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O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,

Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!

P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, [Kneeling.

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! If I affect it more,
Than as your honour, and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
(Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending!
Heaven 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 th' 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.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,

Preserving life in med'cine potable:

But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat thy bearer up. 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; 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!

Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.

Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed;

And hear, I think, the very latest counsel

That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
1 met this crown; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it sat upon my head:

To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me,

But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid

My gain of it by their assistances;

Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears,
Thou see'st, with peril I have answered:
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
Changes the mode: for what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;

So thou the garland wear'st successively.

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could dɔ,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;

And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd: which to avoid,

I cut them off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land;

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds

With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Hen. My gracious liege,

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain, and right, must my possession be:
Which I, with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully mantain.

Enter Prince JOHN of LANCASTer, Warwick, Lords, and others.

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father!

K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son


But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown

From this bare, wither'd trunk: upon thy sight,
My worldly business makes a period.-
Where is my lord of Warwick?

P. Hen.

My lord of Warwick K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. K. Hen. Laud be to God!-even there my life must end It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land:But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.



SCENE I.-Glostershire.

A hall in Shallow's house.

Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and Page. Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away tonight. What, Davy, I say!

Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused.-Why, Davy!

Davy. Here, sir.

Enter DAVY

Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy,-let me see, Davy; let me

see:-yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.Sir John, you shall not be excused.

Davy. Marry, sir, thus;-those precepts cannot be served: and, again, sir,-Shall we sow the headland with wheat?

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William -Are there no young pigeons?

cook ;

Davy. Yes, sir.

Here is now the smith's note,

for shoeing, and plough-irons.

Shal. Let it be cast, and paid:-sir John, you shall not be excused.

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had:-And, sir, do you mean to stop any o. William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley fair?

Shal. He shall answer it :- -Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton: and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?

Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well; A friend i' th' court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite.

Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir; for they have marvellous foul linen.

Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, Davy.

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my know

ledge. Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir:

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