Glou.
What would your Majesty?

K. Henry.
Humphry, my son of Glo'ster,
Where is the Prince your brother?

Glou.
I think he is gone to hunt, my Lord, at Windsor.

K. Henry.
And how accompanied?

Glou.
I do not know, my Lord.

K. Henry.
Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him?

Glou.
No, my good Lord; he is in presence here.

Cla.
What would my Lord and father?

K. Henry.
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;
Thou hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou may'st effect,
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd:
* ^noteHe hath a tear, for pity; and a hand.
Open as day, for melting charity:
Yet, notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden,
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper therefore must be well observ'd:
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But being moody, give him line and scope,
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood,
(Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As force—perforce, the age will pour it in)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As Aconitum, or rash gun-powder.

Cla.
I shall observe him with all care and love.

K. Henry.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

Cla.
He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

K. Henry.
And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?

Cla.
With Poins, and other his continual followers.

K. Henry.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds:
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is over-spread with them; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
* ^noteThe blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th' unguided days,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon,
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his head-strong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
Oh, with what wings shall his affection fly
Tow'rds fronting peril and oppos'd decay?

Ch. Just.
My gracious Lord, you look beyond him, quite:
The Prince but studies his companions,
Like a strange tongue; wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd; which once attain'd,
Your Highness knows, comes to no farther use,
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his Grace must mete the lives of others;
Turning past evils to advantages.

K. Henry.
'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb,
In the dead carrion† ^note. Who's there? Westmorland?

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