KING. What would content you, John?
JOHN. Five earldoms, sir.
KING. What you, son Richard?
RICH. Pardon, gracious father,
And th'furtherance for my vow of penance.
For I have sworn to God and all his saints,
These arms erected in rebellious brawls
Against my father and my sovereign,
Shall fight the battles of the Lord of Hosts,
In wrong'd Judaea and Palestina.
That shall be Richard's penance for his pride,
His blood a satisfaction for his sin,
His patrimony, men, munition,
And means to waft them into Syria.
KING. Thou shalt have thy desire, heroic son,
As soon as other home-bred brawls are done.
LAN. Why weeps old Fauconbridge?
FAU. I am almost blind,
To hear sons cruel and the fathers kind.
Now, well-a-year,[456] that e'er I liv'd to see
Such patience and so much impiety!
GLO. Brother, content thee; this is but the first:
Worse is a-brewing, and yet not the worst.
LEI. You shall not stand to this.
HEN. And why, my lord?