As flaws ^{2 note}

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? can'st thou tell that?

Cla.
With Poins, and other his continual followers.

K. Henry.
Most subjects is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, the 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,
O, with what wings shall ^{5 note}his affections fly
Towards 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,
^{6 note}


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.
^{7 note}'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.—Who's here? Westmoreland? Enter Westmoreland.

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 every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here, at more leisure, may your highness read;
With every course, ^{8 note}

K. Henry.
O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. Enter Harcourt.

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.

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 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. [Sinks down.

Glo.
Comfort, your majesty!

Cla.
O my royal father!

West.
My sovereign lord, chear 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.

Cla.
No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs:
The incessant care and labour of his mind
^{9 note}

^note has the same thought:

Glo.
^{1 note}The people fear me; for they do observe
^{2 note}Unfather'd heirs, and loathly births of nature:
^{3 note}The seasons change their manners; as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over.

Cla.
The river hath thrice flow'd^{4 note}, 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 dy'd.

War.
Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.

Glo.
This apoplexy 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;
^{5 note}

War.
Call for the music in the other room.

K. Henry.
Set me the crown upon my pillow here^{6 note}

Cla.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

War.
Less noise, less noise. [They convey the King to an inner part of the room. 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?

Glo.
Exceeding ill.

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

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

P. Henry.
If he be sick
With joy, he will recover without physic.

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 prince Henry.
Why 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^{7 note} 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^{8 note}

Perforce must move.—My gracious lord! my father!—
This sleep is sound, indeed; this is a sleep,
That from ^{9 note}

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. Lo, here it sits,— [Putting it on his head.
Which heaven 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.

K. Henry.
Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! Re-enter Warwick, and the rest.

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:
He is not here.

War.
This door is open; he is gone this way.

Glo.
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; chide him hither.—
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 sleeps with thought,9Q0755 their brains with care,
Their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
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, ^{1 note}tolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets;
Our thighes pack'd 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
^{2 note}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.

K. Henry.
But wherefore did he take away the crown? Re-enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes.—Come hither to me, Harry:—
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt lords, &c.

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 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
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
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 ^{3 note}seal'd up my expectation:
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst 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 ^{4 note}

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 in every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do ^{6 note}
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,
^{7 note}Let me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most ^{8 note}true and inward-duteous spirit
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending!
Heaven 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 the 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 ^{9 note}

But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most 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 heaven 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!
Heaven 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. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
I met this crown; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it sat upon my head:
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the ^{1 note}soil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me,
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel, and to blood-shed,
^{2 note}

Thou see'st, with peril I have answered:—
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
^{4 note}