Sivut kuvina

By which his Grace must mete the lives of others,
Turning past Evils to advantages.

K. Henry, 'Tis feldom, when the Bee doch leave her Comb In the dead Carrion,

Enter Westmorland.
Who's here? Weftmorland?

Weft. Health to my Soveraign, and new happiness
Added to that, that I am to deliver.
Prince John, your Son, doch kiss your Grace's hand :
Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the Corre&ion of your Law;
There is not now a Rebel's Sword unsheath'd,
But Peace puts forth her Olive every where :
The manner how this Adion hath been born,
Here, at more leisure, may your Highness read,
With every course, in his particular.

K. Henry. O Weltmorland, thou art a Summer Bird,
Which ever, in the haunch of Winter, fings
The lifcing up of day.

. Enter Harecourt. Look, here's more News.

Hare. From Enemies Heav'n keep your Majesty:
And when they stand against you, may they fall,
As those chat I am come to tell you of.
The Earl of Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolf,
With a great Power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the Sheriff of York.Thire overthrown:
The manner, and true order of the fight,
This Packer, please it you, contains ac large.

K. Henry. And wherefore should these good News
Make me sick?
Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in fouleft Letters?
She either gives a Stomach, ard no Food,
Such are the Poor, in health; or elle a Feast,
And takes away the Stomach; such are the Rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I thould rejoice now at this happy News,
And now my Sight fails, and my Brain is giddy.
O me, come near me, now I am much ill.
Glo. Comfort your Majesty.


Cla. Oh, my Royal Father.
Weft. My Soveraign Lord, chear up your self, look up.
War. Be patient, Princes ; you do know, there Fits
Are with his Highness very ordinary,
Stand from him, give him Air: .
He'll straight be well.

Cla. No no, he cannot long hold out; these Pangas,
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.

Glo, The People fear me; for they do observe
Unfatherd Heirs, and loathly Births of Nature:
The Seasons change their manners, as the Year
Had found some Months asleep, and leap'd them over

Cla. The River hath thrice fw'd, no ebb between;
And the old folk, Time's doating Chronicles,
Say it did so, a little time before
That our Grand-fire Edward fick'd, and dy’d.
War. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers,
Glo. This Apoplexy will, certair, be his end.

K. Henry. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other Chamber : softly, 'pray.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle Friends,
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper Mufick to my weary Spiri'.
War. Call for the Mufick in the other Room.
K. Henry. Set me the Crown upon my Pillow here.
Cla. His Eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Less noise, less noise.

Entor Prince Henry.
P. Henry. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
Cld. I am here, Brother, full of heaviness. '
P. Henry. How now; Rain within doors, and none 2-
broad? Hów doth the King?
Glo. Exceeding ill.

P. Henry. Heard he the good News yet ?? Tell it him.

Glo. He alter'd much, upon the bearing it.

P. Henry. If he be fick with Joy, He'll recover without Phyfick.

Let thereme dull me to my wa the other pillow her




ou doft pinch in in heat of day of breath,

War. Not so much noise, my Lords,
Sweet Prince, speak low.
The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleep.

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other Room.
War. Wilt please your Grace to go along with us?

P. Henry. No; I will fit, and watch here by the King: Why doth the Crown lye there, upon his Pillow, [Exeunt all Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow

but P. Henry. O polish'd Perturbation ! Golden Care ! That keep'st the Ports of flumber open wide To many a watchful Night: Sleep with it now, Yet not so found, and half so deeply sweet, As he whose Brow, with homely Bigger bound, Snores out the Watch of Night. O Majesty! When thou dost pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st fit Like a rich Armor, worn in heat of day, That scald'st with safety; by his Gates of breath, There lyes a downy Feather, which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless Down Perforce must move. My gracious Lord! my Father! This sleep is found indeed; this is a sleep, That from this Golden Rigol hath divorc'd So many English Kings. Thy due from me, Is Tears, and heavy Sorrows 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 self to me. Lo, here it fits, Which Heav'n shall guard : And put the World's whole strength Into one Gyant Arm, it shall not force This Lineal Honour from me. This, from thee, Will I to mine leave, as 'uis left to me.

[Exit. Enter Warwick, Gloucester, and Clarence. K. Henry. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence ! Cla. Doth the King call ? West. What would your Majesty ? 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.

K. Henry, The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me see him.
War. The door is open, he is gone this way.
Glo. He came not through the Chamber where we staid.

K. Henry. Where is the Crown ? who took it from my
Pillow ?
War. When we with-drew, my Lige, we left it here.

K. Henry. The Prince hath ta’en it hence:
Go seek him out.
Is he so hafty, that he doch suppose
My sleep, my death? Find him, my Lord of Warwick,
Chide him hither; this part of his conjoins
With my Disease, and helps to end me.
See, Sons, what things you are :
How quickly Nature falls into revolt,
When Gold becomes her Obje&t ?
For this, the foolih over-careful Fathers
Have broke their sleeps with thought,
Their brains with care, their bones with industry.
For this, they have engrossed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of strange-atchiev'd Gold :
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their Sons with Art, and Martial Exercises :
When, like the Bee, culling from every Flower
The virtuous Sweets, our Thighs packt with Wax,
Our Mouths with Honey, we bring it to the Hive;
And like the Bees, are murthered for our pairs.
This bittter taste yield his Engrossments
To the ending Father.

Enter Warwick.
Now where is he, that will not stay so long,
Till his friend's sickness hath determin'd me?

War. My Lord, I found the Prince in the next Rcom,
Washing with kindly Tears his gentle Checks,
With such a deep demeanour, in great Sorrow,
That Tyranny, which never quaffc but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have walh'd his Koife
With genele Eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Heory. 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.




P. Henry. I never thoughr to hear you speak again.

K. Hevry. Thy wish was Father, Harry, to that thought :
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Do'st thou so hunger for my empty Chair,
That thou wilt needs inveft thee with my Honours,
Before thy Hour be ripe? O. foolish Youth !
Thou seek'st the Greatness, that will over-whelm thee :
Stay but a little ; for my Cloud of Dignity
Is held from falling, with so weak a wind,
That it will qụickly drop; my Day is dim
Thou hast stoln that, which after some few hours
Were thine, without offence; and at my death
Thou hast seald up my Expe&ation.
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dft me nor,
And thou wilt have me die assurd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand Daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetred on thy ftony heart,

To stab at half an hour of my frail life.
What! can'lt thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my Grave thy self,
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 sanctifie 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 State : All you sage Counsellors hence :
And to the English Court, assemble now
From ev'ry Region, Apes of idlenef.
Now Neighbour-Confines, purge you of your Scum:
Have you a Ruffian that will swear? dink? dance ?
Revel the night? rob? murder ? and commit
The oldest fins, the newest kinds of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall double gild his trebble gilt.
England shall give him Office, Honour, Might :
For the Fifth Harry, from curb’d. Licence plucks
The muzzle of Restraint, and the wild. Dog


« EdellinenJatka »