King Henry. Would I were dead, an’ it were God’s good will;
But whilst I live I ne’er will còntrive aught
Of evil ’gainst mine enemy, nor wish
Him ill, for so weighs woe the heavier
On him invoking. Our good captain Christ
Did bid us to the smiter turn the cheek
That’s smitten yet again, nor harm him not
For all the mischiefs he doth put on us.
[Soft music heard.
King Richard. How softly steals sweet music on the soul,