Cam.
In mine opinion, Scroope hath well advis'd;
Poison will be the only aptest mean,
And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him.

Grey.
But yet there may be doubt in the delivery:
Harry is wise; and therefore, earl of Cambridge,
I judge that way not so convenient.

Scroope.
What think ye then of this? I am his bed-fellow,
And unsuspected nightly sleep with him.
What if I venture, in those silent hours
When sleep hath sealed up all mortal eyes,
To murder him in bed? how ye like that?

Cam.
Herein consists no safety for yourself:
And you disclos'd, what shall become of us?
But this day, as ye know, he will aboard,
(The wind's so fair) and set away for France:
If, as he goes, or entering in the ship,
It might be done, then were it excellent.

Grey.
Why, any of these: or, if you will, I'll cause
A present sitting o' the council, wherein
I will pretend some matter of such weight
As needs must have his royal company;
And so dispatch him in his council-chamber.

Cam.
Tush, yet I hear not any thing to purpose.
I wonder that lord Cobham stays so long;
His counsel in this case would much avail us. [The king and his lords advance.

Scroope.
What, shall we rise thus, and determine nothing?

K. Henry.
That were a shame indeed: no, sit again,
And you shall have my counsel in this case.
If you can find no way to kill the king,
Then you shall see how I can furnish you.
Scroope's way by poison was indifferent;
But yet, being bed-fellow to the king,
And unsuspected sleeping in his bosom,
In mine opinion that's the likelier way:
For such false friends are able to do much,
And silent night is treason's fittest friend.
Now, Cambridge, in his setting hence for France,
Or by the way, or as he goes aboard,
To do the deed, that was indifferent too,
But somewhat doubtful.
Marry, lord Grey^{2 note} came very near the point,
To have the king at council, and there murder him,
As Cæsar was, among his dearest friends.
Tell me, oh tell me, you, bright honour's stains,
For which of all my kindnesses to you,
Are ye become thus traitors to your king,
And France must have the spoil of Harry's life?

All.
Oh pardon, us dread lord.

K. Henry.
How! pardon you? that were a sin indeed.
Drag them to death, which justly they deserve:
And France shall dearly buy this villainy,
So soon as we set footing on her breast.
God have the praise for our deliverance!
And next our thanks, lord Cobham, is to thee,
True perfect mirror of nobility. [Exeunt.

3 ^note.

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