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Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
Cas. O Brutus !
Bru. What's the matter?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful ?
Bru. Yes, Cassius: and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
KING HENRY IV., NORTHUMBERLAND AND HOTSPUR.
K. Henry. My blood hath been too cold and temperate
Unapt to stir at these indignities;
And so you've found me: for accordingly,
You tread upon my patience; but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, than reamin in that condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect,
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud.
North. But, my good lord,
Those prisoners—in your highness' name demanded,
Which Harry Percy here at Holmdon took-
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As was deliver'd to your majesty.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners;
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress’d,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap’d,
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
He was perfum'd like a milliner:
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose; and still he smiled, and talk'd;
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility!
With many holiday and lady terms
He question’d me: amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
1, then, all smarting with my wounds-being gall’d
To be so pester'd with a popinjay-
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answer'd, neglectinglý-I know not what;
Eor he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!)
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was spermaceti for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity (so it was)
That villanous saltpetre should be dug
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow has destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier!
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd, indirectly, as I said ;
And, I beseech you, let not this report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
North. The circumstance consider’d, good my lord,
Whatever Harry Percy then hath said
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die; and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
K. Henry. Why yet he doth deny his prisoners;
But with proviso and exception,
That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betrayed
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, wild Glendower;
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears,
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ?
No; on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war; to prove that true,
Needs but one tongue; note all those wounds,
Those gaping wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did contend the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower!
Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink
Upon agreement, of sweet Severn's flood;
Who then affrighted with their bloody looks
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy
Color her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor ever could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly;
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.
K. Henry. Thou dost belie him, Percy; thou beliest him;
He never did encounter with Glendower;
He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower, for an enemy.
Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me,
As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
[Exit K, Henry.
Hot. Not speak of Mortimer ?
Yes, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him;
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i’ the dust,
But I will lift thee down-trod Mortimer,
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.
He said, he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll hollow Mortimer !
Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.
WOLSEY AND CROMWELL. Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man:-to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost-a killing frost; And—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a rip’ning-nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'dLike little wanton boys that swim on bladdersThese many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left meWeary, and old with service-to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new-opened: Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire toThat sweet aspect of princes, and their ruinMore pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell ?
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wolsey. What! amazed
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
Crom. How does your grace?
Wolsey. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities-
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,-
I humbly thank his grace-and from these shoulders,
These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour.
Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wolsey. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel),
Tendure more miseries, and greater far
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king.
Wolsey. God bless him !
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place.
Wolsey. That's somewhat sudden: But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For Truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessingsMay have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! What more?
Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wolsey. That's news indeed.
Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was viewed in public, as his queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation. Wolsey. There was the weight that pulled me down.
O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me; all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; That sun,
pray, may never set! I have told him What and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.
Crom. O, my lord,
Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And-when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of-say I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey—that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd' it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me.