note him.
Come, some music!
Come, the recorders!
For if the king like not the comedy,
Why, then, belike, he likes it not,
perdy.
Come, some music!
- Good my lord!
- My good lord!
Good my lord, vouchsafe me
a word with you.
Sir, a whole history.
- The king, sir...
- Ay, sir, what of him?
Is, in his retirement,
marvelous distempered.
With drink, sir?
No, my lord, with choler.
Your wisdom should show itself more
richer to signify this to his doctor.
For me to put him to his purgation
would perhaps plunge him
into far more choler.
Good my lord, put your discourse
into some frame.
I am tame, sir.
Pronounce.
The queen, your mother, in great
affliction of spirit, sent me to you.
- You are welcome.
- Nay, good my lord.
This courtesy is not of the right
breed.
- If it shall please you to answer...
- Sir, I cannot.
What, my lord?
Make you a wholesome answer.
My wit's diseased.
Therefore no more. But to the matter.
My mother, you say...
Your behaviour hath struck her into
amazement. She desires to speak to you.
O wonderful son,
that can so astonish a mother!
But is there no sequel at the heels
of this mother's amazement?
My lord, you once did love me.
And do still,
by these pickers and stealers.
Good my lord, what is your
cause of distemper?
You bar the door upon your liberty,
if you deny your griefs to your friend.
Sir, I lack advancement.
How can that be, when you have the
voice of the king for your succession?
Ay, but "While the grass grows..."
The proverb is something musty.
O, the recorders.
Let me see one.
To withdraw with you.
Why do you go about me, as if
you would drive me into a toil?
O, my lord, if my
duty be too bold,
my love is too unmannerly.
I do not well understand that.
Will you play upon the pipe?
- My lord, I cannot.
- I pray you.
I know no touch of it, my lord.
'Tis as easy as lying.
Govern these ventages with your fingers,
give it breath with your mouth,
and it will discourse most eloquent
music.
Look you, these are the stops.
But these cannot I command,
I have not the skill.
Look you now, how unworthy...
a thing you make of me!
You would play upon me.
You would seem
to know my stops.
You would pluck out
the heart of my mystery.
You would sound me from my lowest
note to the top of my compass.
And there is much music,
excellent voice,
in this little organ,
yet cannot you
make it speak.
Do you think I am easier...
...to be played on than a pipe?
Call me what instrument
you will,
though you can fret me,
you cannot play upon me.
I your commission will forthwith
dispatch,
And he to England shall along with you.
The terms of our estate may not
endure
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly
Grow out of his lunacies.
We will ourselves provide.
Most holy and religious fear it is
To keep those many bodies safe
That live and feed upon your majesty.
God be with ye!
The cease of majesty
Dies not alone.
Like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it.
Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy
voyage.
He's going to his mother's closet.
And, as you said, and wisely was it
said,
'Tis meet that some more audience
than a mother.
Since nature makes them partial,
should overhear
The speech, of vantage.
Thanks, dear my lord.
What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with
brother's blood...
Is there not rain enough in the sweet
heavens
To wash it white as snow?
Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer but this twofold
force -
To be forestalled ere we come to fall?
My fault is past.
O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn?
"Forgive me my foul murder?"
That cannot be.
Since I am still possest
Of those effects for which I did
the murder -
My crown, mine own ambition, and
my queen.
May one be pardoned, and retain
the offence?
But 'tis not so above;
there is no shuffling.
There the action lies
in his true nature
And we ourselves compelled, even to
the teeth