Harc. From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maiestie: And when they stand against you, may they fall, As those that I am come to tell you of. The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe, With a great Power of English, and of Scots, Are by the Sherife of Yorkeshire ouerthrowne: The manner, and true order of the fight, This Packet (please it you) containes at large

King. And wherefore should these good newes Make me sicke? Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full, But write her faire words still in foulest Letters? Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode, (Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast, And takes away the Stomack (such are the Rich, That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.) I should reioyce now, at this happy newes, And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie. O me, come neere me, now I am much ill

Glo. Comfort your Maiestie

Cla. Oh, my Royall Father

West. My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, looke vp

War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these Fits Are with his Highnesse very ordinarie. Stand from him, giue him ayre: Hee'le straight be well

Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs, Th' incessant care, and labour of his Minde, Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in, So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out

Glo. The people feare me: for they doe obserue Vnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature: The Seasons change their manners, as the Yeere Had found some Moneths asleepe, and leap'd them ouer

Clar. The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene: And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles) Say it did so, a little time before That our great Grand-sire Edward sick'd, and dy'de

War. Speake lower (Princes) for the King recouers

Glo. This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end

King. I pray you take me vp, and beare me hence Into some other Chamber: softly 'pray. Let there be no noyse made (my gentle friends) Vnlesse some dull and fauourable hand Will whisper Musicke to my wearie Spirit

War. Call for the Musicke in the other Roome

King. Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here

Clar. His eye is hollow, and hee changes much

War. Lesse noyse, lesse noyse. Enter Prince Henry.

P.Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? Clar. I am here (Brother) full of heauinesse

P.Hen. How now? Raine within doores, and none abroad? How doth the King? Glo. Exceeding ill

P.Hen. Heard hee the good newes yet? Tell it him

Glo. Hee alter'd much, vpon the hearing it

P.Hen. If hee be sicke with Ioy, Hee'le recouer without Physicke

War. Not so much noyse (my Lords) Sweet Prince speake lowe, The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleepe

Clar. Let vs with-draw into the other Roome

War. Wil't please your Grace to goe along with vs? P.Hen. No: I will sit, and watch here, by the King. Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow, Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow? O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care! That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide, To many a watchfull Night: sleepe with it now, Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete, As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound) Snores out the Watch of Night. O Maiestie! When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sit Like a rich Armor, worne in heat of day, That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath, There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not: Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlne Perforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father, This sleepe is sound indeede: this is a sleepe, That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'd So many English Kings. Thy due, from me, Is Teares, and heauie Sorrowes of the Blood, Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tendernesse, Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteously. My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne, Which (as immediate from thy Place, and Blood) Deriues it selfe to me. Loe, heere it sits, Which Heauen shall guard: And put the worlds whole strength into one gyant Arme, It shall not force this Lineall Honor from me. This, from thee, will I to mine leaue, As 'tis left to me. Enter.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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