he be observed: He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint, As humorous as winter and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observed: Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When thou perceive his blood inclined to mirth; But, being moody, give him line and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion-- As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-- Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum or rash gunpowder. I shall observe him with all care and love. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? He is not there to-day; he dines in London. And how accompanied? canst thou tell that? With Poins, and other his continual followers. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them: therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death: The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape In forms imaginary the unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and opposed decay! My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: The prince but studies his companions Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, 'Tis needful that the most immodest word Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd, Your highness knows, comes to no further use But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, The prince will in the perfectness of time Cast off his followers; and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live, By which his grace must mete the lives of others, Turning past evils to advantages. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion. Who's here? Westmoreland? Health to my sovereign, and new happiness Added to that that I am to deliver! Prince John your son doth kiss your grace's hand: Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all Are brought to the correction of your law; There is not now a rebel's sword