P. Henry.
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

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

P. Henry.
How now! rain within doors, and none abroad?
How doth the King?

Glou.
Exceeding ill.

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

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

P. Henry.
If he be sick with joy,
He'll recover without physick.

West.
Not so much noise, my Lords; sweet Prince, speak low;
The King, your father, is dispos'd to sleep.

Glou.
Let us withdraw into the other room.

West.
Will't please your Grace to go along with us?

P. Henry.
No; I will sit, and watch here by the King. [Exeunt all, but P. Henry.
* ^noteWhy doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bed-fellow?

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 scald'st 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 circle 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. Lo, here it sits, [Puts it on.
Which heav'n shall guard: and put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. [Exit. ^note

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