For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, [Kneeling. The moist impediments unto my speech, Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in med'cine 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, That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! K. Hen. O my son! Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence, That thou might'st won 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 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, So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, I cut them off; and had a purpose now Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Enter Prince JOHN of LANCASTER, WARWICK, Lords, and Others. K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancas ter. P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father! K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown P. Hen. My lord of Warwick! K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. K. Hen. 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 suppos'd, the Holy Land:- [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Glostershire. A Hall in SHALLOW's House. Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and Page. Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away tonight.- -What, Davy, I say! Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused.-Why, Davy! Davy. Here, sir. Enter DAVY. Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy,―let me see, Davy; let me see-yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. -Sir John, you shall not be excused. Davy. Marry, sir, thus;-those precepts cannot be served: and, again, sir,-Shall we sow the headland with wheat? Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook; Are there no young pigeons? Davy. Yes, sir.Here is now the smith's note, for shoeing, and plough-irons. Shal. Let it be cast, and paid:-sir John, you shall not be excused. 1 |