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P. Hum. No, my good lord; he is in presence
Cla. What would my lord and father?
K. Hen. 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.
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren:
Nor lose the good advantage of his
Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint;
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
If he has respectful attention shown to him.
3 Gusts of wind.
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in;
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in)
Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
Cla. He is not there to-day: he dines in London. K. Hen. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell
Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers.
K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them: therefore my grief
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors:
Though their blood be inflamed by the temptations to which youth is prone.
2 Wolf's-bane, a poisonous herb.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
The prince but studies his companions,
Like a strange tongue; wherein, to gain the lan
'Tis needful, that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd; which once attain’d,
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his grace must mete the lives of others; Turning past evils to advantages.
K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion. Who's here? Westmoreland?
West. Health to my sovereign, and new happi
Added to that that I am to deliver!
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand:
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed,
K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news.
Har. 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,
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news
make me sick?
Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
The detail contained in Prince John's letter.
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. [swoons. P. Hum. Comfort, your majesty!
O my royal father! West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look
War. 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.
Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these
The incessant care and labor of his mind
Hath wrought the mure,1 that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. P. Hum. The people fear me; for they do ob
Unfather'd heirs,3 and loathly birds of nature:
Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be
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.