Of times long past, ev'n now with woe remember'd, Before thou bidd'st good night, to quit their grief, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send thy hearers weeping to their beds. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Tower. Enter GLOSTer. Glost. Now is the winter of our discontent Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, But I, that am not made for sportive tricks, Have no delight to pass away my hours, Why, then, to me this restless world's but hell, I'll climb betimes, without remorse or dread, SCENE III. A Chamber in the Tower. KING HENRY, sleeping on a Couch. Enter LIEUTENANT. Lieut. Asleep so soon! but sorrow minds no sea sons; The morning, noon, and night, with her's the same; K. Hen. Who's there! Lieutenant! is it you? Lieut. You shake, my lord, and look affrighted! K. Hen. Oh! I have had the fearfull'st dream! such sights, That, as I live, I would not pass another hour so dreadful, Enter GLOSTER. Glost. Good day, my lord; what, at your book so hard? I disturb you. K. Hen. You do indeed. Glost. Friend, leave us to ourselves; we must confer. act? K. Hen. What bloody scene has Roscius now to [Exit LIEUTENANT. Glost. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind : The thief does fear each bush an officer. K. Hen. Where thieves, without controlment, rob and kill, The traveller does fear each bush a thief: The poor bird, that has been already lim'd, By whom my young one bled, was caught, and kill'd. Glost. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd: Thou shouldst have taught thy boy his prayers alone, And then he had not broke his neck with climbing. K. Hen. Ah! kill me with thy weapon, not thy words; My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, Than can my ears that piercing story; But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? K. Hen. If murdering innocents be executing, Glost. 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: But thou wert born to massacre mankind. And chattering pies in dismal discord sung; Glost. I'll hear no more-Die, prophet, in thy For this, amongst the rest, I was ordain'd. [Stabs him. K. Hen. Oh! and for much more slaughter after this; Just Heav'n forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. Glost. 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! Oh may such purple tears be always shed, From those, who wish the downfall of our house! Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither; That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. And this word love, which grey-beards call divine, And not in me-I am-myself alone. Thou'st not another day to live; which done, But soft-I'm sharing spoil, before the field is won. Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns, When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit. |