weep for thy death; therefore, rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.

Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me.

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.-Here comes our general.

Enter Prince JOHN of LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, and others.

P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now.Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.— [Exit WESTMORELAND. Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When every thing is ended, then you come : These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back.

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility: I have foundered nine-score and odd posts; and here, travel-tainted, as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and valorous enemy. But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, I came, saw, and overcame.

P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.

36

Fal. I know not: here he is, and here I yield him, and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot. To the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two-pences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount.

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal. Let it shine then.

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that
may do me good, and call it what you will.
P. John. Is thy name Colevile ?

Cole. It is, my lord.

P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. Fal. And a famous true subject took him. Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me, You should have won them dearer than you have.

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves, but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for thee.

Re-enter WESTMORELAND.

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit ?

West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, To York, to present execution.Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure. [Exit COLEVILE guarded.

And now despatch we toward the court, my lords.
I hear, the king my father is sore sick :
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,—
Which, cousin, you shall bear,-to comfort him;
And we with sober speed will follow you.

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, pray, in your good report.

P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition,

A

Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. Fal. I would, you had but the wit: 'twere better than your dukedom.-Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof, for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fishmeals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards, which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which, delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack.

Enter BARDolph.

How now, Bardolph ?

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Westminster. A Room in the Palace. Enter King HENRY, CLARENCE, Prince HUMPHREY, WARWICK, and others.

K. Hen. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end

To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,

How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother?

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
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;
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.

Thomas,

Learn this,

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 all 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? can'st thou tell that?

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers.

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, th' 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, 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 lan-

guage,

'Tis needful, that the most immodest word

Be look'd upon, and learn'd; which once attain'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.-[Enter WESTMORELAND.] Who's here? Westmoreland?

West. Health to my sovereign, and new happi

ness

Added to that that I am to deliver!

Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand :
Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your law.
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
But peace puts forth her olive every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here at more leisure may your highness read,
With every course in his particular.

K. Hen. O Westmoreland! thou art a summer bird,

Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day.-[Enter HARCOURT.]—
Look! here's more news.

Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty;
And, when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of.
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown.
The manner and true order of the fight,
This packet, please it you, contains at large.

K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make me sick?

Will fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
She either gives a stomach, and no food,—
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast,
And takes away the stomach,-such are the rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news,
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.-
O me! come near me, now I am much ill.

Cla.

[Swoons. P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! O my royal father! West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself: look up!

War. Be patient, princes: you do know, these fits

Are with his highness very ordinary.

Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.

Cla. no, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs. Th' incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.

P. Humph. The people fear me! for they do observe

Unfather'd heirs, and loathly births of nature: The seasons change their manner, as the year Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them

over.

Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;

And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
Say, it did so, a little time before

That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.
P. Humph. This apoplexy will, certain, be his
end.

K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence

Into some other chamber: softly, pray.

[They place the KING on a bed in an inner part of the room. 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!

P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. P. Hen. 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. Wil't please your grace to go along with us?

P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the
king. [Exeunt all but Prince HENRY.
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 fa
ther!--

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,

Re-enter WARWICK, 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.

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, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair,

That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine hon

ours

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.

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 excrcises;
When, like the bee, culling from every flower
The virtuous sweets,

Our thighs pack'd 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 Prince HENRY.

Lo, where he comes.-Come hither to me, Harry.— Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

[Exeunt CLARENCE, Prince HUMPHREY, Lords, &c.

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.

P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my [Kneeling.

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.
Heaven 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 th' 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,

God 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, 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 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 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,