King Henry IV lying on a bed: Clarence, Gloucester, Warwick, and others in attendance
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
Enter Prince Henry
Not so much noise, my lords: sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is disposed to sleep.
No; I will sit and watch here by the king.
Exeunt all but Prince Henry
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorced So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously: My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate as thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, Which God shall guard: and put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: this from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest
The prince hath ta'en it hence: go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose My sleep my death? Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him hither.
This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and piled up The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises: When, like the bee, culling from every flower The virtuous sweets, Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste Yield his engrossments to the ending father.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determined me?
My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
But wherefore did he take away the crown?
Re-enter Prince Henry
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
Exeunt Warwick and the rest
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek'st the greatness that will o'erwhelm thee. Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with 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 lovedst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. 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 my hearse Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head: Only compound me with forgotten dust Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 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 you 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 shall double gild his treble guilt, 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 innocent. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
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 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 inward true and duteous spirit Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. God 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 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 spake unto this 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 medicine 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; If 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!
O my son, God 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. God 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 bitter 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 purchased, 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 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 advanced And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displaced: 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!
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 maintain.
Enter Lord John of Lancaster
Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John; 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?
Enter Warwick, and others
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 supposed the Holy Land: But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.