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 Veffel of their Blood,
Mingled with Venom of Suggeftion,
As force, perforce, the Age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as ftrong
As Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder.

Clar. I fhall obferve him with all care and love.

K. Henry. Why art thou not at Windfor with him, Thomas
Clar. He is not there to day; he dines in London.

K. Henry. And how accompanied? Can't thou tell that?
Clar. With Poins, and other his continual Followers.
K. Henry. Moft subject is the fatteft Soil to Weeds:
And He, the Noble Image of my Youth,

Is over-fpread with them; therefore my Grief
Stretches it felf beyond the Hour of Death,
The Blood weeps from my Heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th' unguided Days,
And rotten Times, that you fhall look upon, i
When I am fleeping with my Ancestors.
For when his head-ftrong Riot hath no Curb,
When Rage and hot Blood are his Counsellors,
When Means and lavish Manners meet together,
Oh, with what Wings fhall his Affection fly
Tow'rds fronting Peril and oppos'd decay?

War. My gracious Lord you look beyond him quite:
The Prince but ftudies his Companions,

Like a ftrange Tongue; wherein, to gain the Language, 'Tis needful, that the moft immodeft word

Be look'd upon, and learn'd; which once attain'd,
Your Highness knows, comes to no farther use,
But to be known, and hated. So, like grofs terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Caft off his Followers; and their Memory
Shall as a Pattern or a Measure live,

By which his Grace muft mete the lives of others,
Turning paft Evils to advantages.

K. Henry. 'Tis fel dom, when the Bee doth leave her Comb In the dead Carrion.

Enter

Enter Weftmorland.

Who's here? Westmorland?

Weft. Health to my Soveraign, and new Happiness Added to that, that I am to deliver.

Prince John, your Son, doth kiss your Grace's Hand:
Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroop, Haftings, and all,
Are brought to the Correction of your Law;
There is not now a Rebel's Sword unfheath'd,
But Peace puts forth her Olive every where:
The manner how this Action hath been born,
Here, at more leifure, may your Highness read,
With every course, in his Particular.

K. Henry. O Westmorland, thou art a Summer Bird,
Which ever, in the haunch of Winter, fings
The lifting up of Day,

Enter Harecourt.

Look, here's more News.

Hare. From Enemies Heav'n keep your Majefty:
And when they stand against you, may they fall,
As thofe that I am come to tell you of.

The Earl Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolf,
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. Henry. And wherefore fhould these good News
make me fick?

Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words ftill in fouleft Letters?
She either gives a Stomach, and no Food,
Such are the Poor, in health; or elfe a Feaft,
And takes away the Stomach; fuch are the Rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.

I fhould 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.

Glo. Comfort your Majefty.

Cla. Oh, my Royal Father.

Weft. My Soveraign Lord, chear up your felf, look up.

War.

War. Be patient, Princes; you do know, thefe Fits Are with his Highnefs very ordinary.

ne Stand from him, give him Air:

Fland

He'll ftraight be well.

Cla. No, no, he cannot long hold out; thefe Pangs, Th'inceffant Care, and labour of his Mind,

Hath wrought the Mure, that fhould confine it in,
So thin, that Life looks through, and will break out.
Glo. The People fear me; for they do observe
Unfather'd Heirs, and loathly Births of Nature:
The Seafons change their Manners, as the Year
Had found fome Months afleep, and leap'd them over.
Cla. The River hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;
And the old Folk, Time's doating Chronicles,
Say it did fo, a little time before

That our Grand-fire Edward fick'd, and dy'd.

War. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.
Glo. This Apoplexy will, certain, be his end.

K. Henry. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence Into fome other Chamber: foftly, 'pray.

Let there be no noife made, my gentle Friends,
Unless fome dull and favourable hand

Will whisper Mufick to my weary Spirit.

War. Call for the Mufick in the other Room.
K. Henry. Set me the Crown upon my Pillow here.
Cla. His Eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Lefs noife, lefs noise.

Enter Prince Henry.

P.Henry. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ?
Cla. I am here, Brother, full of heaviness.

P. Henry. How now; Rain within Doors, and none abroad? How doth the King?

Glo. Exceeding ill.

P. Henry. Heard he the good News yet?
Tell it him.

Glo. He alter'd much, upon the hearing it.
P. Henry. If he be fick with Joy,

He'll recover without Phyfick.

War. Not fo much noife, my Lords, Sweet Prince, fpeak low.

The

The King, your Father, is difpos'd to fleep.

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other Room.
War. Wil't please your Grace to go along with us?
P.Henry. No; I will fit, and watch here by the King.
[Exeunt all but P. Henry.
Why doth the Crown lye there, upon his Pillow,
Being fo troublefome a Be fellow?

O polish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!
That keep'ft the Ports of Slumber open wide
To many a watchful Night: Seep with it now,
Yet not fo found, and half fo deeply fweet,
As he whofe Brow, with homely Biggen bound,
Spores out the Watch of Night. O Majefty!
When thou doft pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st fit
Like a rich Armor, worn in heat of day,
That fcald'ft with fafety; by his Gares of Breath
There lyes a downy Feather, which stirs not:
Did he fpire, that light and weightless Down
Perforce muft move. My gracious Lord! my Father!
This Sleep is found 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 it felf to me. Lo, here it fits

Which Heav'n fhall guard: And put the World's whole

ftrength

Into one Gyant Arm, it shall not force

This Lineal Honour from me. This from thee,

Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.

Enter Warwick, Gloucester, and Clarence.

K. Henry Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

Cla. Doth the King call?

[Exit

War. What would your Majefty? how fares your Grace? K Henry. Why did you leave me here alone, my Lords? Cla. We left the Prince, my Brother, here, my Liege; Who undertook to fit and watch by you.

K. Henry.

K.Henry The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me fee him. War. The door is open, he is this gone way. Glo. He came not through the Chamber where we ftaid. K. Henry. Where is the Crown? who took it from PB Pillow?

thu

be

my

War. When we with-drew, my Liege, we left it here.
K. Henry. The Prince hath ta'en it hence:

Go feek him out.

Is he fo hafty, that he doth fuppofe

44

My fleep, my death? Find him, my Lord of Warwick,
Chide him hither; 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 fleeps with Thought,
Their brains with Care, their bones with Industry:
For this, they have engroffed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of ftrange-atchieved Gold:
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their Sons with Art, and Martial Exercifes:
When, like the Bee, culling from every Flower
The virtuous Sweets, our Thighs packt with Wax,
Our Mouths with Honey, we bring it to the Hive;
And like the Bees, are murthered for our pains.
This bitter tafte yield his Engrofsments

To the ending Father.

Enter Warwick.

Now where is he, that will not ftay fo 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 fuch a deep demeanour, in great Sorrow,
That Tyranny, which never quafft but Blood,
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his Knife
With gentle Eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Henry. But wherefore did he take
away the Crown?
Enter Prince Henry.

Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry,

VOL. IV.

Depart