Clar. What would my Lord, and Father? King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the Prince, thy Brother? Hee loues thee, and thou do'st neglect him (Thomas.) Thou hast a better place in his Affection, Then all thy Brothers: cherish it (my Boy) And Noble Offices thou may'st effect Of Mediation (after I am dead) Betweene his Greatnesse, and thy other Brethren. Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue, Nor loose the good aduantage of his Grace, By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will. For hee is gracious, if hee be obseru'd: Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a Hand Open (as Day) for melting Charitie: Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint, As humorous as Winter, and as sudden, As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day. His temper therefore must be well obseru'd: Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently, When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth: But being moodie, giue him Line, and scope, Till that his passions (like a Whale on ground) Confound themselues with working. Learne this Thomas, And thou shalt proue a shelter to thy friends, A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in: That the vnited Vessell of their Blood (Mingled with Venome of Suggestion, As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in) Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strong As Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder
Clar. I shall obserue him with all care, and loue
King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him (Thomas?) Clar. Hee is not there to day: hee dines in London
King. And how accompanyed? Canst thou tell that? Clar. With Pointz, and other his continuall followers
King. Most subiect is the fattest Soyle to Weedes: And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth) Is ouer-spread with them: therefore my griefe Stretches it selfe beyond the howre of death. The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe shape (In formes imaginarie) th' vnguided Dayes, And rotten Times, that you shall looke vpon, When I am sleeping with my Ancestors. For when his head-strong Riot hath no Curbe, When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counsailors, When Meanes and lauish Manners meete together; Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections flye Towards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay? War. My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite: The Prince but studies his Companions, Like a strange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language, 'Tis needfull, that the most immodest word Be look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd, Your Highnesse knowes, comes to no farther vse, But to be knowne, and hated. So, like grosse termes, The Prince will, in the perfectnesse of time, Cast off his followers: and their memorie Shall as a Patterne, or a Measure, liue, By which his Grace must mete the liues of others, Turning past-euills to aduantages
King. 'Tis seldome, when the Bee doth leaue her Combe In the dead Carrion. Enter Westmerland.
Who's heere? Westmerland? West. Health to my Soueraigne, and new happinesse Added to that, that I am to deliuer. Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kisse your Graces Hand: Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroope, Hastings, and all, Are brought to the Correction of your Law. There is not now a Rebels Sword vnsheath'd, But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where: The manner how this Action hath beene borne, Here (at more leysure) may your Highnesse reade, With euery course, in his particular
King. O Westmerland, thou art a Summer Bird, Which euer in the haunch of Winter sings The lifting vp of day. Enter Harcourt.
Looke, heere's more newes