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London. A Room in the Tower. | |
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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: | 5 |
| ‘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, | 10 |
| And next his throat unto the butcher’s 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, | 15 |
| 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 lim’d, was caught, and kill’d. | |
| Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, | 20 |
| That taught his son the office of a fowl! | |
| And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown’d. | |
| K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; | |
| Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; | |
| The sun, that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy, | 25 |
| 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 dagger’s point | |
| Than can my ears that tragic history. | 30 |
| But wherefore dost thou come? is ’t for my life? | |
| Glo. Think’st thou I am an executioner? | |
| K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: | |
| If murd’ring innocents be executing, | |
| Why, then thou art an executioner. | 35 |
| Glo. Thy son I kill’d for his presumption. | |
| K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill’d, when first thou didst presume, | |
| Thou hadst not liv’d to kill a son of mine. | |
| And thus I prophesy: that many a thousand, | |
| Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, | 40 |
| And many an old man’s sigh, and many a widow’s, | |
| And many an orphan’s 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. | 45 |
| The owl shriek’d at thy birth, an evil sign; | |
| The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; | |
| Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempest shook down trees! | |
| The raven rook’d her on the chimney’s top, | |
| And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. | 50 |
| Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain, | |
| And yet brought forth less than a mother’s 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, | 55 |
| To signify thou cam’st to bite the world: | |
| And, if the rest be true which I have heard, | |
| Thou cam’st— | |
| Glo. I’ll hear no more: die, prophet, in thy speech: [Stabs him. | |
| For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain’d. | 60 |
| 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 king’s death! | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| 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 usurp’d our right? | 75 |
| The midwife wonder’d, 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 shap’d my body so, | 80 |
| Let hell make crook’d 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. | 85 |
| Clarence, beware; thou keep’st 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, I’ll be thy death. | 90 |
| 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. | |
| I’ll throw thy body in another room, | |
| And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit with the body. | 95 |
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