Another Chamber. |
|
KING HENRY lying on a bed: CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and Others in attendance. |
K. Hen. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; |
Unless some dull and favourable hand |
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. |
War. Call for the music in the other room. |
K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. |
Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. |
War. Less noise, less noise! |
|
Enter the PRINCE. |
Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? |
Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. |
Prince. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad! |
How doth the king? |
Glo. Exceeding ill. |
Prince. Heard he the good news yet? |
Tell it him. |
Glo. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. |
Prince. 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? |
Prince. No; I will sit and watch here by the king. [Exeunt all but the PRINCE. |
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, |
Being so troublesome a bedfellow? |
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 biggin bound |
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! |
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit |
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, |
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath |
There lies 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 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. Hen. [Walking.] Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! |
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Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest. |
Cla. Doth the king call? |
War. What would your majesty? How fares your Grace? |
K. Hen. 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. Hen. 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. Hen. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow? |
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. |
K. Hen. 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. [Exit WARWICK. |
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 thoughts, |
Their brains with care, their bones with industry; |
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up |
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; |
For this they have been thoughtful to invest |
Their sons with arts and martial exercises: |
When, like the bee, culling from every flower |
The virtuous sweets, |
Our thighs packed 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 |
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. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown? |
|
Re-enter the PRINCE. |
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. |
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt WARWICK, and the rest. |
Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again. |
K. Hen. 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 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 life. |
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? |
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself, |
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear |
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. |
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse |
Be drops of balm to sanctify 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. |
Harry the Fifth is crown'd! Up, vanity! |
Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence! |
And to the English court assemble now, |
From every 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 kind of ways? |
Be happy, he will trouble you no more: |
England shall double gild his treble 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 withhold thy riots, |
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? |
O! thou wilt be a wilderness again, |
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants. |
Prince. O! pardon me, my liege; but for my tears, |
The moist impediments unto my speech, |
I had forestall'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, |
Let me no more from this obedience rise,— |
Which my most true and inward duteous spirit |
Teacheth,—this prostrate and exterior bending. |
God 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 show 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 carat, is more precious, |
Preserving life in medicine potable: |
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 God 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. Hen. O my son! |
God put it in thy mind to take it hence, |
That thou mightst 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. God 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 soil of the achievement 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 bloodshed, |
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 garment 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 my friends, which thou must make thy friends, |
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en 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 Harry, |
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds |
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, |
May waste the memory of the former days. |
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so |
That strength of speech is utterly denied me. |
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive! |
And grant it may with thee in true peace live. |
Prince. 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 JOHN OF LANCASTER. |
K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. |
Lanc. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father! |
K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, 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? |
Prince. My Lord of Warwick! |
|
Re-enter WARWICK and Others. |
K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong |
Unto the lodging where I first did swound? |
War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. |
K. Hen. Laud be to God! even there my life must end. |
It hath been prophesied 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 lie: |
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. |
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