SCENE II.
Enter Westmorland.
York.
What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
Mowb.
I think, it is my lord of Westmorland.
West.
Health and fair Greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.
York.
Say on, my lord of Westmorland, in peace:
What doth concern your coming?
West.
Then, my lord,
Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that Rebellion
Came like it self, in base and abject routs,
7 note
Led on by bloody youth, goaded with rage,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary;
I say, if damn'd Commotion so appear'd
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend Father, and these noble lords,
Had not been here to dress the ugly form
-- 305 --
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, my lord Arch-bishop,
Whose See is by a civil peace maintain'd,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
The Dove and very blessed Spirit of Peace;
Wherefore do you so ill translate your self,
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?
Turning your books to * notegraves, your ink to blood,
Your pens to launces, and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
York.
Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.8 note
Briefly, to this end. We are all diseas'd,
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours,
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late King Richard being infected, dy'd.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmorland,
I take not on me here as a physician;
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men;
But rather shew a while like fearful war,
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness,
And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer;
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see, which way the stream of time doth run,
-- 306 --
And are inforc'd from our most Quiet sphere,9 note
By the rough torrent of occasion;
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to shew in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs,
We are deny'd access unto his person,
Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong.
The danger of the days but newly gone,
Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet appearing blood, and the Examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms,
Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
But to establish here a peace, indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.
West.
When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
What Peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd Rebellion with a Seal divine,
* noteAnd consecrate Commotion's Civil edge?1 note
-- 307 --
York.
2 note
My brother General, the Common-wealth,
To Brother born an household Cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.
West.
There is no need of any such redress;
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb.
Why not to him in part, and to us all,
That feel the bruises of the days before;
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay an heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?
West.
O my good Lord Mowbray,
-- 308 --
* noteConstrue the times to their necessities,
And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
† noteOr from the King, or in the present time,
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
To all the Duke of Norfolk's Seigniories,
Your noble and right-well remember'd father's?
Mowb.
What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
The King, that lov'd him, as the State stood then,
Was, force-per-force, compell'd to banish him.
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he
Being mounted and both rowsed in their seats,
Their neighing Courses daring of the spur,
‡ noteTheir armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the King did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw;
Then threw he down himself, and all their lives,
That by indictment, or by dint of sword,
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
West.
You speak, Lord Mowbray, now, you know not what.
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
But if your father had been victor there,
-- 309 --
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country in a general voice
Cry'd hate upon him; all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd, and grac'd, indeed, more than the King.3 note
But this is mere digression from my purpose.—
Here come I from our princely General,
To know your griefs, to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you audience, and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb.
But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer,
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
West.
Mowbray, you over-ween to take it so;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear.
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies,
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.
Mowb.
Well; by my will, we shall admit no parley.
West.
That argues but the shame of your offence,
A rotten case abides no handling.
Hast.
Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
West.
That is intended in the General's name:4 note
-- 310 --
I muse, you make so slight a question.
York.
Then take, my lord of Westmorland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances.
Each several article herein redress'd;
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true * notesubstantial form;
And present executions of our wills
5 note
To us, and to our purposes, confin'd;
6 note
We come within our awful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
West.
This will I shew the General. Please you, lords,
7 note
In sight of both our battles, we may meet;
And either end in peace, which heav'n so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords,
Which must decide it.
York.
My lord, we will do so.
[Exit West.
-- 311 --
SCENE III.
Mowb.
There is a thing within my bosom tells me,
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast.
Fear you not that; if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute,
As our conditions shall insist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb.
Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That ev'ry slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action.
8 note
That, were our loyal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind,
That ev'n our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.
York.
No, no, my lord, note this; the King is weary
* note
Of dainty and such picking grievances:
For he hath found, to end one doubt by death,
Revives two greater in the heirs of life.
And therefore will he 9 notewipe his tables clean,
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance. For full well he knows,
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion;
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
So that this Land, like an offensive wife,
-- 312 --
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.
Hast.
Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement;
So that his pow'r, like to a fangless Lion,
May offer, but not hold.
York.
'Tis very true:
And therefore be assur'd, my good lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my lord of Westmorland.
Enter Westmorland.
West.
The Prince is here at hand, pleaseth your lordship
To meet his Grace, just distance 'tween our armies?
Mowb.
Your Grace of York in God's name then set forward.
York.
Before, and greet his Grace.—My lord, we come.
SCENE IV.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster.
Lan.
You're well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, my gentle lord Arch-bishop;
And so to you, lord Hastings, and to all.
My lord of York, it better shew'd with you,
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text,
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of Rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart,
-- 313 --
And ripens in the sun-shine of his favour,
Would he abuse the count'nance of the King,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such Greatness? With you, lord Bishop,
It is ev'n so. Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deep you were within the books of heav'n?
