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 sanctifi'd.
Our Navy is address'd, our Power collected,
Our Substitutes, in absence, well invested,
And every thing lyes level to our wish;
Only we want a little personal strength:
And pawse us, till these Rebels, now a-foot,
Come underneath the Yoak 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?

Glo.
I think he's gone to hunt, my Lord, at Windsor.

K. Henry.
And how accompanied?

Glo.
I do not know, my Lord.

K. Henry.
Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

Glo.
No, my good Lord, he is in presence here.

Clar.
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 do'st 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 humorous as Winter, and as sudden
As Flaws congealed in the Spring of day.

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, perforce, the Age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder.

Clar.
I shall observe him with all care and love.

K. Henry.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

Clar.
He is not there to day; he dines in London.

K. Henry.
And how accompanied? Can'st thou tell that?

Clar.
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 head-strong Riot hath no Curb,
When Rage and hot Blood are his Counsellors,
When Means and lavish Manners meet together,
Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections fly
Tow'rds 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.
'Tis seldom, when the Bee doth leave her Comb
In the dead Carrion. Enter Westmorland.
Who's here? Westmorland?

West.
Health to my Soveraign, and new happiness
Added to that, that 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 born,
Here, at more leisure, may your Highness read,
With every course, in his particular.

K. Henry.
O Westmorland, thou art a Summer Bird,
Which ever, in the haunch of Winter, sings
The lifting up of day. Enter Harecourt.
Look, here's more News.

Hare.
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 of Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolf,
With a great Power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the Sheriff of York-shire 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.

Glo.
Comfort your Majesty.

Cla.
Oh, my Royal Father.

West.
My Soveraign 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,
Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in,
So thin, that Life looks through, and will break out.

Glo.
The People fear me; for they do observe
Unfather'd Heirs, and loathly Births of Nature:
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, no ebb between;
And the old folk, Time's doating Chronicles,
Say it did so, a little time before
That our Grand-sire 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,
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 my Pillow here.

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

War.
Less noise, less noise. 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'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.
Wil't please your Grace to go along with us?

P. Henry.
No; I will sit, and watch here by the King.
Why doth the Crown lye there, upon his Pillow, [Exeunt all but P. Henry.
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 do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sit
Like a rich Armor, worn in heat of day,
That scald'st with safety; by his Gates of breath,
There lyes 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 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 it self to me. Lo, here it sits,
Which Heav'n shall guard:
And put the World's whole strength
Into one Gyant Arm, it shall not force
This Lineal Honour from me. This, from thee,
Will I to mine leave, As 'tis left to me. [Exit. 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.
The door is open, he is gone this way.

Glo.
He came not through the Chamber where we staid.

K. Henoy.
Where is the Crown? who took it from my
Pillow?

War.
When we with-drew, 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,
Their brains with care, their bones with industry.
For this, they have engrossed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of strange-atchiev'd Gold:
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their Sons with Art, and Martial Exercises:
When, like the Bee, culling from every Flower
The virtuous Sweets, our Thighs packt with Wax,
Our Mouths with Honey, we bring it to the Hive;
And like the Bees, are murthered for our pains.
This bitter taste yield his Engrossments
To the ending Father. Enter Warwick.
Now where is he, that will not stay so long,
Till his friend's 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 quafft 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. [Exit.

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.
Do'st 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 over-whelm 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.
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! can'st thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my Grave thy self,
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 sanctifie 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 Cousellors 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 kinds of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall double gild his trebble 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 in every Innocent.
O my poor Kingdom, sick with civil Blows,
When that my Care could not with-hold 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, [Kneeling.
But for my Tears,
The most Impediments unto my Speech,
I had fore-stall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
E'er 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,
Let me no more from this Obedience rise,
Which my most true and inward dutious 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, in Med'cine potable:
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat the Bearer up.
Thus, my 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 join 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 breath. 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 Soil of the Atchievment 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,
Wounding supposed Peace. 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
Changes the Mode: For what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee, in a more fairer sort.
So thou the Garland wear'st successively;
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 taken out;
By whose fell working, I was first advanc'd,
And by whose Power, I well might lodge a Fear
To be again displac'd. Which to avoid,
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land;

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my State. Therefore, my Marry,
Be it thy Course to busie giddy Minds
With Foreign Quarrels; that Action, hence born out,
May waste the Memory of the former Days.
More would I, but my Lungs are wasted so,
That strength of Speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the Crown, O Heaven 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. 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, 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 Heav'n:
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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