Act IIScene II
Southampton. A council-chamber
Enter Exeter, Bedford and Westmorland.
Bedford
’Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
Exeter
They shall be apprehended by and by.
Westmorland
How smooth and even they do bear themselves!As if allegiance in their bosoms satCrowned with faith and constant loyalty.
Bedford
The King hath note of all that they intend,By interception which they dream not of.
Exeter
Nay, but the man that was his bed-fellow,Whom he hath dull’d and cloy’d with gracious favours,That he should, for a foreign purse, so sellHis sovereign’s life to death and treachery.
Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge and Grey.
King Henry
Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.Think you not that the powers we bear with usWill cut their passage through the force of France,Doing the execution and the actFor which we have in head assembled them?
Scroop
No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
King Henry
I doubt not that, since we are well persuadedWe carry not a heart with us from henceThat grows not in a fair consent with ours,Nor leave not one behind that doth not wishSuccess and conquest to attend on us.
Cambridge
Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’dThan is your Majesty. There’s not, I think, a subjectThat sits in heart-grief and uneasinessUnder the sweet shade of your government.
Grey
True; those that were your father’s enemiesHave steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve youWith hearts create of duty and of zeal.
King Henry
We therefore have great cause of thankfulness,And shall forget the office of our handSooner than quittance of desert and meritAccording to the weight and worthiness.
Scroop
So service shall with steeled sinews toil,And labour shall refresh itself with hope,To do your Grace incessant services.
King Henry
We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,Enlarge the man committed yesterday,That rail’d against our person. We considerIt was excess of wine that set him on,And on his more advice we pardon him.
Scroop
That’s mercy, but too much security.Let him be punish’d, sovereign, lest exampleBreed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
King Henry
O, let us yet be merciful.
Cambridge
So may your Highness, and yet punish too.
Grey
Sir,You show great mercy if you give him lifeAfter the taste of much correction.
King Henry
Alas, your too much love and care of meAre heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch!If little faults, proceeding on distemper,Shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eyeWhen capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested,Appear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man,Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear careAnd tender preservation of our person,Would have him punish’d. And now to our French causes.Who are the late commissioners?
Cambridge
I one, my lord.Your Highness bade me ask for it today.
Scroop
So did you me, my liege.
Grey
And I, my royal sovereign.
King Henry
Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours.Read them, and know I know your worthiness.My Lord of Westmorland, and uncle Exeter,We will aboard tonight.—Why, how now, gentlemen!What see you in those papers that you loseSo much complexion?—Look ye, how they change!Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there,That have so cowarded and chas’d your bloodOut of appearance?
Cambridge
I do confess my fault,And do submit me to your Highness’ mercy.
Grey and Scroop
To which we all appeal.
King Henry
The mercy that was quick in us but late,By your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d.You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy,For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.See you, my princes and my noble peers,These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,You know how apt our love was to accordTo furnish him with an appertinentsBelonging to his honour; and this manHath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’dAnd sworn unto the practices of FranceTo kill us here in Hampton; to the whichThis knight, no less for bounty bound to usThan Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, OWhat shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel,Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,That knew’st the very bottom of my soul,That almost mightst have coin’d me into gold,Wouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use,—May it be possible that foreign hireCould out of thee extract one spark of evilThat might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange,That, though the truth of it stands off as grossAs black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.Treason and murder ever kept together,As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose,Working so grossly in a natural causeThat admiration did not whoop at them;But thou, ’gainst all proportion, didst bring inWonder to wait on treason and on murder;And whatsoever cunning fiend it wasThat wrought upon thee so preposterouslyHath got the voice in hell for excellence;And other devils that suggest by treasonsDo botch and bungle up damnationWith patches, colours, and with forms being fetch’dFrom glist’ring semblances of piety.But he that temper’d thee bade thee stand up,Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.If that same demon that hath gull’d thee thusShould with his lion gait walk the whole world,He might return to vasty Tartar back,And tell the legions, “I can never winA soul so easy as that Englishman’s.”O, how hast thou with jealousy infectedThe sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious?Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,Garnish’d and deck’d in modest complement,Not working with the eye without the ear,And but in purged judgement trusting neither?Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blotTo mark the full-fraught man and best induedWith some suspicion. I will weep for thee;For this revolt of thine, methinks, is likeAnother fall of man. Their faults are open.Arrest them to the answer of the law;And God acquit them of their practices!
Exeter
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.
Scroop
Our purposes God justly hath discover’d,And I repent my fault more than my death,Which I beseech your Highness to forgive,Although my body pay the price of it.
Cambridge
For me, the gold of France did not seduce,Although I did admit it as a motiveThe sooner to effect what I intended.But God be thanked for prevention,Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
Grey
Never did faithful subject more rejoiceAt the discovery of most dangerous treasonThan I do at this hour joy o’er myself,Prevented from a damned enterprise.My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
King Henry
God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.You have conspir’d against our royal person,Join’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffersReceived the golden earnest of our death;Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,His princes and his peers to servitude,His subjects to oppression and contempt,And his whole kingdom into desolation.Touching our person seek we no revenge;But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender,Whose ruin you have sought, that to her lawsWe do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,Poor miserable wretches, to your death,The taste whereof God of his mercy giveYou patience to endure, and true repentanceOf all your dear offences! Bear them hence.
Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, guarded.
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereofShall be to you, as us, like glorious.We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,Since God so graciously hath brought to lightThis dangerous treason lurking in our wayTo hinder our beginnings. We doubt not nowBut every rub is smoothed on our way.Then forth, dear countrymen! Let us deliverOur puissance into the hand of God,Putting it straight in expedition.Cheerly to sea! The signs of war advance!No king of England, if not king of France!
Flourish. Exeunt.