Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be tween:

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 apoplex will, certain, be his end.
K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me
hence

Into some other chamber: softly, 'pray.

[They convey the King into an inner part of the room, and place him on a Bed. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper musick to my weary spirit.

War. Call for the musick 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. Hen.

Enter Prince HENRY.

Who saw the duke of Clarence? Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!

How doth the king?

P. Humph. Exceeding ill.

P. Hen.

Tell it him.

Heard he the good news yet?

+ The river hath thrice flow'd,] This is historically true. It happened on the 12th of October, 1411.

Unless some dull-] Dull signifies melancholy, gentle, soothing, or, producing dullness or heaviness; and consequently sleep.

6 Set me the crown upon my pillow here.] It is still the custom in France to place the crown on the King's pillow, when he is dying.

P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 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?

king.

8

P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the
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 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;

7 the ports-] Are the gates of slumber. Ports is the ancient military term for gates; and is yet used in this sense in Scotland.

homely biggin,] A kind of cap, at present worn only by children; but so called from the cap worn by the Beguines, an order of nuns.

this golden rigol—] Rigol means a circle.

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.

K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence!

Re-enter WARWICK, and the rest.

[Exit.

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. P. Humph. 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;

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 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
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'd3 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?

tolling-] Tolling is taking toll.

? Yield his engrossments-] His accumulations.

3

determin'd—] i. e. ended; it is still used in this sense in legal conveyances.

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.

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 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 assured 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;

4 seal'd up my expectation:] Thou hast confirmed my opinion.