Paul M. Jones

KING HENRY V: We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,
    Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
    That rail'd against our person: we consider
    it was excess of wine that set him on;
    And on his more advice we pardon him.

SCROOP: That's mercy, but too much security:
    Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example
    Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.

KING HENRY V: O, let us yet be merciful.

CAMBRIDGE: So may your highness, and yet punish too.

GREY: Sir,
    You show great mercy, if you give him life,
    After the taste of much correction.

KING HENRY V: Alas, your too much love and care of me
    Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!
    If little faults, proceeding on distemper,
    Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
    When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested,
    Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man,
    Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care
    And tender preservation of our person,
    Would have him punished. And now to our French causes:
    Who are the late commissioners?

CAMBRIDGE: I one, my lord:
    Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

SCROOP: So did you me, my liege.

GREY: And I, my royal sovereign.

KING HENRY V: Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
    There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,
    Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:
    Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.
    My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
    We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen!
    What see you in those papers that you lose
    So much complexion? Look ye, how they change!
    Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there
    That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
    Out of appearance?

CAMBRIDGE: I do confess my fault;
    And do submit me to your highness' mercy.

GREY    |
        | To which we all appeal.
SCROOP  |

KING HENRY V: The mercy that was quick in us but late,
    By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
    You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
    For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,
    As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.

I hope this is the last thing I will have to say on the matter.