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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-
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep,
That from this golden rigol 85 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. [Erit.
K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence!
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 bere, 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; chide him hither.
[Exit 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
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.
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
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry:
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey,
P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that
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 86:
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
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 crownd:-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 :
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 87;
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 tears,
[Kínceling. 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,