When rage and hot blood are his counsellors
When means and lavish manners meet together,
Oh, with what wings shall his affection fly
Tow'rd fronting peril and oppos'd decay?
War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: The Prince but ftudies 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 grofs terms,
The Prince will in the perfectness of time.
Caft off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his grace mult mete the lives of others;
Turning paft evils to advantages.
K. Henry. 'Tis feldom, when the Bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.--Who's here? Weftmorland!
TEALTH to my Sovereign, and new happiness
Added to That, which I am to deliver!
Prince John, your fon, doth kiss your grace's hand:
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Haftings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your Law;
There is not now a rebel's fword unfheath'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 courfe, in his particular.
K. Henry. O Weftmorland, thou art a fummer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter fings
Look, here's more news.
Har. From enemies heav'n keep your Majefty:
And, when they ftand against you, may they fall
As thofe 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 thefe good news make me fick?
Will fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words ftill in fouleft letters?
She either gives a ftomach, and no food;
(Such are the poor, in health) or elfe a feaft,
And takes away the ftomach; (such the rich,
That have abundance and enjoy it not.)
I should rejoice now at this happy news,
And now my fight fails, and my brain is giddy.
O me, come near me, now I am much ill!
Glou. Comfort your Majefty!
Cla. Oh, my royal father!
Weft. My fovereign lord, chear up yourself, lookup. War. Be patient, Princes; you do know, these fits Are with his Highnefs very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air: he'll ftraight be well.
Cla. No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs;
Th' inceffant 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.
Glou. The people fear me; for they do observe
Unfather'd heirs and loathy births of Nature:
The Seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found fome months afleep, and leap'd them over.
Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;
Hath wrought the mure, -]i.. the Wall.
Mr. Pope.
And the old folk (time's doting chronicles)
Say, it did fo a little time before
That our great Grandfire Edward fick'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
Into some other chamber: foftly, 'pray.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
Unless fome doleing, favourable hand
Will whisper mufic to my weary spirit.
War. Call for the mufic in the other room.
K. Henry. Set me the crown upon the pillow here.
Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Lefs noise, less noise.
P. Henry. WHO faw the Duke of Clarence?
Cla. I am here, brother, full of hea
P. Henry. How now! rain within doors, and none
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 fick with joy,
He'll recover without phyfic.
War. Not fo much noife, my lords; fweet Prince, fpeak low;
The King, your father, is difpos'd to fleep.
Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room.
War. Will't please your grace to go along with us?
P. Henry. No; I will fit, and watch here by the King.
[Exeunt all but P. Henry.
Why
Why doth the Crown lie there upon the pillow,
Being fo troublefome a bed-fellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'it the ports of flumber open wide
To many a watchful night: fleep with it now!
Yet not fo found, and half so deeply sweet,
As he, whose brow, with homely biggen bound,
Snores out the watch of night." O Majefty!
When thou doft pinch thy bearer, thou doft fit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That fcalds with fafety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which ftirs not:
Did he fafpire, that light and weightless Down
Perforce muft move. My gracious lord! my father!
This fleep is found, indeed; this is a fleep,
*That from this golden Rigol hath divorc'd
So many English Kings. Thy Due from me
Is tears, and heavy forrows 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 fits,
Which heav'n fhall guard: and put the world's whole ftrength
Into one giant arm, it fhall not force
This lineal Honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
Enter Warwick, Gloucefter, and Clarence.
K. Henry. WARWICK! Gloucester! Clarence!
Cla. Doth the King call? [Grace?
War. What would your Majefty? how fares your
That from this golden Rigol] Rigol or Circle; meaning the
K. Henry. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
Cla. We left the Prince my brother here, my Liege, Who undertook to fit and watch by you.
K. Henry. The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me fee him.
War. This door is open, he is gone this way.
Glou. He came not through the chamber where we ftay'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 feek him out.
Is he fo hafty, that he doth fuppofe
My fleep my death? find him, my lord of Warwick,
And chide him hither ftraight; this part of his
Conjoins with my disease, and helps to end me.
See, fons, 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 fleeps with thought, their brains with
Their bones with induftry: for this, engroffed
The canker'd heaps of ftrange-atchieved gold
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their fons with arts and martial exercifes:
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 tafte
Yield his engroffments to the dying father.
Now, where is he, that will not flay fo long, 'Till his friend, Sickness, hath determin'd me? War. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
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