Could I but once forget I was a king, I might be truly happy, and his subject. Stanley. We have, sir,-how, will reach your ear 100 soon. K. Hen. If to my loss, it can't too soon-pray, speak; For fear makes mischief greater than it is. My queen! my son! say, sir, are they living? Stanley. Since my arrival, sir, another post Came in, which brought us word, your queen and son Were prisoners now at Tewksbury. K. Hen. Heav'n's will be done! the hunters have them now, And I have only sighs and prayers to help them? To win their hearts by mildness than severity. Enter OFFICER. Offi. Sir, here's a gentleman brings a warrant, For his access to King Henry's presence. Licut. I come to him. [Exit, with OFFICER. Stanley. His business may require your privacy; I'll leave you, sir, wishing you all the good That can be wish'd-not wronging him I serve. [Exit. K. Hen. Farewell! Who can this be! a sudden coldness, Like the damp hand of death, has seiz'd my limbs : I fear some heavy news! Enter LIEUTENANT. Who is it, good Lieutenant ? Lieut. A gentleman, sir, from Tewksbury: he seems A melancholy messenger-for, when I ask'd What news, his answer was a deep-fetch'd sigh: I would not urge him, but I fear 'tis fatal. Enter TRESSEL. [Exit. K. Hen. Fatal indeed! his brow's the title-page, That speaks the nature of a tragic volume. Say, friend, how does my queen! my son! ford; Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; Thou hast a sigh, to blow away this praise, Ending with-queen and son, and all are dead. Tressel. Your queen yet lives, and many of your friends; But for my lord, your son K. Hen. Why, he is dead!-yet speak, I charge thee! Tell thou thy master his suspicion lies, And I will take it as a kind disgrace, And thank thee well, for doing me such wrong. Tressel. 'Would it were wrong to say; but, sir, your fears are true. K. Hen. Yet for all this, say not my son is dead. Your son, whose active spirit lent a fire, Still made his way, where danger stood to oppose him. A braver youth, of more courageous heat, Ne'er spurr'd his courser at the trumpet's sound. Where both your queen and son were made his prisoners. K. Hen. Yet hold! for, oh! this prologue lets me in To a most fatal tragedy to come. Dy'd he a prisoner, say'st thou? how? by grief? For having stirred his subjects to rebellion? While I, now speaking with my father's mouth, In bloody state I saw him on the earth, From whence, with life, he never more sprung up. deliverance,/ at every word's Sharp poignards in my flesh, while this was told, K. Hen. There let him stop! be that his last of ills! Oh, barbarous act! unhospitable men! Against the rigid laws of arms, to kill him! Or wallow, naked, in December's snow, C If thou wilt sooth my sorrow, then I'll thank thee; Ay! now thou'rt kind indeed! these tears oblige me. Tressel. Alas, my lord, I fear more evils towards you! K. Hen. Why, let it come; I scarce shall feel it -now; My present woes have beat me to the ground; And my hard fate can make me fall no lower. Oh, my poor boy! Tressel. A word does that; it comes in Gloster's form. K. Hen. Frightful indeed! give me the worst that threatens. Tressel. After the murder of your son, stern Richard, As if unsated with the wounds he had given, With unwash'd hands went from his friends in haste; He, low'ring, cried, Brother, I must to the Tower; K. Hen. Why, then the period of my woes is set; For ills, but thought by him, are half perform'd. Enter LIEUTENANT, with an Order. Lieut. Forgive me, sir, what I'm compell'd t' obey: An order for your close confinement. K. Hen. Whence comes it, good Lieutenant ? K. Hen. Good night to all then! I obey it. And now, good friend, suppose me on my death-bed, To hear them tell the dismal tales |