But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hooked-nose fellow of Rome', I came, saw, and overcame.

P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.

Fal. I know not; here he is, and here I yield him and I beseech your grace let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds; or I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: To the which course, if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershining you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which shew like pins' heads to her; believe not the word of the noble : Therefore let me have right and let desert mount.

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal. Let it shine then.

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.

the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage: and this valour comes of sherris: So that skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it a-work and learning, a mere hoard of gold, kept by a devil; till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris; that he is become

It is, my lord. P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. Fal. And a famous true subject took him. Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, That led me hither: had they been ruled by me, You should have won them dearer than you have.

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and I thank thee for thee.

Re-enter WEStmoreland.

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit ? West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, To York, to present execution: Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. [Exeunt some with COLEVILE.

And now despatch we toward the court, my lords; I hear, the king my father is sore sick :

Our news shall go before us to his majesty,— Which, cousin, you shall bear, to comfort him; And we with sober speed will follow you.

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report.

P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition 2,

Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. Fal. I would, you had but the wit: 'twere better than your dukedom. - Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, they are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive 3, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is,

the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations, and addict themselves to sack.

1

5 An allusion to the old use of sealing with soft wax. Ready, prepared.

Thon hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,

Between his greatness and thy other brethren :
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love:
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will,
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd 7;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:

Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd:
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth :
But, being moody, give him line and scope;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
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 8, 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; The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, In forms imaginary, the unguided days, And rotten times, that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite:
The prince but studies his companions,
Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language,

'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd: which once attain'd,
Your highness knows, comes to no further use,
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers: and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,

By which his grace must mete the lives of others;
Turning past evils to advantages.

K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb

In the dead carrion. Who's here? Westmoreland?

Enter WESTMORELAND.

West. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness Added to that that I am to deliver!

Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand:

7 Has attention shown him.

Wolf's Lane, a poisonous herb.

Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your law;
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 this particular. 9

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 inuch 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 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 2; for they do

observe

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

over.

Cla. The river hath thrice flow d, no ebb between 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 dull and favourable hand Will whisper musick to 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.

9 The detail contained in prince John's letter.
1 Wall.
2 Make me afraid.
3 An historical fact, on Oct. 12, 1411.
Melancholy, soothing.

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 physick. War. Not so much noise, my lords: prince, speak low;

:- sweet

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 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 6 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 7 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

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
with care,

Their bones with industry;

For this they have engrossed and piled 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 9 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?

Re-enter PRINCE HENRY. Lo, where he comes.-Come hither to me, Harry 1Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

[Exeunt CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY, Lords, &c.

P. Hen. 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 stolen 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 art crown'd, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse,

8 Taking toll. 1 Ended.

9 Accumulations. 2 Confirmed my opinion.