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.

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 note}Yield 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.

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?

Be happy, he will trouble you no more;
^{5 note}

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,

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 note}in 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,

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 note}soil 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}

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}

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.

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.

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