As he whofe brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O Majefty!
When thou doft pinch thy bearer, thou doft fit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scalds with fafety. By his gates of breath
There lyes a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he fufpire, that light and weightless down
Perforce muft move. My gracious Lord! my father!
This fleep is found indeed; this is a fleep,
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English Kings. Thy due from me
Is tears, and heavy forrows of the blood,
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives it felf to me. Lo, here it fits,
Which heav'n fhall guard: and put the world's whole ftrength
Into one giant arm, it fhall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
Enter Warwick, Gloucefler, and Clarence.
K. Henry. Warwick! Gloucefter! Clarence!
Cla. Doth the King call?
War. What would your Majefty? how fares your Grace? K. Henry. Why did you leave me here alone, my Lords? Cla. We left the Prince my brother here, my Liege, Who undertook to fit and watch by you.
K. Henry. The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me fee him.
War. The door is open, he is gone this way.
Glou. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. K. Henry. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?
War. When we withdrew, my Liege, we left it here. K. Henry. The Prince hath ta'en it hence; go feek him
Is he fo hafty, that he doth suppose
My fleep my death? find him, my Lord of Warwick,
And chide him hither ftrait; this part of his
Conjoins with my disease, and helps to end me.
See, fons, what things you are! how quickly nature
Falls to a revolt, when gold becomes her object!
For this, the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their fleeps with thought, their brains with care,
Their bones with induftry: for this engrofs'd
The canker'd heaps of ftrange-atchieved gold:
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their fons with arts and martial exercises:
When, like the Bee, culling from ev'ry Flow'r,
Our thighs all packt with wax, our months with honey,
We bring it to the hive, and like the Bees
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter tafte
Yield his engrossments to the dying father.
Enter Warwick.
Now where is he, that will not stay fo long,
'Till his friend, Sickness, hath determin'd me ?
War. My Lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
With fuch a deep demeanour in great forrow,
That Tyranny, which never quafft but blood,
Would by beholding him have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Henry. But wherefore did he take away the Crown?
Enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
P. Henry. I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Henry. Thy with was father, Harry, to that thought:
I ftay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Doft thou fo hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs inveft thee with my honours,
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou feek'ft the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with fo weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou haft ftol'n that, which after fome few hours
Were thine without offence; and at my death
Thou haft feal'd up my expectation:
Thy life did manifeft thou lov'dft me not,
And thou wilt have me die affur'd of it.
Thou hid'ft a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou haft whetted on thy ftony heart,
To ftab at half an hour of my frail life.
What! can't thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thy felf,
And bid the merry bells ring to thy ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my herse
Be drops of balm to fanctify thy head;
Only compound me with forgotten duft,
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees:
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Henry the Fifth is crown'd: up, vanity,
Down, royal ftate. All you fage counsellors, hence!
And to the English Court affemble now
From ev'ry region, apes of idleness :
Now, neighbour-confines, purge you of your
Have you a ruffian' that will swear? drink? dance?
Revel the night? rob? murder? and commit
The oldeft fins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England fhall give him office, honour, might:
For the Fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks
The muzzle of reftraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom! fick with civil blows:
When that my care could not with-hold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with Wolves, thy old inhabitants.
P. Henry. O pardon me, my Liege! but for my tears,
(The moift impediments unto my fpeech,)
I had fore-ftall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it fo far. There is your Crown,
And he that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours! if I affect it more,
Than as your honour and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rife,
Which my most true and inward-duteous fpirit
Teacheth this proftrate and exterior bending.
Heav'n witness with me, when I here came in
And found no courfe of breath within your Majefty,
How cold it ftruck my heart! if I do feign,
O, let me in my prefent wildness die,
And never live to fhew th' incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almoft, my Liege, to think you were)
I fpake 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 beft of gold art worst of gold;
Other, lefs fine in carrat, is more precious,
Preferving life in med'cine potable:
But thou, moft fine, moft honour'd, most renown'd,
Haft eat thy bearer up. Thus, royal Liege,
Accufing 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 fwell my thoughts to any ftrain of pride,
any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it;
Let heav'n for ever keep it from my head,
And make me as the pooreft vaffal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Eenry. O my fon!
Heav'n put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou might'ft win the more thy father's love,
Pleading fo wifely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, fit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I fhall breathe, Heav'n knows, my fon,
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
I met this Crown; and I my self know well
How troublesome it fate upon my head.
To thee it shall defcend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation :
For all the foil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It feem'd in me
But as an honour fnatch'd with boist'rous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their affiftances,
Which daily grew to quarrel and to blood-fhed,
Wounding fuppofed peace. All these bold fears
Thou feeft 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 purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a much fairer fort.
So thou the garland wear'ft fucceffively:
Yet though thou ftand'ft more fure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, fince griefs are green;
And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whofe fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whofe pow'r I well might lodge a fear
To be again difplac'd: which to avoid
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy land;
Left reft and lying still might make them look
Too near into my ftate. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy courfe to bufy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence born out,
May wafte the memory of former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wafted fo
That ftrength of fpeech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the Crown, O, God forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Henry. My gracious Liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ;
Then plain and right must my poffeffion be;
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