To us, the Speaker in his Parliament,
To us, th' imagin'd voice of heav'n it self,
The very opener, and intelligencer
Between the grace, 1 note
the sanctities of heav'n,
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the rev'rence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n,
As a false favourite doth his Prince's name
In deeds dishon'rable? you've * notetaken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The Subjects of his Substitute, my father;
And both against the peace of heav'n and him
Have here up swarm'd them.
York.
Good my lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace,
But, as I told my lord of Westmorland,
The time mis-order'd doth 2 note
in common sense
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the Court;
Whereon this Hydra-son of war is born,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
With Grant of our most just and right desire,
And true Obedience, of this madness cur'd,
-- 314 --
Stoop tamely to the foot of Majesty.
Mowb.
If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.
Hast.
And though we here fall down,
We have Supplies to second our attempt;
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them.
3 noteAnd so Success of mischief shall be born,
And heir from heir shall hold his quarrel up,
While England shall have generation.
Lan.
You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
West.
Pleaseth your Grace, to answer them directly,
How far-forth you do like their articles?
Lan.
I like them all, and do allow them well,
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And Some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redrest;
Upon my life, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your Pow'rs unto their several Counties,
As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love and amity.
York.
I take your princely word for these Redresses.
Lan.
I give it you; and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
Hast.
Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part.
I know, it will well please them. Hie thee, captain.
[Exit Colevile.
York.
To you, my noble lord of Westmorland.
West.
I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
-- 315 --
Shall shew itself more openly hereafter.
York.
I do not doubt you.
West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my lord, and gentle cousin Mowbray.
Mowb.
You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.
York.
Against ill chances men are ever merry,
But heaviness fore-runs the good event.
West.
4 noteTherefore be merry, Coz, since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus; some good thing comes to morrow.
York.
Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowb.
So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
[Shouts.
Lan.
The word of peace is render'd; hark! they shout.
Mowb.
This had been chearful after victory.
York.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither party loser.
Lan.
Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too.
[Exit West.
—And, good my lord, so please you, 5 notelet our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.
York.
Go, good lord Hastings:
And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
[Exit Hastings.
Lan.
I trust, lords, we shall lie to night together.
-- 316 --
SCENE V.
Re-enter Westmorland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
West.
The Leaders, having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
Lan.
They know their duties.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast.
My lord, our army is dispers'd already;
Like youthful Steers unyoak'd, they took their course
East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
Each hurries towards his home and sporting place.
West.
Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which,
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
And you, lord Arch-bishop; and you, lord Mowbray;
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Mowb.
Is this proceeding just and honourable?
West.
Is your assembly so?
York.
Will you thus break your faith?
Lan.
I pawn'd you none;
I promis'd you Redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
I will perform with a most christian care.
But for you, Rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray,
Heav'n, and not we, have safely fought to day.
-- 317 --
Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.6 note
[Exeunt.
[Alarm. Excursions.
SCENE VI.
Enter Falstaff and Colevile.
Fal.
What's your name, Sir? of what condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?
Cole.
I am a Knight, Sir; and my name is Colevile
of the dale.
Fal.
Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is
your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place, a place deep enough. So shall you
still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole.
Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
Fal.
As good a man as he, Sir, who e'er I am. Do
ye yield, Sir, or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat,
they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death; therefore rowze up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole.
I think, you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
Fal.
I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any
other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any
indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in
Europe; my womb, my womb, my womb undoes
me. Here comes our General.
-- 318 --
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmorland.
Lan.
7 noteThe heat is past, follow no farther now,
Call in the Pow'rs, good cousin Westmorland.
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some Gallows' back.
Fal.
I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus.
I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward
of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or
a bullet? Have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition
of thought? I speeded hither with the very
extreamest inch of possibility; I have founder'd ninescore
and odd posts; and here, travel-tainted as I am,
have in my pure and immaculate valour taken Sir
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious Knight and
valorous enemy. But what of that? he saw me and
yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow
of Rome there, Cæsar,—I came, saw, and
overcame.
Lan.
It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
Fal.
I know not; here he is, and here I yield him;
and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest
of this day's deeds; or, by the lord, I will have it in a
particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top
of it, Colevile kissing my foot; to the which course if I
be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you
as much as the full Moon doth the cinders of the element,
which shew like pins' heads to her; believe not
the word of the noble. Therefore let me have Right,
and let desert mount.
Lan.
Thine's too heavy to mount.
-- 319 --
Fal.
Let it shine then.
Lan.
Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal.
Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?
Cole.
It is, my lord.
Lan.
A famous Rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal.
And a famous true Subject took him.
Cole.
I am, my lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been rul'd by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they sold themselves; but
thou, like a kind fellow, gav'st thy self away gratis;
and I thank thee for thee.
SCENE VII.
