Glo.
Good day, my lord; what! at your book so hard?

K. Henry.
Ay, my good lord; my lord, I should say rather;
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better:
Good Glo'ster, and good devil, were alike,
And both prepost'rous; therefore, not good lord.

Glo.
Sir, leave us to our selves, we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant.

K. Henry.
So flies the wreakless shepherd from the wolf.
So first the harmless flock doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat, unto the butcher's knife.
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?(25) ^note

Glo.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Henry.
The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings mis-doubteth ev'ry bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.

Glo.
Why, what a peevish fool was that of Creet,
That taught his son the office of a fowl?
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

K. Henry.
I, Dedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos that deny'd our course;
The Sun, that fear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thy self, the sea,
Whose envious gulph did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words;
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragick history.
But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?

Glo.
Think'st thou, I am an executioner?

K. Henry.
A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
If murth'ring innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo.
Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. Henry.
Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,
(Men for their sons, wives for their husbands fate,
And orphans for their parents timeless death,)
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cry'd, a boding luckless Tune;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pyes in dismal discords sung:
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit, an indigested deform'd lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st into the World with thy Legs forward.(26) ^note

Glo.
I'll hear no more: die Prophet in thy speech; [Stabs him.

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

K. Henry.
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this—
O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee. [Dies.

Glo.
What! will th' 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!
O, may such purple tears be always shed,
From those who wish the Downfall of our House.
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell, and say, I sent thee thither: [Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.—
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste.
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our Right?
The midwife wonder'd, and the women cry'd,
O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!
And so I was; which plainly signify'd
That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dog:
Then, since the heav'ns have shap'd my body so.
Let hell make crook'd my mind, to answer it.
I had no father, I am like no father.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word Love, which grey-beards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am my self alone.—
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buz abroad such Prophecies,
That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the Prince his son, are gone;
Clarence, thy Turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting my self but bad, till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room;
And triumph, Henry! in the day of doom. [Exit.

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