Page 240 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

PRINCE HENRY
It is too late: the life of all his blood
Is touch’d corruptibly, and his pure brain,
Which some suppose the soul’s frail dwelling-house,
Doth by the idle comments that it makes

Foretell the ending of mortality. [5]

Enter Pembroke.

PEMBROKE
His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

PRINCE HENRY
Let him be brought into the orchard here. [10]
Doth he still rage?
[Exit Bigot.]

PEMBROKE

He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.

PRINCE HENRY
O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey’d upon the outward parts, [15]

Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,

Confound themselves. ’Tis strange that death should sing. [20]
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings