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Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,
K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
125.--THE DEATH OF HENRY IV. SHAksPERE.
[The circumstances which preceded the death of Henry IV., including the story of the prince removing the crown, are thus detailed by Holinshed:—
“In this fourteenth and last year of King Henry's reign, a council was holden in the White Friars in London, at the which, among other things, order was taken for ships and galleys to be builded and made ready, and all other things necessary to be provided, for a voyage which he meant to make into the Holy Land, there to recover the city of Jerusalem from the infidels. The morrow after Candlemas-day, began a Parliament which he had called at London; but he departed this life before the same Parliament was ended: for now that his provisions were ready, and that he was furnished with all things necessary for such a royal journey as he pretended to take into the Holy Land, he was estsoones taken with a sore sickness, which was not a leprosy (saith Master Hall), as foolish friars imagined, but a very apoplexy. During this, his last sickness, he caused his crown (as some write) to be set on a pillow at his bed's-head, and suddenly his pangs so sore troubled him, that he lay as though all his vital spirits had been from him departed. Such as were about him, thinking verily that he had been departed, covered his face with a linen cloth. The prince his son being hereof advertised, entered into the chamber, took away the crown, and departed. The father being suddenly revived out of that trance, quickly perceived the lack of his crown, and having knowledge that the prince his son had taken it away, caused him to come before his presence, requiring of him what he meant so to misuse himself: the prince with a good audacity answered, Sir, to mine, and all men's judgments, you seemed dead in this world; wherefore I, as your next heir apparent, took that as mine own, and not as yours. Well fair son, said the king (with a great sigh), what right I had to it, God knoweth. Well, quoth the prince, if you die king, I will have the garland, and trust to keep it with the sword against all mine enemies, as you have done. Then, said the king, I commit all to God, and remember you to do well; and with that turned himself in his bed, and shortly after departed to God, in a chamber of the Abbots of Westminster called Jerusalem. We find, that he was taken with his last sickness, while he was making his prayers at Saint Edward's shrine, there as it were to take his leave, and so to proceed forth on his journey: he was so suddenly and grievously taken, that such as were about him feared lest he would have died presently; wherefore, to relieve him, if it were possible, they bare him into a chamber that was next at hand belonging to the Abbot of Westminster, where they laid him on a pallet before the fire, and used all remedies to revive him : at length he recovered his speech and understanding, and perceiving himself in a strange place which he knew not, he willed to know if the cham. ber had any particular name, whereunto answer was made, that it was called Jerusalem. Then said the king, laudes be given to the Father of Heaven, for now I know that I shall die here in this chamber, according to the prophesy of me declared, that I should depart this
life in Jerusalem."]
Scene—Westminster—King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Warwick, and others.
K. Hen. Now, lords, if Heaven doth give successful end
And everything lies level to our wish : Only we want a little personal strength; And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government. War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty Shall soon enjoy. K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, where is the prince your brother? P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. K. Hen. And how accompanied ? P. Hump. I do not know, my lord. A. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him P. Humph. No, my good lord; he is in presence here. Cla. What would my lord and father ? A. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother ? . He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; Thou hast a better place in his affection Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy; And noble offices thou mayst effect Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren : Therefore omit him not ; blunt not his love Nor loose the good advantage of his grace, By seeming cold, or careless of his will. For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: Chide him for his faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth: But, being moody, give him line and scope; Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends; A hoop of gold, so bind thy brothers in ; That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion, (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in.) Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell that ? Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers. K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them : therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;
West. Health to my sovereign and new happiness
K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Har. From enemies Heaven keep your majesty;
K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make me sick 1
She either gives a stomach, and no food,
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.
P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence
Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
P. Hen. How now ! rain within doors, and none abroad: How doth the king
P. Humph. Exceeding ill.
P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.
P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it.
P. Hen. If he be sick with joy, he will recover without physic.
War. Not so much noise, my lords;–sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is dispos'd to sleep.