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felf hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all thofe legs, and arms, and heads, chop'd off in a battle, fhall join together at the latter day, and cry all, We dy'd at fuch a place; fome, fwearing; fome, crying for a furgeon; fome, upon their wives left poor behind them; fome upon the debts they owe; fome, 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 difebey were against all proportion of fubjection.

him;

K. Henry. So, if a fon, that is fent by his father about merchandize, do fall into fome lewd action and mifcarry, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, fhould be impofed upon his father that fent or if a servant, under his master's command transporting a sum of money, be affail'd by robbers, and die in many irreconcil'd iniquities; you may call the business of the mafter the author of the fervant's damnation; but this is not fo: the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his foldiers, the father of his fon, nor the master of his fervant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their fervices. Befides, there is no King, be his caufe never so spotlefs, if it come to the arbitrement of fwords, 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 feals of perjury; fome, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bofom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now if thefe men have defeated the law, and out-run native punishment; though they can out-ftrip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle, war is his vengeance; fo that here men are punished, for before breach of the King's VOL. V.

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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 thofe impieties for which they are now vifited. Every fubject's duty is the King's, but every fubject's foul is his own. Therefore fhould every foldier in the wars do as every fick man in his bed, with every moth out of his confcience and dying fo, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was bleffedly loft, wherein fuch preparation was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not fin to think, that making God fo free an offer, he let him out-live that day to fee his greatnefs, and to teach others how they fhould prepare. Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the King is not to answer for it.

is

Bates. I do not defire 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 ranfom'd.

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

K. Henry. If I live to fee 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 against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the fun to ice, with fanning in his face with a Peacock's feather: you'll never truft his word after! come, 'tis a foolish faying.

K. Henry. Your reproof is fomething 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 fhall I know thee again?

K. Henry.

K. Henry. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then if ever thou dar'ft 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 alfo 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 fee it, I will challenge it. Will. Thou dar'ft 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 fööls, be friends; we have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to [Exeunt Soldiers.

reckon.

SCENE V.

Manet King Henry.

K. Henry. Nech crowns to one, they will beat us, NDEED, the French may lay twenty

French

for they bear them on their shoulders; but it is no English treafon 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-eafe muft Kings neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings,
That private have not too, fave ceremony?
Save gen'ral ceremony?

And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of God art thou, that fuffer ft more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers?

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* What

*What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, fhew me but thy worth:
What is thy toll, O adoration?

Art thou aught elfe but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?

Wherein thou art lefs happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.

What drink'ft thou oft, inftead of homage fweet,
But poifon'd flatt'ry? O be fick, great Greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Think'ft thou, the fiery fever will go out.

With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canft thou, when thou command'ft the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
That play'ft fo fubtly with a King's repofe;
I am a King, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the fcepter and the ball,
The fword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tiffued robe of gold and pearl,
The farfed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he fits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high fhore of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these, laid in bed majeftical,

Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched flave;
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to reft, cramm'd with diftressful bread;
Never fees horrid night, the child of hell:

What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, Shew me but thy worth :

What! is thy foul of adoration?] Thus is the laft Line given us, and the Nonsense of it made worfe by the ridiculous Pointing. We fhould read, What is thy toll, O adoration? Let us examine how the Context ftands 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 Impefts, thou receiveft:) All here is confonant, and agreeable to a fenfible Exclamation. So King John:· -No Italian

prieft fhall tythe or toll in our Dominions.

Mr. Warburton,

But,

But, like a lacquey, from the rife to fet,
Sweats in the eye of Phebus; and all night
Sleeps in Elyfium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rife, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows fo the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And (but for ceremony) fuch a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with fleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The flave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in grofs brain little wots,

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What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace; Whofe hours the peafant beft advantages.

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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 fhall do't my lord.

your ab

[Exit.

K. Henry. O God of battles! fteel my foldiers'

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 compaffing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new,

And on it have beftow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it iffu'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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