And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were)
I spake unto the crown, as having sense,

And thus upbraided it :- The care on thee depending,

Hath fed upon the body of my father;

Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold:
Other, less fine in carat,1 is more precious,
Preserving life in medicine potable;

But thou, most fine, most honor'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal

liege,

Accusing it, I put it on my head;

To try with it, -as with an enemy,

That had before my face murder'd my father,—

The quarrel of a true inheritor.

But if it did infect my blood with joy,

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;

If

any rebel or vain spirit of mine

Did, with the least affection of a welcome,

Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head;
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Hen. O my son,

Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,

Weight, which distinguishes the fineness of gold.

That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.

Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe.

Heaven knows, my son,

By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd

ways,

I met this crown; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it sat upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the soil of the achievement goes

With me into the earth. It seem'd in me,
But as an honor snatch'd with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid

My gain of it by their assistances;

Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears,
Thou seest, with peril I have answered;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
Changes the mode: for what in me was purchased,
Fails upon thee in a more fairer sort:

So thou the garland wear'st successively.

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends,

2.

i. e. not real.

Acquired by unjust methods. Purchase, in Shakspeare's time, frequently meant stolen goods.'-M. Mason.

Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out:
By whose fell working I was first advanced,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced; which to avoid,

I cut them off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land,

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds

With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive,
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Hen. My gracious liege,

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be;
Which I, with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.

Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, Lords, and others.

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.

P. John. Health, peace, and happiness to my

royal father!

K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;

But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown

From this bare, wither'd trunk: upon thy sight,
My worldly business makes a period.

Where is my lord of Warwick?

P. Hen.
My lord of Warwick!
K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
K. Hen. Laud be to God!-even there my life
must end.

It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem;

Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land.
But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie :
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Glostershire. A hall in Shallow's house.

Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and page. Shal. By cock and pye,1 sir, you shall not away to-night. What, Davy, I say!

Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.

Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is

1 A popular adjuration.

no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused. Why, Davy!

Davy. Here, sir.

Enter DAVY.

Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy,-let me see, Davy; let me see: yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not be excused.

Davy. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts 1 cannot be served; and, again, sir,—shall we sow the headland with wheat?

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook ;- -are there no young pigeons?

Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note, for shoeing and plough-irons.

Shal. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused.

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had :—and, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley fair?

Some pigeons,

Shal. He shall answer it. Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook.

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?

Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well: a friend i' the court is better than a penny in purse. Use

1 Justice's warrants.