King Henry IV, Part 2 - William Shakespeare (short books to read txt) 📗

Clarence and Humphrey of Gloucester, Warwick, and others.]

KING. 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 every thing 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.

WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your majesty Shall soon enjoy.

KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, Where is the prince your brother?

GLOUCESTER. I think he ‘s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

KING. And how accompanied?

GLOUCESTER. I do not know, my lord.

KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

GLOUCESTER. No, my good lord; he is in presence here.

CLARENCE. What would my lord and father?

KING. 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 observed. He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he ‘s flint; As humorous as winter and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observed: Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth; But, being moody, give him line and scope, Till that his passions, 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.

CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.

KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

KING. And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?

CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.

KING. 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 opposed decay!

WARWICK. 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 other, Turning past evils to advantages.

KING. ‘Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.

[Enter Westmoreland.]

Who’s here? Westmoreland?

WESTMORELAND. 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 unsheathed, But Peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne Here at more leisure may your highness read, With every course in his particular.

KING. 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.

HARCOURT. 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 Bardolph, 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.

KING. 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.

GLOUCESTER. Comfort, your majesty!

CLARENCE. O my royal father!

WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.

WARWICK. 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.

CLARENCE. 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.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

CLARENCE. 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.

WARWICK. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.

GLOUCESTER. This apoplexy will certain be his end.

KING. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber: softly, pray.

[Exeunt.]

 

SCENE V. Another chamber.

[The King lying on a bed: Clarence, Gloucester, Warwick, and others in attendance.]

KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room.

KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.

CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

WARWICK. Less noise! less noise!

[Enter Prince Henry.]

PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

PRINCE. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad! How doth the king?

GLOUCESTER. Exceeding ill.

PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.

GLOUCESTER. He alt’red much upon the hearing it.

PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he’ll recover without physic.

WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords: sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is disposed to sleep.

CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room.

WARWICK. Will’t please your grace to go along with us?

PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the king.

[Exeunt all but the Prince.]

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish’d perturbation! golden care! That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorced So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously: My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, Which God shall guard: and put the world’s whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: this from thee Will I to mine leave, as ‘tis left to me.

[Exit.]

KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

[Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest.]

CLARENCE. Doth the king call?

WARWICK. What would your majesty? How fares your grace?

KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?

CLARENCE. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? let me see him: He is not here.

WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way.

GLOUCESTER. He came not through the chamber where we stay’d.

KING. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?

WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

KING. The prince hath ta’en it hence: go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose My sleep my death? Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.

[Exit Warwick.]

This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry; For this they have engross’d and piled up The canker’d heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises; When, like the bee, tolling from every flower The virtuous sweets, Our thighs pack’d with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste Yields his engrossments to the ending father.

[Re-enter Warwick.]

Now where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determin’d me?

WARWICK. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow That tyranny, which never quaff’d but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash’d his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.

KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown?

[Re-Enter Prince Henry.]

Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

[Exeunt Warwick and the rest.]

PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again.

KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours Were thine without offence; and at my death Thou hast seal’d up my expectation: Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts Which thou hast