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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. Look! here's more news.

Enter HARCOURT.. 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.

[Swoons. P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty! Cla.

O, my royal father! West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look

up!

War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these

fits 9 The detail contained in Prince John's letter.

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;
The 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 ob

serve

over.

Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature :
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them
Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be-

tween 3:
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 dull4 and favourable hand
Will whisper musick tò 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.

Enter Prince HENRY.

P. Hen.

Who saw the duke of Clarence ?

1 Wall.

2 Make me afraid. 3 An historical fact, on Oct. 12, 1411. 4 Melancholy, soothing.

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. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.

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 ?

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

[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 portss 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 father! 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, s Gates.

Сар. .

7 Circle.

6

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. [Exit.

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? Cia. 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?

VOL. V.

4 А

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

with care,

Their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and piļd 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'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?

* Taking toll.

9 Accumulations,

Ended.

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