3074Rich. Good day, my Lord, what at your Booke so

3075hard?

3076Hen. I my good Lord: my Lord I should say rather,

3077Tis sinne to flatter, Good was little better:

3078'Good Gloster, and good Deuill, were alike,

3079And both preposterous: therefore, not Good Lord.

3080Rich. Sirra, leaue vs to our selues, we must conferre.

3081 Hen. So flies the wreaklesse shepherd from y^e Wolfe:

3082So first the harmlesse Sheepe doth yeeld his Fleece,

3083And next his Throate, vnto the Butchers Knife.

3084What Scene of death hath Rossius now to Acte?

3085Rich. Suspition alwayes haunts the guilty minde,

3086The Theefe doth feare each bush an Officer,

3087Hen. The Bird that hath bin limed in a bush,

3088With trembling wings misdoubteth euery bush;

3089And I the haplesse Male to one sweet Bird,

3090Haue now the fatall Obiect in my eye,

3091Where my poore yong was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.

3092 Rich. Why what a peeuish Foole was that of Creet,

3093That taught his Sonne the office of a Fowle,

3094And yet for all his wings, the Foole was drown'd.

3095Hen. I Dedalus, my poore Boy Icarus,

3096Thy Father Minos, that deni'de our course,

3097The Sunne that sear'd the wings of my sweet Boy.

3098Thy Brother Edward, and thy Selfe, the Sea

3099Whose enuious Gulfe did swallow vp his life:

3100Ah, kill me with thy Weapon, not with words,

3101My brest can better brooke thy Daggers point,

3102Then can my eares that Tragicke History.

3103But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my Life?

3104Rich. Think'st thou I am an Executioner?

3105Hen. A Persecutor I am sure thou art,

3106If murthering Innocents be Executing,

3107Why then thou art an Executioner.

3108Rich. Thy Son I kill'd for his presumption.

3109 Hen. Hadst thou bin kill'd, when first y^u didst presume,

3110Thou had'st not liu'd to kill a Sonne of mine:

3111And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand,

3112Which now mistrust no parcell of my feare,

3113And many an old mans sighe, and many a Widdowes,

3114And many an Orphans water-standing-eye,

3115Men for their Sonnes, Wiues for their Husbands,

3116Orphans, for their Parents timeles death,

3117Shall rue the houre that euer thou was't borne.

3118The Owle shriek'd at thy birth, an euill signe,

3119The Night-Crow cry'de, aboding lucklesse time,

3120Dogs howl'd, and hiddeous Tempest shook down Trees:

3121The Rauen rook'd her on the Chimnies top,

3122And chatt'ring Pies in dismall Discords sung:

3123Thy Mother felt more then a Mothers paine,

3124And yet brought forth lesse then a Mothers hope,

3125To wit, an indigested and deformed lumpe,

3126Not like the fruit of such a goodly Tree.

3127Teeth had'st thou in thy head, when thou was't borne,

3128To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world:

3129And if the rest be true, which I haue heard,

3130Thou cam'st----

3131Rich. Ile heare no more:

3132Dye Prophet in thy speech, Stabbes him.

3133For this (among'st the rest) was I ordain'd.

3134Hen. I, and for much more slaughter after this,

3135O God forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee. Dyes.

3136Rich. What? will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

3137Sinke in the ground? I thought it would haue mounted.

3138See how my sword weepes for the poore Kings death.

3139O may such purple teares be alway shed

3140From those that wish the downfall of our house.

3141If any sparke of Life be yet remaining,

3142Downe, downe to hell, and say I sent thee thither.

3144I that haue neyther pitty, loue, nor feare,

3145Indeed 'tis true that Henrie told me of:

3146For I haue often heard my Mother say,

3147I came into the world with my Legges forward.

3148Had I not reason (thinke ye) to make hast,

3149And seeke their Ruine, that vsurp'd our Right?

3150The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cri'de

3151O Iesus blesse vs, he is borne with teeth,

3152And so I was, which plainly signified,

3153That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dogge:

3154Then since the Heauens haue shap'd my Body so,

3155Let Hell make crook'd my Minde to answer it.

3156I haue no Brother, I am like no Brother:

3157And this word (Loue) which Gray-beards call Diuine,

3158Be resident in men like one another,

3159And not in me: I am my selfe alone.

3160Clarence beware, thou keept'st me from the Light,

3161But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:

3162For I will buzze abroad such Prophesies,

3163That Edward shall be fearefull of his life,

3164And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death.

3165King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone,

3166Clarence thy turne is next, and then the rest,

3167Counting my selfe but bad, till I be best.

3168Ile throw thy body in another roome,

3169And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doome. Exit.