The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

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.

He hath a tear for pity and a hand

Open as day for melting charity;

Yet notwithstanding, being incens’d, he is 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 or rash gunpowder.

CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.

KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?

CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.

KING. 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, th’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!

WARWICK. 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 learnt; 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 other, Turning past evils to advantages.

KING. ‘Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.

Enter WESTMORELAND

Who’s here? Westmoreland?

WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness Added to that that am to deliver!

Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace’s hand.

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 everywhere.

The manner how this action hath been borne Here at more leisure may your Highness read, With every course in his particular.

KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day.

Enter HARCOURT

Look here’s more news.

HARCOURT. 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 shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.

The manner and true order of the fight This packet, please it you, contains at large.

KING. 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.

PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty!

CLARENCE. O my royal father!

WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.

WARWICK. 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.

CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs.

Th’ 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.

PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe Unfather’d heirs and loathly births of nature.

The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over.

CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow’d, no ebb between; 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.

WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.

PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end.

KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. Exeunt

SCENE V.

Westminster. Another chamber

The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance

KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand

Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room.

KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.

CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

WARWICK. Less noise! less noise!

Enter PRINCE HENRY

PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad!

How doth the King?

PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill.

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

PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt’red much upon the hearing it.

PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he’ll recover without physic.

WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low; The King your father is dispos’d to sleep.

CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room.

WARWICK. Will’t please your Grace to go along with us?

PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.

Exeunt all but the PRINCE

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 biggen 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 scald’st 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. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it sits-Which God 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 KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE

CLARENCE. Doth the King call?

WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?

KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?

CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.

He is not here.

WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way.

PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay’d.

KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?

WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

KING. 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

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 pil’d up The cank’red 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 with wax, our mouths with honey pack’d, We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, Are murd’red for our pains. This bitter taste Yields 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?

WARWICK. 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.

KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown?

Re-enter PRINCE HENRY

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

Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE

PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again.

KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.

Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my 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 offense; 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 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,