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K. Hen. 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.

[Exit Warwick.

This part of his conjoins with my disease,

And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you


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, tolling1 from every flower
The virtuous sweets;

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with


We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees,

Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments to the ending father.

1 Taking toll.

2 Accumulations.


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Re-enter WARWICK.

Now, where is he, that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determined 1 me?

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next


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.
K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the


Lo, where he comes.

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Come hither to me, Harry :Depart the chamber; leave us here alone.

[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lords, &c.

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. K. Hen. 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 mine honors Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!

Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm


1 Ended.

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.1

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, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit

Thou has confirmed my opinion.

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