| 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! | 
|  | 
| 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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