So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months and years",
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
O!
yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his Father, with the dead Body".

Son. Ill blows the wind that profits no body.

5 So minutes, hours, days, months and years,] This is the reading of the folio ; but Rowe added weeks after days, without any authority. As Mr. Barron Field observes to me, if any change were necessary, we ought to alter "months" into weeks, "months" not having been before mentioned.

6 — with the dead Body.] According to the stage-direction of the folio, the son with the dead body of his father, and the father with the dead body of his son, enter at the same time :-"Enter a Son that hath killed his Father at one door; and a Father that hath killed his Son at another door." However, the latter does not enter until afterwards, and we have then a new stage-direction in these words :-"Enter Father, bearing of his Son." In the quarto "True Tragedy," 1595, the direction is, "Enter a Soldier with a dead man in his arms." The modern stage-direction has been, “Enter a Son, &c. dragging in the dead Body:" he most likely carried it.

This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns:
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.-
Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.—
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did;-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.—
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks,
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear;
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,

Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief.

Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold,
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.-
But let me see is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no! it is mine only son!-
Ah, boy! if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eye: see, see, what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
O, pity, God, this miserable age!-

What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,

Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget !—
O boy! thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late.

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!—

O, pity, pity! gentle heaven, pity!—

The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:

The one his purple blood right well resembles,
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth;
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances,

Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death?

Fath. Was ever father so bemoan'd a son?

K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.

Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit with the Body.

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding

sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,

For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Man, for the loss of thee', having no more,

7 MAN, for the loss of thee,] The folio, 1623, reads, by a misprint," Men for

the loss of thee." The father is addressing his dead son.

Rowe substituted

Sad. "Obsequious," in the preceding line, refers to funeral obsequies.

As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.

[Exit, with the Body. K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen MARGARET, Prince of WALES, and EXETER.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.

Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord: towards Berwick post amain.

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,

And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed,

Or else come after: I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go

Whither the queen intends. Forward! away!

SCENE VI.

The Same.

[Exeunt.

A loud Alarum.

Enter CLIFFORD, wounded.

Clif. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.

8 Enter Clifford, wounded.] "The True Tragedy," 1595, adds, "with an arrow in his neck ;" the circumstance being taken from Holinshed.

O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee;
And now I fall thy tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, strengthening mis-proud York.
The common people swarm like summer flies';
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth;
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father, did,

Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never, then, had sprung like summer flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds.
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;

For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.

The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.-
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints.

The common people swarm like summer flies ;] This line, obviously necessary to the sense, was inserted in the text by Theobald, who found it in “The True Tragedy." How it became omitted in the folio, it is vain at this time of day to conjecture. It is to be remarked, that the line lower down, "They never, then, had sprung like summer flies," clearly referring to the preceding, is omitted in "The True Tragedy," and seems rather awkwardly introduced in the folio, the sense of the whole passage running better without it than with it. It seems necessary in the first instance, and not in the second; but as it is found in the folio, 1623, we feel, of course, bound to insert it.