Enter Westmorland.
Lan.
Now, have you left pursuit?
West.
Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
Lan.
Send Colevile then with his Confederates
To York, to present execution.
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
[Ex. with Colevile.
And now dispatch we tow'rd the Court, my lords;
I hear, the King, my father, is sore sick;
Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him,
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal.
My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
through Glo'stershire; and when you come to Court,
'pray, * notestand my good Lord in your good report.
-- 320 --
Lan.
Fare you well, Falstaff; 8 note
I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
[Exit.
Fal.
I would, you had but the wit; 'twere better
than your dukedom. Good faith, 9 notethis same young sober-blooded
Boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot
make him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no
wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to
any proof; for thin drink doth so over cool their blood,
and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind
of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry,
they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards;
which some of us should be too, but for inflammation.
A good Sherris-Sack hath a too fold operation
in it; it ascends me into the brain, dries me there all
the foolish, dull and crudy vapours which environ it;
makes it apprehensive, quick, 1 noteforgetive, full of nimble,
fiery, and delectable shapes; which deliver'd o'er to the
voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent
wit. The second property of your excellent Sherris, is,
the warming of the blood; which before cold and settled,
left the liver white and pale; which is the badge
of pusillanimity and cowardise; but the Sherris warms
it, and makes it course from the inwards, to the parts
extreme; it illuminateth the face, which, as a beacon,
gives warning to all the rest of this little Kingdom, Man,
to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty
spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart; who
great, and puft up with this retinue, doth any deed of
-- 321 --
courage; and this valour comes of Sherris. So that
skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that
sets it a-work; and learning a meer hoard of gold
kept by a devil, 'till Sack commences it, and sets it
in act and use. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is
valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of
his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land,
manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent endeavour
of drinking good, and good store of fertil Sherris,
that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a
thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach
them should be to forswear thin potations, and to addict
themselves to Sack.
Enter Bardolph.
How now, Bardolph?
Bard.
The army is discharged all, and gone.
Fal.
Let them go; I'll through Gloucestershire, and
there will I visit master Robert Shallow, Esquire; 2 noteI
have him already tempering between my finger and my
thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Changes to the Palace at Westminster.
Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, and Gloucester.
K. Henry.
Now, lords, if heav'n doth give successful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctify'd.
Our Navy is address'd, our Pow'r collected,
Our Substitutes in absence well invested,
And every thing lyes level to our wish;
-- 322 --
Only we want a little personal strength,
And pause us, till these Rebels, now a-foot,
Come underneath the yoke of Government.
War.
Both which, we doubt not, but your Majesty
Shall soon enjoy.
K. Henry.
Humphry, my son of Gloucester,
Where is the Prince your brother?
Glou.
I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.
K. Henry.
And how accompanied?
Glou.
I do not know, my lord.
K. Henry.
Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
Glou.
No, my good lord, he is in presence here.
Cla.
What would my lord and father?
K. Henry.
Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou may'st effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love;
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd,
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day, for melting charity,
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As 3 notehumourous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws 4 notecongealed in the spring of day.
-- 323 --
His temper therefore must be well observ'd;
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth,
But being moody, give him line and scope,
'Till that his passions, like a Whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As, force-per-force, the age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it doth work as strong
As Aconitum, or 5 noterash gun-powder.
Cla.
I shall observe him with all care and love.
K. Henry.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
Cla.
He is not there to day; he dines in London.
K. Henry.
And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?
Cla.
With Poins, and other his continual followers.
K. Henry.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is over-spread with them; therefore my grief
Stretches it self beyond the hour of death.
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th' unguided days
And rotten times that you shall look upon,
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
-- 324 --
Oh, with what wings shall his * noteaffection fly
Tow'rd fronting peril and oppos'd decay?
War.
My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite;
The Prince but studies his companions,
Like a strange tongue, wherein to gain the language,
'Tis needful, that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd,
Your highness knows, comes to no farther 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.
K. Henry.
6 note'Tis seldom, when the Bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.—Who's here? Westmorland!
SCENE XI.
Enter Westmorland.
West.
Health to my Sovereign, and new happiness
Added to that, which 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 ev'ry where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here at more leisure may your Highness read,
With every course, 7 notein his particular.
-- 325 --
K. Henry.
O Westmorland, 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 heav'n 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 Pow'r of English and of Scots,
Are by the Sh'riff of Yorkshire overthrown.
The manner and true order of the fight,
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
K. Henry.
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 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!
Glou.
Comfort your Majesty!
Cla.
Oh, my royal father!
West.
My sovereign lord, chear up your self, 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.
Cla.
No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs;
Th' incessant care and labour of his mind
8 noteHath wrought the mure, that should confine it in,
-- 326 --
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out,
Glou.
