Turning paft evils to advantages. K. Henry. 'Tis feldom, when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.-Who's here? Weftmorland! SCENE IX. Enter Weftmorland. Wet. Health to my Sovereign, and new happiness Added to that which I am to deliver!. Prince John, your fon, doth kifs your Grace's hand: K. Henry. O Weftmorland, thou art a fummer-bird, Enter Harcourt. Look, here's more news. Har. From enemies heav'n keep your Majefty: The Earl of Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolph, Will Fortune never come with both hands full, Cla. Oh, my royal father! Weft. My fovereign Lord, chear 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 ftraight be well. That our great grandfire Edward fick'd and dy'd. 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, War. Call for the mufic in the other room. K. Henry. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. SCENE X. Enter Prince Henry. P. Henry. Who faw the Duke of Clarence? * P. Henry. How now! rain within doors, and none How doth the King? Glou. Exceeding ill. P. Henry. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. [abroad? Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. He'll recover without phyfic. * i, e. a hand ufing foft mela choly airs. VOL. IV. Ff War. War. Not fo much noife, my Lords; fweet Prince, fpeak low; The King, your father is difpos'd to fleep. Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. War. Will'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 lie there upon his pillow, Being fo troublefome a bed-fellow? "O polifh'd perturbation! golden care! "That keep'ft the ports of flumber open wide "To many a watchful night: fleep with it now! "Yet not fo found, and half fo deeply fweet, "As he whofe brow, with homely biggen bound, "Snores out the watch of night. O Majefty! "When thou doft pinch thy bearer, thou dost fit. "Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, "That fealds with fafety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather, which ftirs not. Did he fufpire, that light and weightlefs down Perforce must move. My gracious Lord! my father! This fleep is found, indeed; this is a fleep, That from this golden rigol hath divorce'd So many English Kings. Thy due from me Is tears, and heavy forrows 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 itfelf to me. Lo, here it fits, Which heav'n fhall guard: and put the world's whole Into one giant-arm, it fhall not force This lineal honour from me. This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [ftrength [Exit. Enter Warwick, Gloucefter, and Clarence. K. Henry. Warwick! Gloucefter! Clarence! War. What would your Majefty? how fares your Grace? K. Henry. 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. The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me fee him. War. The door is open, he is gone this way. Glou. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. K. Henry. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow? War. When we withdrew, my Liege, we left it here. K. Henry. The Prince hath ta'en it hence? go feek Is he fo hafty, that he doth fuppofe [him out. My fleep my death? find him, my Lord of Warwick, And chide him hither ftraight; this part of his Conjoins with my disease, and helps to end me. See, fons, what things you are! how quickly nature Falls to revolt, when gold becomes her object? For this, the foolifh over-careful fathers [care, Have broke their fleeps with thought, their brains with Their bones with induftry: for this, ingroffed The canker'd heaps of ftrange-atchieved gold: For this they have been thoughtful to inveft," Their fons with arts and martial exercises: When, like the bee, culling from ev'ry flow'r, Our thighs are 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 tafte Yield his ingroffments to the dying father. Enter Warwick. Now, where is he, that will not ftay fo long, Enter Prince Henry. Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry ; Thou feek'ft the greatnefs that will overwhelm thee. Thou haft ftoln that, which, after fome few hours, Thy life did manifeft, thou lov'dst me not; Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, What! canft thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyfelf, Down, Royal state! all you fage counsellors, hence! "Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your fcum ; "Have you a ruffian that will fwear? drink? dance? "Revel the night rob murder? and commit "The oldet fins the newest kind of ways? "Be happy, he will trouble you no more: [England fhall double gild his treble guilt; *] Evidently the nonlence of fame foolish player. Mr. W England |