Did with the least affection of a welcome That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! K. Henry. O my son! Heav'n put into 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. 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 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 boist'rous hand, And I had many living to upbraid My grain of it by their assistances; Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, Wounding supposed peace. All their bold feats, Thou seest, with peril I have answer'd. 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 much fairer sort; For thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet though thou stand'st 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 Be it thy course to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, hence born out, P. Henry. My gracious Liege, SHAKSPEARE. 1000000 CHAP. XVIII. HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS. WHAT's he that wishes for more men from England ? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin, 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 wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous of gold; Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. Ii 2 No, 'faith, my Lord, wish not a man from England: This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : We few, we happy few, we band of brothers: Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here SHAKSPEARE, CHAP. XIX. HENRY VI. WARWICK AND CARDINAL K. Henry. HOW fares my Lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy Sovereign. Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treas ure. Enough to purchase such another island, K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, K. Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns, Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, OCOODDD SHAKSPEARE. WOLSEY AND CROMWELL. Wol. FAREWEL, a long farewel to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; tc-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his shoot; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir. At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder |