"Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd,
Your highness knows, comes to no further use
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will in the perfectness of time
Cast off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,

By which his grace must mete the lives of others,
Turning past evils to advantages.

King. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.

West. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver!

Prince John your son doth kiss your grace's hand:
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all
Are brought to the correction 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 action hath been borne
Here at more leisure may your highness read,
With every course in his particular.

King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings

The lifting up of day.

Enter HARCOURT.

Look, here's more news.

Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty;
And, when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of!

The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
The manner and true order of the fight
This packet, please it you, contains at large.

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King. And wherefore should these good news make me sick?

Will Fortune never come with both hands full,

But write her fair words still in foulest letters?

She either gives a stomach and no food;

Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast

And takes away the stomach; such are the rich,
That have abundance and enjoy it not.

I should 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.

105 stomach appetite.

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Glou. Comfort, your majesty!

Clar.

O my royal father!
West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.
War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.

Stand from him, give him air; he 'll straight be well.
Clar. No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs :
The 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.
Glou. The people fear me; for they do observe
Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature:
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep and leap'd them over.
Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between ;
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,

Say it did so a little time before

That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.
Wor. Speak lower, princes, for the King recovers.
Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end.
King. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber: softly, pray.

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[Exeunt. The King is borne out.

SCENE V. Another chamber.

The KING lying on a bed: CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance.

King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;

Unless some dull and favourable hand

Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

Wor. Call for the music in the other room.

King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Less noise, less noise!

Prince.

Enter PRINCE HENRY.

Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

Prince. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!

How doth the King?

Glou. Exceeding ill.

Prince.

Tell it him.

Heard he the good news yet?

Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it.

Prince. If he be sick with joy, he 'll recover without

physic.

War. Not so much noise, my lords: sweet Prince, speak low: The King, your father is dispos'd to sleep.

Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room.
War. Will 't please your grace to go along with us?
Prince. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.

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[Exeunt all but the Prince.

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies 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 sound 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 itself to me. [Puts on the crown.] Lo, here it sits, Which God shall guard: and put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force

This lineal honour from me: this from thee

Will I to mine leave, as 't is left to me.
King. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest.

Clar. Doth the King call?

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(Erit

War. What would your majesty? How fares your grace? King. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? Clar. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

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King. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? let me see him: He is not here.

War. This door is open; he is gone this

way.

Glou. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.

King. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow? War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

King. The Prince hath ta'en it hence: go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose

My sleep my death?

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Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him hither. [Erit Warwick. 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 object!

For this the foolish over-careful fathers

Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care,

Their bones with industry;

For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises :
When, like the bee, culling from every flower

The virtuous sweets,

Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd,
We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees,
Are murthered for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments to the ending father.

Re-enter WARWICK.

Now, where is he that will not stay so 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 such a deep demeanour in great sorrow
That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
King. But wherefore did he take away the crown?

Re-enter PRINCE HENRY.

Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.

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Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt Warwick and the rest.

Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again.

King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.

Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair

That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!

Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity

82 determin'd brought to an end.

97 hour: a dissyllable.

Is held from falling with so weak a wind

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That it will quickly drop: my day is dim.

Thou hast stol'n that which after some few hours
Were thine without offence; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:

Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.

What canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head:
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
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 every region, apes of idleness!

Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum :
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more;
England shall double gild his treble guilt,
England shall give him office, honour, might;
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,

Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!

Prince. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears,

The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more

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