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Were thine without offence; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation ;
Thy life did manifeft, thou lov’dst me not;
And thou wilt have me die afsur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy ftony heart,
To ftab at half an hour of
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
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
Only compound me with forgotten duft,
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break
For now a time is come to mock at form ;
Henry the Fifth is crown’d: up, Vanity!
Down, Royal state! All you fage counsellors, hence !
And to the English court assemble now,
From ev'ry region, apes of idleness:
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your fcum;
Have you a ruffian that will swear? drink? dance?
Revel the night? rob? murder ? and commit
The oldest fins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall give him office, honour, might:
For the Fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks
The muzzle of restraint! and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every
O my poor kingdom, fick with civil blows !
When that my care could not with-hold thy riot,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? 0, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants.
P. Henry. O pardon me, my Liege! but for my tears (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 your's! 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 proftrate and exterior bending. Heav'n 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 shew 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 worft of gold; Other less fine in carrat, is more precious, Preserving life in med'cine potable : But thou, moft fine, moft honour'd, most renown'd, Haft eat thy bearer up. Thus, 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,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the leaft affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it:
Let Heav'n for ever keep it from my
And make me as the poorest vaffal is,
T'hat doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Henry. O my son!
Heav'n put in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wifely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, fit thou by my bed ;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heav'n knows, my son,
By what bye-paths, and indirect crook'd ways
I met this crown; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it fat upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation:
For all the soil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
But as an honour firatch'd with boit'rous 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 their bold feats,
Thou seeft, with peril I have answer'd.
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Ading that argument: and now my death
Changes the mode; for what in me was purchas'd,
thee in a much fairer fort;
For thou the garland wear'st successively.
Yet though thou stand'it more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ;
And all my 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;
Left reft and lying still might make them look
Too near into my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to bufy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence, borne outj
May waste the memory of former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive!
with thee in true peace live!
P. Henry. My gracious Liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right muft my poffeflion be;
Which I with more than with a common pain,
'Gainft all the world, will rightfully maintain.
WHAT's he that withes for more men from England?
My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair coufin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour,
God's will! I pray thee with not one man more,
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my coft ;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
But if it be a fin to cover honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my Lord, wilh not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more:
Rather proclaim it (Westmoreland) through my host,
That he which hath no ftomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's
company, That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And royse him at the name of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and fees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,