Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, That even our love durst not come near your sight, Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated, With some fine colour, that may please the eye And never yet did insurrection want P. Hen. In both our armies there is many a soul If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, Of his great name and estimation; And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight. K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit considerations infinite Do make against it :-No, good Worcester, no, We love our people well; even those we love [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon. P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 125.-THE DEATH OF HENRY IV. SHAKSPERE. [The circumstances which preceded the death of Henry IV., including the story of the prince removing the crown, are thus detailed by Holinshed: "In this fourteenth and last year of King Henry's reign, a council was holden in the White Friars in London, at the which, among other things, order was taken for ships and galleys to be builded and made ready, and all other things necessary to be provided, for a voyage which he meant to make into the Holy Land, there to recover the city of Jerusalem from the infidels. The morrow after Candlemas-day, began a Parliament which he had called at London; but he departed this life before the same Parliament was ended: for now that his provisions were ready, and that he was furnished with all things necessary for such a royal journey as he pretended to take into the Holy Land, he was eftsoones taken with a sore sickness, which was not a leprosy (saith Master Hall), as foolish friars imagined, but a very apoplexy. During this, his last sickness, he caused his crown (as some write) to be set on a pillow at his bed's-head, and suddenly his pangs so sore troubled him, that he lay as though all his vital spirits had been from him departed. Such as were about him, thinking verily that he had been departed, covered his face with a linen cloth. The prince his son being hereof advertised, entered into the chamber, took away the crown, and departed. The father being suddenly revived out of that trance, quickly perceived the lack of his crown, and having knowledge that the prince his son had taken it away, caused him to come before his presence, requiring of him what he meant so to misuse himself: the prince with a good audacity answered, Sir, to mine, and all men's judgments, you seemed dead in this world; wherefore I, as your next heir apparent, took that as mine own, and not as yours. Well fair son, said the king (with a great sigh), what right I had to it, God knoweth. Well, quoth the prince, if you die king, I will have the garland, and trust to keep it with the sword against all mine enemies, as you have done. Then, said the king, I commit all to God, and remember you to do well; and with that turned himself in his bed, and shortly after departed to God, in a chamber of the Abbots of Westminster called Jerusalem. We find, that he was taken with his last sickness, while he was making his prayers at Saint Edward's shrine, there as it were to take his leave, and so to proceed forth on his journey: he was so suddenly and grievously taken, that such as were about him feared lest he would have died presently; wherefore, to relieve him, if it were possible, they bare him into a chamber that was next at hand belonging to the Abbot of Westminster, where they laid him on a pallet before the fire, and used all remedies to revive him: at length he recovered his speech and understanding, and perceiving himself in a strange place which he knew not, he willed to know if the chamber had any particular name, whereunto answer was made, that it was called Jerusalem. Then said the king, laudes be given to the Father of Heaven, for now I know that I shall die here in this chamber, according to the prophesy of me declared, that I should depart this life in Jerusalem."] SCENE-Westminster.-King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Warwick, and others. K. Hen. Now, lords, if Heaven doth give successful end We will our youth lead on to higher fields, And everything lies level to our wish : War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty 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. Hump. I do not know, my lord. K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren : Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint; His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: 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? canst 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; And rotten times, that you shall look upon War. My gracious lord, you look beyond nim quite; Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language, Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd, By which his grace must mete the lives of others; K. Hen. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb Enter Westmoreland. West. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, The lifting up of day. Look here's more news. Enter Harcourt. Har. From enemies Heaven keep your majesty; 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,— I should rejoice now at this happy news; O my royal father ! Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs; Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. [Swoons [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; Will whisper music to my weary spirit. War. Call for the music in the other room. 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? 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. |