Good day to you, gentle lord Archbishop ;-
And so to you, lord Hastings,-and to all-
My lord of York, it better show'd with you,
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text;
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might be set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord
bishop,

It is even so:-Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deep you were within the books of God?
To us, the speaker in his parliament;
To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself;
The very opener, and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
And our dull workings: O, who shall believe,
But you misuse the reverence of your place;
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And, both against the peace of heaven and him,
Have here up-swarm'd them.
Arch.

Good my lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense,
Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief;
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from
the court,

Whereon this Hydra son of war is born; Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,

With grant of our most just and right desires: And true obedience of this madness cur'd, Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

Mob. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man. Hast. And though we here fall down, We have supplies to second our attempt; If they miscarry, theirs shall second them: And so, success of mischief shall be born; And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, Whiles England shall have generation. P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,

To sound the bottom of the after-times. West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly,

How far-forth you do like their articles?

P. John. I like them all, and do allow thein well :

And swear here by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning, and authority.-
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed re-
dressed;

Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,

Discharge your powers unto their several coun

ties,

to the army

This news of peace; let them have pay, and part;

tain.

I know, it will well please them; Hie thee, cap.
Erit Officer.
Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland.
West I pledge your grace: And, if you knew
what pains

I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely: but my love to you
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
Arch. I do not doubt you.

West.
I am glad of it.-
Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
Mowb. You wish me health in very happy

season;

For I am, on the sudden, something ill.

Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry; But heaviness foreruns the good event. West. Therefore be merry, coz: since sudden

sorrow

Serves to say thus,-Some good thing comes to

morrow.

Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shouts within.

P. John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark, how they shout!

Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. P. John. Go, my lord, And let our army be discharged too.

[Erit Westmoreland. And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains March by us; that we may peruse the men We should have cop'd withal.

Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. [Erit Hastings. P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together.

Re-enter Westmoreland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
West. The leaders, having charge from you to
stand,

Will not go off until they hear you speak.
P. John. They know their duties.
Re-enter Hastings.

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: Like youthful steers unyok'd they take their

courses

East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up,

Each hurries toward his home, and sportingplace.

West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings: for the which

I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:-
And you, lord archbishop,-and you, Lord Mow.
bray,

Of capital treason I attach you both.
Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable 7
West. Is your assembly so?

Arch. Will you thus break your faith 7
P. John.
I pawn'd thee none :
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine ho

SCENE IV. Westminster. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Warwick, and others.

K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give suc cessful end

To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
Our navy is addressed, our power collected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested,
And every thing lies level to our wish:
Only, we want a little personal strength;
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.
War. Both which, we doubt not but your
majesty

Shall soon enjoy.
K. Hen.
Humphrey, my son of Gloster,
Where is the prince your brother?
P. Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my
lord, at Windsor.

K. Hen. And how accompanied ?
P. Humph.

I do not know, my lord.

K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

P. Humph. No, my good lord; he is in pre

sence here.

Cla. What would my lord and father?

K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.

How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother?

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Tho

mas;

Thou hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou may'st effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,

Between his greatness and thy other brethren
Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love:
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand"
Open as day for melting charity:

When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite:

The prince but studies 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 at-
tain'd,

Your highness knows, comes to no further use,
But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms,
The prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers: and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,

By which his grace must mete the lives of others;
Turning past evils to advantages.

K. Hen. "Tis seldom-when the bee doth leave her comb

In the dead carrion.-Who's here? Westmore

land?

Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd:
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But, being moody, give him line and scope;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in;
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder.

Cla. I shall observe him with ali care and love. K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou

tell that ?

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual fol

lowers.

K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;

And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death:
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, the unguided days,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon,
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,

Tell it him.

Heard he the good news yet?

How quickly nature falls into revolt,
When gold becomes her object!

For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep 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, tolling from every flower

P. Hen. If he be sick

With joy, he will recover without physick.
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?

P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the
king.
[Exeunt all but P. Henry.
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keeps 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. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence!

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey,

Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees, Yield his engrossments to the ending father.

Lo, where he comes.-Come hither to me,
Harry-
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey,
Lords, &c.

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again.

K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:

I stay too long by thee, 1 weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine he-
nours

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 nie die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts:
Which thou hast wetted 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 ĺ
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
riots,

thy

What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my
tears,
[Kneeling.
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!
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your ma-
jesty,

How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wedness 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,)
spake unto the crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: The care on thee de-
pending,

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 cat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege,

Acensing 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 forever 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!

Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy father's
love,

Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.

Come hither, Hairy, sit thou by my bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my
son,

By what by-paths, and indirect crooked 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 answer'd:
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 pur-
chas'd,

Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thon the garland 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 thy 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 1 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
P. Hen. 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 Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick,
Lords, and others.

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.

P. John. 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 hare, wither'd trunk: upon thy sight,
My worldly business makes a period.-
Where is my lord of Warwick?
P. Hen.
My lord of Warwick !
K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
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.
[Exeun.