Henry IV ii
·IV v 25 ·
Verse
Prince Hal Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 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 biggen 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 scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not. Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me. This from thee Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. |