THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

ACT III.

Scene I.-Westminster. A Room in the Palace.
Enter KING HENRY in his night-gown.

K. HEN. How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O gentle sleep!
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamour in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter PRINCE HENRY.

[Sleeps.

PRINCE. Why doth the crown lie there

upon

his pillow,

Being so troublesome a bedfellow ?

22976GB

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 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
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. (Waking). Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest.

K. HEN. Why did

Doth the king call?

your majesty? How fares your

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.

GLO. 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.

Re-enter the PRINCE.
Lo, where he comes.
Come hither to me, Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

[Exeunt WARWICK and the rest.

PRINCE. 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 assur'd 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 are 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 crown'd! 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:
Have 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.

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.

PRINCE. O pardon me, my liege; but for my tears, 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!

God witness with me, when I here came in,

And found no course of breath within your majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! if I do feign,
O! let me in my present wildness die

And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed.
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,

I spake unto the crown as having sense,

And thus upbraided it: "The care on thee depending

Hath fed upon the body of my father.

Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold:"

Thus, my most royal liege,

Accusing it, I put it on my head,

To try with it, as with an enemy

That had before my face murder'd my father,

The quarrel of a true inheritor..

But if it did infect my blood with joy,

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine

Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head,

And make me as the poorest vassal is

That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!

K. HEN. O my son!

God put it in thy mind to take it hence,

That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.

THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

ACT V.

Scene I.-France. An English Court of Guard.
Enter FLUELLEN and GoWER.

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past.

FLU. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, asse my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, pragging knave, Pistol,—which you and yourself and all the 'orld know to be no petter than a fellow,-look you now, of no merits, he is come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my leek. It was in a place where I could not preed no contention with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.

Enter PISTOL.

FLU. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!

PIST. Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Troyan,

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

FLU. I peseech you heartily, scurvy lousy knave, at my desires and my requests and my petitions to eat, look you, this leek; pecause, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and your digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

PIST. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

FLU. (Strikes him). There is one goat for you. Will you be so good, scald knave, as eat it?

PIST. Base Troyan, thou shalt die.