Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet,— Bard. [Within.] Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to my master. Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll, come; [Doll comes blubbered] yea, will you come, Doll? [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace. Enter King HENRY in his night-gown, with a Page. K. Hen. Go, call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters And well consider of them. Make good speed. [Exit Page. How many thousands of my poorest subjects And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why, rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast And in the visitation of the winds Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Enter WARWICK and SURREY. War. Many good-morrows to your majesty! War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. K. Hen. Why then, good-morrow to you all, my lords. Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, My Lord Northumberland will soon be cooled. And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea; and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth-viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue— Would shut the book and sit him down and die. It is not ten years gone, Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, And laid his love and life under my foot; Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, Gave him defiance. But which of you was by— [To WARWICK.] (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) When Richard, with his eyes brimful of tears, That I and greatness were compelled to kiss. Foretelling this same time's condition, War. There is a history in all men's lives, Such things become the hatch and brood of time; King Richard might create a perfect guess K. Hen. Are these things then necessities? And that same word even now cries out on us. Are fifty thousand strong, War. It cannot be, my lord; Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.-Please it your grace To go to bed; upon my life, my lord, The powers that you already have sent forth Shall bring this prize in very easily. |