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Changes the mode; for what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a much fairer fort;

For thou the garland wear'ft fucceffively.

Yet though thou ftand'ft more fure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, fince griefs are green;

And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their ftings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whofe fell working I was firft advanc'd,
And by whofe pow'r I well might lodge a fear,
To be again difplac'd; which to avoid
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the holy land;

Left reft and lying ftill might make them look
Too near into my ftate. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy courfe to bufy giddy minds

With foreign quarrels; that action, hence, borne out,
May wafte the memory of former days.

More would I, but my lungs are wafted fo,

That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. HENRY. My gracious Liege,

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my poffeffion be;
Which I with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world, will rightfully maintain.

SHAKESPEAR.

С НА Р.

W

CHAP. XVIII.

HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS.

HAT's he that wishes for more men from England ?
My cousin Weftmoreland? No, my fair coufin,

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour,
God's will! I pray thee with not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;

Nor care I who doth feed upon my coft;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But if it be a fin to covet honour,

I am the most offending foul alive.

No, 'faith, iny Lord, with not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lofe so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would fhare from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more :
Rather proclaim it (Weftmoreland) through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his paffport fhall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purfe :
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will ftand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,"
And roufe him at the name of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and fees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And

And fay, To-morrow is Saint Crifpian :

Then will he ftrip his fleeve, and fhew his fcars.
Old men forget; yet fhall not all forget,

But they'll remember, with advantages,

The feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houfhold-words,,

Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'fter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This ftory fhall the good man teach his fon :
And Crifpin Crifpian fhall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it fhall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he e'er fo vile,
This day fhall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themfelves accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crifpian's day.

SHAKESPEAR.

CHA P. XIX.

HENRY VI. WARWICK, AND CARDINAL

K. HENRY.

BEAUFORT.

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WOW fares my Lord?, Speak, Beaufort, to thy Sovereign.

CAR. If thou be'ft Death, I'll give thee England's

treasure,

Enough to purchase such another island,

So

So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is feen so terrible!

WAR. Beaufort, it is thy Sovereign speaks to thee.
CAR. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Dy'd he not in his bed? Where should he die?
Can I make men live whether they will or no?
Oh, torture me no more, I will confefs
Alive again? Then fhew 'me where he is:
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him
He hath no eyes, the duft hath blinded them:
Comb down his hair; look! look! it ftands upright,
Like lime-twigs fet to catch my winged foul.
Give me fome drink, and bid th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. HENRY. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh, beat away the bufy, meddling fiend,
That lays ftrong fiege unto this wretch's foul,
And from his bofom purge this black defpair.
Peace to his foul, if God's good pleasure be!
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'ft on heaven's blifs,
Hold up thy hand, make fignal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no fign! O God, forgive him.
WAR. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

K. HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are finners all, Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain clofe, And let us all to méditation.

SHAKESPEAR,

СНАР.

WOL.

CHA P. XX.

WOLSEY AND CROMWELL.

F

1

AREWEL, a long farewel to all my greatness! This is the ftate of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow bloffoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a froft, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his shoot; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, Thefe many fummers in a fea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with fervice, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that muft for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet afpect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

CROM. I have no power to speak, Sir.
WOL. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n indeed.

CROM.

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