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self hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chop'd off in a battle, faall join together at the latter day, and cry all, We dy'd at such a place; some, swearing; some, crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor behind them; fome upon

the debts they owe; some, upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, that die in battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the King that led them to it, whom to dilobey were against all proportion of subje&ion.

K. Henry. So, if a fon, that is sent by his father about merchandize, do fall into some lewd action and miscarry, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a fervant, under his master's command transporting a sum of money, be assail'd by robbers, and die in many irreconcil'd iniquities ; you may call the business of the master the author of the fervant's damnation; but this is not so: the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his fervant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no King, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted foldiers : fome, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; fome, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury ; fome, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now if these men have defeated the law, and out-run native punishment; though they can out-strip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle, war is his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for before breach of the King's Vol. V. N

laws,

laws, in the King's quarrel now: where they feared the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of their damnation, than he was before guilty of those impieties for which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the King's, but every fubject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every fick man in his bed, wish

every

moth out of his conscience : and dying fo, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let hiin out-live that day to see his greatnefs, and to teach others how they should prepare.

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is

upon his own head, the King is not to answer for

it.

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine to fight luftily for him.

K. Henry. I myself heard the King say, he would not be ransom d.

Will. Ay, he said fo, to make us fight chearfully; but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.

K. Henry. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.

Will. You pay him then; that's a perilous shot out of an Elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do againlt a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a Peacock's feather: you'll never truf his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.

K. Henry. Your reproof is something too round: I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
K. Henry. I embrace it.
Will. How shall I know thee again?

K. Henry.

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K. Henry. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then if ever thou dar'it acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.

Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine.
K Henry. There.

Will. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, this is my glove; by this hand, I will give thee a box on the ear.

K. Henry. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
Will. Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.

K. Henry. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's company.

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well.

Bates. Be friends, you English fobls, be friends; we have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

[Exeunt Soldiers.

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S CE N E V.

2

Manet King Henry.

K. Henry. I French Crowns to one, they will beat us,

for they bear them on their shoulders ; but it is no
English treason to cut French crowns, and to-morrow
the King himself will be a clipper.
Upon the King ! let us our lives, our fouls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children and
Our fins, lay on the King; he must bear all.
O hard conditon, and twin-born with greatness,
Subject to breath of ev'ry fool, whose sense
No more can feel but his own wringing.
What infinite heart-ease must Kings neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings,
That private have not too, save ceremony ?
Save gen'ral ceremony?-
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of God art thou, that suffer it more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers?

What

N2

* What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, shew me but thy worth:
What is thy toll, O adoration ?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men ?
Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.
What drink'it thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flatt'ry ? O be sick, great Greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation ?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending ?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a King's repose;
I am a King, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farfed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of

pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these, laid in bed majeftical,
Can sleep so foundly as the wretched slave ;
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell:

* What are thy rents ? What are thy comings-id?

O ceremony, shew me but thy worth:

What! is this foul of adoration?] Thus is the last Line given us, and the Nonsense of it made worse by the ridiculous Pointing. We Ihould read, What is thy toll, O adoration ? Let us examine how the Context stands with my Emendation. What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in? What is thy worth? What is thy toll?-i. e. the Duties, and impofts, thou receivest:) All here is consonant, and a greeable to a sensible Exclamation. So King John : -No Italian priest Jhall tythe or toll in our Dominions.

Mr. Warburton,

But,

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But, like a lacquey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phæbus; and all night .
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows fo the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave :
And (but for ceremony) such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in grofs brain little wots,
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace ;
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

Erp. .

MY

SC EN E VI.

Enter Erpingham.
Y lord, your Nobles, jealous of your ab-

sence,
Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Henry. Good old Knight,
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
Erp. I shall do't my lord.

Exit.
K. Henry. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers'

hearts ;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The fence of reck’ning: left th' opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them.-Not to day, O Lord,
O not to day, think not upon the fault
My fathers made in compassing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it issu'd forced drops of blood.
Five hundred Poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Tow'rd heav'n to pardon blood; and I have built

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