Changes the mode; for what in me was purchas'd, Falls upon thee in a much fairer sort;

For 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 9

Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear,
To be again displac'd; 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 into 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 former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came to the crown, O God forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Henry. 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.

SHAKESPEARE.

CHA P. XVIII.

Henry V. to his Soldiers. WHAT'S he that wishes for more men from

England?

My cousin Westmoreland! No, my fair cousin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
desires:
Such outward things dwell not in my
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.

No, 'faith, my lord, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour,
methinks, would share from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more :
Rather proclaim it (Westmoreland) through my

As one man more,

host,

:

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
into his
purse
And crowns for convoy put
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian :
He that out-lives this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say,
To-morrow is Saint Crispian :
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,

But they'll remember, with advantages,
The feats they did that day. Then shall our names
Familiar in their mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son :
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberd'd;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!
For he to day who sheds his blood with me,
Shall be brother; be he e'er so vile,

my

This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not

here;

And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.

CHA P. XIX.

SHAKESPEARE.

Henry VI. Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort.

K. Henry. How fares my lord? Speak, Beau

fort, to thy sovereign.

Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's

treasure,

Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.

K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to

thee.

Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will: Dy'd he not in his bed? Where should he die? Can I make men live whether they will or no? Oh, torture me no more! I will confess Alive again? Then show me where he is: I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him— He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them : Comb down his hair : look! look! it stands upright, Like lime twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. K. Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! Oh, beat away the busy meddling fiend, That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair. -Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's bliss, Hold up thine hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign! Ø God, forgive him,

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. K. Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners

all.

Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation.

Wol. F

CHA P. X X.

SHAKESPEARE.

Wolsey and Cromwell.

AREWEL, a long farewel to all my great

ness!

This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his shoot;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me
Weary and old with service,
to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp
and glory of the world, I hate ye !
I feel my hearth new open'd. Oh how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer ?
Never to hope again.

Why, how now,

Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir,
Wol. What amaz'd

At my

misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,

I'm fall'n indeed.

Crom. How does your grace?

Wol.

Wol. Why well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities;

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, I humbly thank his grace; and, from these shoulders,

These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honour.
O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heav'n!
Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right
use of it.

Wol. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,

T' indure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak hearted enemies dare offer.-
What news abroad?

Crom. The heaviest and the worst,

Is your displeasure with the King.

Wol. God bless him.

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen

Lord Chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's somewhat suddenBut he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him! What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. That's news indeed.

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,

Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,
This day was view'd in open as his Queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now

Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 0 Cromwell,

P