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    HENRY V

    A monologue from the play by William Shakespeare


    KING: The mercy that was quick in us but late,
    By your own counsel is suppressed and killed.
    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.
    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 all appertinents
    Belonging to his honor; and this man
    Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired
    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. 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 coined me into gold,
    Wouldst thou have practiced 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.
    Treason and murder ever kept together,
    As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
    Working so grossly in a natural cause
    That admiration did not whoop at them;
    But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
    Wonder to wait on treason and on murder;
    And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
    That wrought upon thee so preposterously
    Hath got the voice in hell for excellence.
    All other devils that suggest by treasons
    Do botch and bungle up damnation
    With patches, colors, and with forms being fetched
    From glist'ring semblances of piety;
    But he that tempered thee bade thee stand up,
    Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
    Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
    If that same demon that hath gulled thee thus
    Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
    He might return to vasty Tartar back
    And tell the legions, 'I can never win
    A soul so easy as that Englishman's.'
    O, how hast thou with jealousy infected
    The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?
    Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learnèd?
    Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?
    Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious?
    Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,
    Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
    Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
    Garnished and decked in modest complement,
    Not working with the eye without the ear,
    And but in purgèd judgment trusting neither?
    Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem;
    And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
    To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
    With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;
    For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
    Another fall of man. Their faults are open.
    Arrest them to the answer of the law;
    And God acquit them of their practices!

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