Original Text
*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 sat Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD. The King hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of.
Original Text
*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 us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
Original Text
KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd Than is your Majesty. There's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government.
Original Text
KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person. We consider It 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 example Breed, 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.
Original Text
KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When 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 care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes. Who are the late commissioners?
Original Text
CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord. 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 lose So much complexion?—Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there, That have so cowarded and chas'd your blood Out of appearance?
Original Text
CAMBRIDGE. I do confess my fault, And do submit me to your Highness' mercy. GREY, 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.
Original Text
See you, my princes and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with an appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd And sworn unto the practices of France To kill us here in Hampton; to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn.
Original Text
But, O What 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 hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Original Text
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 coffers Received 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 laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death. *Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, guarded.*
Original Text
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen! Let us deliver Our 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.*