CLARENCE.
O my royal father!
WESTMORELAND.
My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.
WARWICK.
Be patient, princes; you do know these fits
Are with his Highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air; he’ll straight be well.
CLARENCE.
No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs.
Th’ incessant care and labour of his mind
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
So thin that life looks through and will break out.
GLOUCESTER.
The people fear me, for they do observe
Unfather’d heirs and loathly births of nature.
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep and leap’d them over.
CLARENCE.
The river hath thrice flow’d, no ebb between,
And the old folk, time’s doting chronicles,
Say it did so a little time before
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick’d and died.
WARWICK.
Speak lower, princes, for the King recovers.
GLOUCESTER.
This apoplexy will certain be his end.
KING.
I pray you take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber: softly, pray.
[Exeunt.]