Southampton. A Council-chamber. |
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Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND. |
Bed. 'Fore God, his Grace is bold to trust these traitors. |
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. |
West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves! |
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, |
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. |
Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, |
By interception which they dream not of. |
Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, |
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, |
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell |
His sovereign's life to death and treachery! |
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Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, Lords, and Attendants. |
K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. |
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, |
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: |
Think you not that the powers we bear with us |
Will cut their passage through the force of France, |
Doing the execution and the act |
For which we have in head assembled them? |
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. |
K. Hen. I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded |
We carry not a heart with us from hence |
That grows not in a fair consent with ours; |
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish |
Success and conquest to attend on us. |
Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd |
Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject |
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness |
Under the sweet shade of your government. |
Grey. True: those that were your father's enemies |
Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you |
With hearts create of duty and of zeal. |
K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, |
And shall forget the office of our hand, |
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit |
According to the weight and worthiness. |
Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, |
And labour shall refresh itself with hope, |
To do your Grace incessant services. |
K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, |
Enlarge the man committed yesterday |
That rail'd against our person: we consider |
It was excess of wine that set him on; |
And on his more advice we pardon him. |
Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: |
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example |
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. |
K. Hen. O! let us yet be merciful. |
Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. |
Grey. Sir, |
You show great mercy, if you give him life |
After the taste of much correction. |
K. Hen. Alas! your too much love and care of me |
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. |
If little faults, proceeding on distemper, |
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye |
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested, |
Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, |
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care, |
And tender preservation of our person, |
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes: |
Who are the late commissioners? |
Cam. I one, my lord: |
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. |
Scroop. So did you me, my liege. |
Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. |
K. Hen. Then, Richard, Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; |
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, |
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: |
Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. |
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, |
We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen! |
What see you in those papers that you lose |
So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! |
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there, |
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood |
Out of appearance? |
Cam. I do confess my fault, |
And do submit me to your highness' mercy. |
Grey. & Scroop. To which we all appeal. |
K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but late |
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: |
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; |
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, |
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. |
See you, my princes and my noble peers, |
These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, |
You know how apt our love was to accord |
To furnish him with all appertinents |
Belonging to his honour; and this man |
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, |
And sworn unto the practices of France, |
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which |
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us |
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But O! |
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, |
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! |
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, |
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, |
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold |
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use! |
May it be possible that foreign hire |
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil |
That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange |
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross |
As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. |
Treason and murder ever kept together, |
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, |
Working so grossly in a natural cause |
That admiration did not whoop at them: |
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in |
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: |
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was |
That wrought upon thee so preposterously |
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: |
And other devils that suggest by treasons |
Do botch and bungle up damnation |
With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd |
From glistering semblances of piety; |
But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, |
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, |
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. |
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus |
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, |
He might return to vasty Tartar back, |
And tell the legions, 'I can never win |
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' |
O! how hast thou with jealousy infected |
The sweetness of affiance. Show men dutiful? |
Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? |
Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? |
Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? |
Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, |
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, |
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, |
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, |
Not working with the eye without the ear, |
And but in purged judgment trusting neither? |
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: |
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, |
To mark the full-fraught man and best indu'd |
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; |
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like |
Another fall of man. Their faults are open: |
Arrest them to the answer of the law; |
And God acquit them of their practices! |
Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. |
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. |
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. |
Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd, |
And I repent my fault more than my death; |
Which I beseech your highness to forgive, |
Although my body pay the price of it. |
Cam. For me, the gold of France did not seduce, |
Although I did admit it as a motive |
The sooner to effect what I intended: |
But God be thanked for prevention; |
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, |
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. |
Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice |
At the discovery of most dangerous treason |
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, |
Prevented from a damned enterprise. |
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. |
K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. |
You have conspir'd against our royal person, |
Join'd with an enemy proelaim'd, and from his coffers |
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; |
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, |
His princes and his peers to servitude, |
His subjects to oppression and contempt, |
And his whole kingdom into desolation. |
Touching our person seek we no revenge; |
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, |
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws |
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, |
Poor miserable wretches, to your death; |
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give you |
Patience to endure, and true repentance |
Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. [Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP, and GREY, guarded. |
Now, lords, for France! the enterprise whereof |
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. |
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, |
Since God so graciously hath brought to light |
This dangerous treason lurking in our way |
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now |
But every rub is smoothed on our way. |
Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver |
Our puissance into the hand of God, |
Putting it straight in expedition. |
Cheerly to sea! the signs of war advance: |
No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeunt. |
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