King Henry.
If Humphrey my son of Glo'ster be not gone
To rest—bid him attend us.

Lord.
My Lord, I shall. [Exit. [The King waves his hand, and exeunt Lords.

† ^noteK. Henry.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects,
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness!
Why rather, sleep, ly'st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody.
O thou dull god! why ly'st thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry shroud,
That, with the hurley, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude?
And in the calmest, and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot;
Deny it to a King! Then, happy lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown* ^note.

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