Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude,-the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

*When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father3, dragging in the dead Body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body.This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me.Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. 'O heavy time, begetting such events!

From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, Have by my hands of life bereaved him.— Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!—

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; * And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,

3 These two horrible instances are selected to show the innn

merable calamities of civil war. Raphael has introduced the second of these incidents in his picture of the battle of Constan¬ tine and Maxentius.

• Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

* Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; * And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,

Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief1.

Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the
Body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with a hundred blows.-
But let me see:-is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!-

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

* Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,

* Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
'O, pity, God, this miserable age!—

What stratagems5, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!-
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

4 The king intends to say that the state of their hearts and eyes shall be like that of the kingdom in a civil war; all shall be destroyed by power formed within themselves.

5 Stratagems here means direful events. Thus in the Second Part of King Henry IV. Northumberland says:

Every minute now

Should be the father of some stratagem.' And in the old play of King Leir, Regan says:— Hast thou the heart to act a stratagem,

And give a stab or two if need require.' The word stratagemme is shown by Mason to have sometimes the same meaning in Italian.

6 Of these obscure lines the following explanation by Henley is the most probable which has been offered:-Had the son becn younger he would have been precluded from the levy which brought him to the field; and had the father recognised him before their mortal encounter it would not have been too late to have saved him from death. There is a passage in The Rape of Lucrece of the same kind :

————I did give that life

Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!—
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!-

The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:

* The one, his purple blood right well resembles; *The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present! Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!

If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied? Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

L

‹ K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances,

Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son?
K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects'
woe?

Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.
Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep
my fill.
[Exit, with the Body.
Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-
sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious9 will thy father be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.

[Exit, with the Body.

To take on is a phrase still in use in common parlance, and signifies to persist in clamorous lamentation.

8 Think unfavourably of.

9 Obsequious is here careful of obsequies, or funeral rites. See

Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 1.

Vol. VI,

13

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with

care,

• Here sits a king more woful than you are.

Alarams: Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXEter.

6

6

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:

Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post amain,

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,

And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them;

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;

Or else come after, I'll away before.

• K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;

6

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. The same.

A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded1. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light. O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

In the old play the stage direction adds, with an arrow in his neck. It is thought that Beaumont and Fletcher ridiculed this by introducing Ralph, the grocer's prentice, in the Knight of the Burning Pestle, with a forked arrow through his head. The circumstance is related by Hoinshed, p. 664-The Lord Clifford, either for heat or paine, putting off his gorget suddenlie, with an arrow (as some saie) without a head, was stricken into the throte. and immediately rendered his spirit.'

More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun??
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father did,

Giving no ground unto the house of York,

They never then had sprung like summer flies; I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left nor mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?

And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.

The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks3.

2 Hence perhaps originated the following passage in The Bard of Gray:

The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born,
Gone to salute the rising morn.'

3 Thus in King Richard III.:

Grim visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front."