Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd, Duchess. Nay, do not say-stand up; But, pardon first, and afterwards, stand up. Speak it in French, king: say, pardonnez moi. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager That set'st the word itself against the word! cry? Duchess. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door: A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels. [Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace !] Duchess. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; He prays but faintly, and would be denied: Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land; Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. Enter King Richard. King Richard. I have been studying how I may compare This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it: yet I'll hammer't out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul, the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world; In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word: Asthus, Come, little ones; " and then again,"It is as hard to come, as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye." Music My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar, Their watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. For 'tis a sign of love, and love to Richard Hail, royal prince! King Richard. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, With much ado, at length have gotten leave As full of valour, as of royal blood: Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Welcome, my lord. What is the news? Bolingbroke. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Bolingbroke. Carlisle, this is your doom :[room, Choose out some secret place, some reverend More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. ! ACT I. SCENE 1. London. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. King Henry. SO shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. No more the thirsty entrance of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, March all one way, and be no more oppos'd Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ. [friends, Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross, We are impressed, and engag'd to fight, Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, And many limits of the charge set down My liege, this haste was hot in question, But yesternight; when, all athwart, there came It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. Westmoreland. FF Westmoreland. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious For more uneven and unwelcome news Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; King Henry. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin, In envy that my lord Northumberland you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Westmoreland. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects; [up Which makes him prune himself, and bristle The crest of youth against your dignity. King Henry. But I have sent for him to answer this; Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Westmoreland. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. SCENE 11. The same. Another Apartment in the Palace. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Falstaff Now, Hal; what time of day is it, lad? Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leapinghouses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, I see no reason why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Falstaff. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say, we be men of good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. Prince Henry. Thou say'st well, and it holds well, too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing-lay by; and spent with crying-bring in; now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Falstaff By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? Prince Henry. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Falstaff. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft. |