Bid the musick leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me.
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?
Griffith. She is going, wench; pray, pray.
Patience.
Re-enter GRIFFITH with CAPUCIUS.
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
Capucius. Madam, the same, your servant.
Katharine.
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me.
What is your pleasure with me?
First, mine own service to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
Katharine. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
'Tis like a pardon after execution:
That gentle physick, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?
Katharine. So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
Banish'd the kingdom !—Patience, is that letter
I caus'd you write, yet sent away?
Patience.
Katharine. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
Most willing, madam.
Katharine. In which I have commended to his goodness
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter :-
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her !—
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature;
I hope, she will deserve well); and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully:
Of which there is not one, I dare avow
(And now I should not lie), but will deserve,
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul,
For honesty, and decent carriage,
A right good husband, let him be a noble ;
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them.
The last is, for my men: they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me ;-
That they may have their wages duly paid them,
And something over to remember me by ;
If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life,
And able means, we had not parted thus.
These are the whole contents;-And, good my lord,
By that you love the dearest in this world,
As you wish christian peace to souls departed,
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.
By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
Katharine. I thank you, honest lord.
In all humility unto his highness;
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell,
My lord. Griffith, farewell.-Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;
Call in more women.-When I am dead, good wench,
Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more.—
MY good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I, this fortnight, been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from
thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth;
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars:
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry, Courage !-to the field! And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin;
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream:
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hotspur. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Servant. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hotspur. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Servant. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hotspur. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Servant. It is, my lord.
That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight: O espérance !—
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant.
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen,
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title; and hath sent for you,
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