8. SCENE VIII. London. The Palace.
The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.
That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame.
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears.
I have not been desirous of their wealth
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
Then, why should they love Edward more than me?
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace;
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb
The lamb will never cease to follow him.
[Shout within 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']
Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?
[Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, and Soldiers.]
Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry! bear him hence,
And once again proclaim us king of England.--
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.
Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry
And swell so much the higher by their ebb.--
Hence with him to the Tower! let him not speak.--
[Exeunt some with King Henry.]
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,
Where peremptory Warwick now remains.
The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay,
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.
Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares.
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.