9 noteThe people fear me; for they do observe
1 noteUnfather'd heirs and loathly birds of Nature.
2 noteThe Seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over.
Cla.
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 Gransire Edward sick'd and dy'd.
War.
Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.
Glou.
This apoplex will, certain, be his end.
K. Henry.
I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber. Softly, 'pray.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
3 note
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper musick to my weary spirit.
War.
Call for the musick in the other room.
K. Henry.
Set me the crown upon the pillow here.
Cla.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War.
Less noise, less noise.
-- 327 --
SCENE X.
Enter Prince Henry.
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.
War.
Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;
The King, your father, is dispos'd to sleep.
Cla.
Let us withdraw into the other room.
War.
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.
Why doth the Crown lye 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 armor 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,
-- 328 --
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 my dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial Crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives it self to me. Lo, here it sits,
[Putting it on his head.
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. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
[Exit.
SCENE XI.
Enter Warwick, Gloucester, and Clarence.
K. Henry.
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Cla.
Doth the King call?
War.
What would your Majesty? how fares your Grace?
K. Henry.
Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
Cla.
We left the Prince my brother here, my Liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
K. Henry.
The Prince of Wales? where is he? let me see him.
War.
This door is open, he is gone this way.
Glou.
He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.
K. Henry.
Where is the Crown? who took it from my pillow?
War.
When we withdrew, my Liege, we left it here.
K. Henry.
The Prince hath ta'en it hence; go seek him out.
-- 329 --
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose
My sleep my death? find him, my lord of Warwick,
And chide him hither straight; this part of his
Conjoins with my disease, and helps to end me.
See, sons, what things you are! how quickly nature
Falls to revolt, when gold becomes her object?
For this, the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleeps with thought, their brains with care,
Their bones with industry; for this, engrossed
The canker'd heaps of strange-atchieved gold;
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises,
When, like the Bee, culling from ev'ry flow'r,
Our thighs are packt with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive; and, like the Bees,
Are murder'd for our pains! this bitter taste
4 noteYield his engrossments to the dying father.
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 quaft but blood,
Would by beholding him have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Henry.
But wherefore did he take away the Crown?
Enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me Harry—
—Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Lords.
-- 330 --
P. Henry.
I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Henry.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought;
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty Chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my 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
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou hast stoln that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation;* note
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not;
And thou wilt have me die assur'd 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 frail 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 thy ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
—Let all the tears, that should bedew my herse,
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 ev'ry 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?
-- 331 --
Be happy, he will trouble you no more;
5 note
England shall double gild his treble Guilt,
England shall give him office, honour, might;
For the Fifth Harry from curb'd licence 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.
P. Henry.
O pardon me, my Liege! but for my tears,
[Kneeling,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had fore-stall'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,
Than as your Honour, and as your Renown,
* noteLet me no more from this obedience rise,
-- 332 --
Which my most* notetrue and inward-duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending.
Heav'n witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to shew th' incredulous world
The noble Change that I have purposed.
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my Liege, to think you were)
I spake unto the Crown, as having sense,
And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father,
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold;
Other, less fine in carrat, is more precious,
Preserving life 6 notein med'cine potable,
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renowned,
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, Royal Liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it, as with an enemy,
That had before my face murder'd my father,
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the Might of it;
Let heav'n for ever keep it from my head,
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Henry.
O my son!
Heav'n put it in thy mind to take it hence,
-- 333 --
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel,
That ever I shall breathe. Heav'n knows, my son,
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
I met this crown; and I my self know well,
How troublesome it sate upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the 7 notesoil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel and to blood-shed,
8 note
Wounding supposed peace. 9 note
All these bold fears
Thou seest, with peril I have answered,
For all my reign hath been but as a Scene,
Acting that Argument; and now my death
1 note
Changes the mode; for what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a much fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear'st 2 notesuccessively.
-- 334 --
Yet though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green,
And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out,
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose pow'r I well might lodge a fear,
To be again displac'd; which to avoid
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
3 note
To lead out many to the Holy Land;
Lest Rest and lying still might make them look
Too near into my State. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign Quarrels; that action, hence, borne out,
May waste the memory of former days.
More would I, but my Lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
4 noteHow I came by 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 it me;
Then plain and right must my Possession be;
Which I with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world, will rightfully maintain.
-- 335 --
Enter Lord John of Lancaster, and Warwick.
K. Henry.
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
Lan.
Health, peace and happiness to my royal father!
K. Henry.
Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare, wither'd Trunk. Upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my lord of Warwick?
P. Henry.
My lord of Warwick.—
K. Henry.
Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
War.
'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
K. Henry.
Laud be to God! even there my life must end.
It hath been prophesy'd to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem,
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.
But bear me to that chamber, there I'll lye:
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
[Exeunt.
-- 336 --
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
