioner. |
| Glo. Thy son I killd for his presumption. |
| K. Hen. Hadst thou been killd, when first thou didst presume, |
| Thou hadst not livd to kill a son of mine. |
| And thus I prophesy: that many a thousand, |
| Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, |
| And many an old mans sigh, and many a widows, |
| And many an orphans water-standing eye, |
| Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, |
| And orphans for their parents timeless death, |
| Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. |
| The owl shriekd at thy birth, an evil sign; |
| The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; |
| Dogs howld, and hideous tempest shook down trees! |
| The raven rookd her on the chimneys top, |
| And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. |
| Thy mother felt more than a mothers pain, |
| And yet brought forth less than a mothers hope; |
| To wit an indigest deformed lump, |
| Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. |
| Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, |
| To signify thou camst to bite the world: |
| And, if the rest be true which I have heard, |
| Thou camst |
| Glo. Ill hear no more: die, prophet, in thy speech: [Stabs him. |
| For this, amongst the rest, was I ordaind. |
| K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. |
| O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. |
| Glo. What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster |
| Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. |
| See how my sword weeps for the poor kings death! |
| O! may such purple tears be always shed |
| From those that wish the downfall of our house. |
| If any spark of life be yet remaining, |
| Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither, [Stabs him again. |
| I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. |
| Indeed, tis true, that Henry told me of; |
| For I have often heard my mother say |
| I came into the world with my legs forward. |
| Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, |
| And seek their ruin that usurpd our right? |
| The midwife wonderd, and the women cried |
| O! Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth. |
| And so I was; which plainly signified |
| That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. |
| Then, since the heavens have shapd my body so, |
| Let hell make crookd my mind to answer it. |
| I have no brother, I am like no brother; |
| And this word love, which greybeards call divine, |
| Be resident in men like one another |
| And not in me: I am myself alone. |
| Clarence, beware; thou keepst me from the light: |
| But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; |
| For I will buzz abroad such prophecies |
| That Edward shall be fearful of his life; |
| And then, to purge his fear, Ill be thy death. |
| King Henry and the prince his son are gone: |
| Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, |
| Counting myself but bad till I be best. |
| Ill throw thy body in another room, |
| And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit with the body. |
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