Now, Warwick, where is he that would not stay Till his friend sickness had determin'd me? [Warwick.] My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing his gentle cheeks with tears, and plung'd In deepest sorrow. He is coming hither.

away

[K. Henry.] But wherefore did he take the crown? Lo, where he comes !-Come hither to me, Harry: The rest depart, and leave us here alone.

[a pause.]

[P. Henry.] I never thought to hear you speak again.

[K. Henry.] Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.

Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,

That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe?

Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring in thine ear,
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead:
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 ye 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 will 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 in every innocent.

O, my poor kingdom,

Oh, thou wilt be a wilderness again!

Thou foolish youth!

Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.

Stay but a little: for my cloud of dignity

Is held from falling by so weak a wind,

That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.

Thou hast stolen that, which after some few hours
Were thine without offence; 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.

[P. Henry.] O, pardon me, my liege!—but for my tears,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoken, or I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours!

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,
Oh! let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to show the 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 spoke unto the crown as having sense,

And thus upbraided it. "The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father,

And eat thy bearer." Thus, my 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 least affection of a welcome,
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let heaven 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. Henry.] O, my son,

Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,

That thou mightst 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
I 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.

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough; since griefs are green.
Therefore, my Harry,

Be it thy course to busy giddy minds

With foreign quarrel; that action hence borne out
May waste the memory of 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 heaven forgive,
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
Tell me, my Harry,

Doth any name particular belong

Unto the chamber where I first did swoon?

[P. Henry.] 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.

[K. Hen.] Laud be to heaven! Even there my life must end. It ha'th 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.

We are now to transport ourselves, in imagination, to the garden of Justice Shallow's house in Gloucestershire, where, in an alcove, we shall find the three old men, who met together in a former scene-Justice Shallow, Justice Silence, and Sir John Falstaff,-enjoying themselves after their dinner. Silence is quite tipsy, and therefore entirely unlike what he is at other times, for he is very noisy and talkative. He has been singing scraps of old songs, and

telling Falstaff he would pledge him in a glass a mile to the bottom. In the midst of this merry-making, Davy, the serving-man, comes in, and announces that one Pistol is come from the court with news. Pistol is one of Falstaff's followers, and his ancient or flag-bearer when on military service. This Pistol is a man who always speaks in words of bombast, often misquoted, from the tragedies of that age: the moment he is announced, Falstaff starts from his seat, and exclaims,

[Falstaff] From the court?-let him come in, let him
come in,
[a pause.]
How now, Pistol! what wind blew you hither?

[Pistol.] Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend,
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee,
And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,

And golden times, and happy news of price.

[Falstaff.] I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world.

[Pistol.] Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm.

He is interrupted by Silence, who agrees he is the greatest, except goodman Puff of Barson. Pistol, indignant at the interruption, continues in great ire:

Puff!

Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
Shall dunghill curs confront the helicons,

And shall good news be baffled?

Then, Pistol, lay thy head in furies' lap.

Justice Shallow here interposes.

[Shallow.] Cousin Silence, let me speak to him. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.

[Pistol.] Why then lament therefore.

[Shallow.] Give me your pardon, sir;-if, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it there are but two

ways, either to utter them or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority.

[Pistol.] Under which king, Bezonian? speak or die.

[Shallow.] Under king Harry.

[Pistol.] Harry the Fourth or Fifth?

[Shallow.] Harry the Fourth.

[Pistol.] Fourth in thy teeth!

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king;
Harry the Fifth's the man: I speak the truth.

[Falstaff] What! is the old king dead? Away! Bardolph,
saddle my horse-master Robert Shallow, choose
what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I'll
double charge thee with dignities. Carry master
Silence to bed. Get on thy boots, master Shallow, or
my lord Shallow; be what thou wilt, I am fortune's
steward: get on thy boots; we'll ride all night. I
know the young king is sick for me.
Let us take any
man's horses; the laws of England are at my com-
mandment. Happy are they who have been my friends!
and woe to my lord chief justice!

We must now suppose the necessary interval for the journey, and that Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, and Bardolph, are waiting in a public place, as the shortest method of meeting with the new king, who is expected to pass by the way: thus speaks Falstaff to Shallow while waiting:

[Falstaff] Stand here, master Robert Shallow; I will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him as he comes by; and do but mark the countenance he will give me. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. Oh ! if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pounds I borrowed of you, master Shallow; but 'tis no matter; this poor show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him; to stand stained with travel after riding day and night;