Changes the mode; for what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a much fairer fort;

For thou the garland wear'ft fucceffively.

Yet though thou stand'ft more fure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, fince griefs are green;
And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their ftings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whofe fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whofe power 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 ftill might make them look
Too near into my ftate. Therefore my Harry,
Be it thy course to bufy giddy minds

With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out,
May wafte the memory of former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wafted fo,
That ftrength of speech is utterly deny'd me,
How I came to 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
Then plain and right muft my poffeffion be;
Which I with more than with a common pain,
Gainft all the world, will rightfully maintain.

it me;

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP,

CHAP.

XVIII.

HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS.

HAT's

WHA

T's he that wishes for more men from England? My coufin Westmoreland? No, my fair coufin,

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow

To do our country lofs; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater inare of honour.
God's will! I pray thee wifh not one man more
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my coft;
lt yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my
defires:
But if it be a fin to covet honour,
I am the moft offending foul alive.

No, 'faith, my Lord, wifh not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose fo great an honour,
As one man more, would share from me,

For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more ::
Rather proclaim it (Westmoreland) through my host,-
That he which hath no ftomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his paffport fhall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purfe :
We would not die in that man's company,›
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is call'd the feaft of Crifpian :
He that outlives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And roufe him at the name of Crifpian :
He that outlives this day, and fees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,›

And fay, to-morrow is Saint Crifpian :

Then will he ftrip his fleeve, and fhow his scars.
Old men forget; yet fhall not all forget,

But they'll remember, with advantages,

1

The feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold-words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'fter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember❜d.
This ftory fhall the good man teach his fon :
And Crifpin Crifpian fhall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he e'er fo vile,
This day fhall gentle his condition.

And gentlemen in England in, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here ;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St Crifpian's Day.

SHAKSPEARE,

CHAP. XIX.

HENRY VI. WARWICK, AND CARDINAL BEAUFORT,

HO

K. HENRY.TOW fares my Lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy Sovereign.

CAR. If thou be'ft Death, I'll give thee England's trea

fure,

Enough to purchase such another island,

So

So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. HENRY. Ah, what a fign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

WAR. Beaufort, it is thy Sovereign speaks to thee.
CAR. Bring me unto my trial when you will..
Dy'd he not in his bed? Where should he die?
Can I make men live whether they will or no?
Oh, torture me no more, I will confefs-
Alive again? Then show me where he is :
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them:
Comb down his hair; look! look! it ftands upright,
Like lime twigs fet to catch my winged foul.
Give me some drink, and bid th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. HENRY. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon
this wretch;

Oh, beat away the bufy meddling fiend,
That lays ftrong fiege unto this wretch's foul,
And from his bofom purge this black despair.
-Peace to his foul, if God's good pleasure be !
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'ft on heaven's blifs,
Hold up thine hand, make fignal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no fign! O God, forgive him.
WAR. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
K. HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are finners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain clofe,.
And let us all to meditation,

WOLSEY

WOL.

FARE

CHAP. XX.

AND CROMWELL.

"AREWEL, a long farewel to all my greatness. This is the ftate of man: to day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a froft, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely His greatnefs is a-ripening, nips his fhoot; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, These many fummers in a fea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude ftream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye ! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes, favours! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

CROM. I have no power to speak, Sir.

WOL. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n indeed.

CROM.