Part 21

King. And how accompanied? Glo. I doe not know (my Lord.) King. Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? Glo. No (my good Lord) hee is in presence heere

Clar. 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? Hee loues thee, and thou do'st neglect him (Thomas.) Thou hast a better place in his Affection, Then all thy Brothers: cherish it (my Boy) And Noble Offices thou may'st effect Of Mediation (after I am dead) Betweene his Greatnesse, and thy other Brethren. Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue, Nor loose the good aduantage of his Grace, By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will. For hee is gracious, if hee be obseru'd: Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a Hand Open (as Day) for melting Charitie: Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint, As humorous as Winter, and as sudden, As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day. His temper therefore must be well obseru'd: Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently, When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth: But being moodie, giue him Line, and scope, Till that his passions (like a Whale on ground) Confound themselues with working. Learne this Thomas, And thou shalt proue a shelter to thy friends, A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in: That the vnited Vessell of their Blood (Mingled with Venome of Suggestion, As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in) Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strong As Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder

Clar. I shall obserue him with all care, and loue

King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him (Thomas?) Clar. Hee is not there to day: hee dines in London

King. And how accompanyed? Canst thou tell that? Clar. With Pointz, and other his continuall followers

King. Most subiect is the fattest Soyle to Weedes: And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth) Is ouer-spread with them: therefore my griefe Stretches it selfe beyond the howre of death. The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe shape (In formes imaginarie) th' vnguided Dayes, And rotten Times, that you shall looke vpon, When I am sleeping with my Ancestors. For when his head-strong Riot hath no Curbe, When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counsailors, When Meanes and lauish Manners meete together; Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections flye Towards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay? War. My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite: The Prince but studies his Companions, Like a strange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language, 'Tis needfull, that the most immodest word Be look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd, Your Highnesse knowes, comes to no farther vse, But to be knowne, and hated. So, like grosse termes, The Prince will, in the perfectnesse of time, Cast off his followers: and their memorie Shall as a Patterne, or a Measure, liue, By which his Grace must mete the liues of others, Turning past-euills to aduantages

King. 'Tis seldome, when the Bee doth leaue her Combe In the dead Carrion. Enter Westmerland.

Who's heere? Westmerland? West. Health to my Soueraigne, and new happinesse Added to that, that I am to deliuer. Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kisse your Graces Hand: Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroope, Hastings, and all, Are brought to the Correction of your Law. There is not now a Rebels Sword vnsheath'd, But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where: The manner how this Action hath beene borne, Here (at more leysure) may your Highnesse reade, With euery course, in his particular

King. O Westmerland, thou art a Summer Bird, Which euer in the haunch of Winter sings The lifting vp of day. Enter Harcourt.

Looke, heere's more newes

Harc. From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maiestie: And when they stand against you, may they fall, As those that I am come to tell you of. The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe, With a great Power of English, and of Scots, Are by the Sherife of Yorkeshire ouerthrowne: The manner, and true order of the fight, This Packet (please it you) containes at large

King. And wherefore should these good newes Make me sicke? Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full, But write her faire words still in foulest Letters? Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode, (Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast, And takes away the Stomack (such are the Rich, That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.) I should reioyce now, at this happy newes, And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie. O me, come neere me, now I am much ill

Glo. Comfort your Maiestie

Cla. Oh, my Royall Father

West. My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, looke vp

War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these Fits Are with his Highnesse very ordinarie. Stand from him, giue him ayre: Hee'le straight be well

Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs, Th' incessant care, and labour of his Minde, Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in, So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out

Glo. The people feare me: for they doe obserue Vnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature: The Seasons change their manners, as the Yeere Had found some Moneths asleepe, and leap'd them ouer

Clar. The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene: And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles) Say it did so, a little time before That our great Grand-sire Edward sick'd, and dy'de

War. Speake lower (Princes) for the King recouers

Glo. This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end

King. I pray you take me vp, and beare me hence Into some other Chamber: softly 'pray. Let there be no noyse made (my gentle friends) Vnlesse some dull and fauourable hand Will whisper Musicke to my wearie Spirit

War. Call for the Musicke in the other Roome

King. Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here

Clar. His eye is hollow, and hee changes much

War. Lesse noyse, lesse noyse. Enter Prince Henry.

P.Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? Clar. I am here (Brother) full of heauinesse

P.Hen. How now? Raine within doores, and none abroad? How doth the King? Glo. Exceeding ill