they ease the heart.
If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.
Who intercepts my expedition?
O, she that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!
Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be graven, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?
Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Art thou my son?
Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
Then patiently hear my impatience.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.
O, let me speak!
Do then: but I'll not hear.
I will be mild and gentle in my speech.
And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.
And came I not at last to comfort you?
No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody,
treacherous,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever graced me in thy company?
Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
your grace
To breakfast once forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
Strike the drum.
I prithee, hear me speak.
You speak too bitterly.
Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
So.
Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
Or I with grief and extreme age