A gentleman almost forspent* with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the

way, Staying no longer question.

MESSENGER WITH ILL NEWS.

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This man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpationt.-Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, halfhis Troy was burn'd.I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not that reports his death: And he doth sin that does belie the dead; Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departing friend. * Exhausted. of An attestation of its ravage.

GREATER GRIEFS DESTROY THE LESS.

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As the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, Like strengthless hinges buckle under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice* A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, crutch; Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoiff, Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. Now bind my brows with iron; and approach The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland! Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die! And let this world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead!

THE FICKLENESS OF THE VULGAR.

An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond manyt! with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be? And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provok’st thyself to cast him up.

ACT III.

APOSTROPHE TO SLEEP.

Sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse,

how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, [ber: And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumThan in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulld with sounds of sweetest melody. O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafʼning clamours on the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly*, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king?

ACT IV. THE CHARACTER OF KING HENRY V. BY HIS FATHER. He is gracious, if he be observ'dt; * Noise.

+ Has an attention shown him.

He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humourous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day,
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd;
Chide him for 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.

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ON FORTUNE.

Will fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach, and no food,Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast, And takes away the stomach,—such are the rich, That have abundance, and enjoy it not.

REFLECTIONS ON A CROWN.
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 biggint 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.

REFLECTIONS ON GOLD.
How quickly nature falls into revolt,
When gold becomes her object!
* Gates.

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 pil'd 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, tolling* 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 murder'd for our pains.

SCENE BETWEEN PRINCE HENRY AND HIS FATHER.

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

Þ. 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 honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek'st thegreatness that will overwhelm 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 stol'n that, which, after some few hours, Were thine without offence; and, at my death, Thou hast sealed up my expectationt: Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it.

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