How now, my Lord Chief Justice, whither away?

How doth the King?

Exceeding well. His cares are now all ended.

I hope, not dead.

He’s walk’d the way of nature,

And to our purposes he lives no more.

I would his Majesty had call’d me with him.

The service that I truly did his life

Hath left me open to all injuries.

Indeed I think the young King loves you not.

I know he doth not, and do arm myself

To welcome the condition of the time,

Which cannot look more hideously upon me

Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.

Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry.

O that the living Harry had the temper

Of he the worst of these three gentlemen!

How many nobles then should hold their places,

That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!

O God, I fear all will be overturn’d.

Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.

Good morrow, cousin.

We meet like men that had forgot to speak.

We do remember, but our argument

Is all too heavy to admit much talk.

Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!

Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!

O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed;

And I dare swear you borrow not that face

Of seeming sorrow; it is sure your own.

Though no man be assured what grace to find,

You stand in coldest expectation.

I am the sorrier; would ’twere otherwise.

Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair,

Which swims against your stream of quality.

Sweet Princes, what I did I did in honour,

Led by th’ impartial conduct of my soul;

And never shall you see that I will beg

A ragged and forestall’d remission.

If truth and upright innocency fail me,

I’ll to the King my master that is dead,

And tell him who hath sent me after him.

Here comes the Prince.

Good morrow, and God save your Majesty!

This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,

Sits not so easy on me as you think.

Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear.

This is the English, not the Turkish court;

Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,

But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,

For, by my faith, it very well becomes you.

Sorrow so royally in you appears

That I will deeply put the fashion on

And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad;

But entertain no more of it, good brothers,

Than a joint burden laid upon us all.

For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured,

I’ll be your father and your brother too;

Let me but bear your love, I’ll bear your cares.

Yet weep that Harry’s dead, and so will I;

But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears

By number into hours of happiness.

We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.

You all look strangely on me. And you most;

You are, I think, assured I love you not.

I am assured, if I be measured rightly,

Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

No?

How might a prince of my great hopes forget

So great indignities you laid upon me?

What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison

Th’ immediate heir of England? Was this easy?

May this be wash’d in Lethe and forgotten?

I then did use the person of your father;

The image of his power lay then in me;

And in the administration of his law,

Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,

Your Highness pleased to forget my place,

The majesty and power of law and justice,

The image of the King whom I presented,

And struck me in my very seat of judgement;

Whereon, as an offender to your father,

I gave bold way to my authority

And did commit you. If the deed were ill,

Be you contented, wearing now the garland,

To have a son set your decrees at nought?

To pluck down justice from your awful bench?

To trip the course of law and blunt the sword

That guards the peace and safety of your person?

Nay more, to spurn at your most royal image,

And mock your workings in a second body?

Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;

Be now the father and propose a son,

Hear your own dignity so much profaned,

See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,

Behold yourself so by a son disdain’d,

And then imagine me taking your part

And in your power soft silencing your son.

After this cold considerance, sentence me;

And, as you are a king, speak in your state

What I have done that misbecame my place,

My person, or my liege’s sovereignty.

You are right, justice, and you weigh this well.

Therefore still bear the balance and the sword.

And I do wish your honours may increase

Till you do live to see a son of mine

Offend you and obey you, as I did.

So shall I live to speak my father’s words:

“Happy am I, that have a man so bold

That dares do justice on my proper son;

And not less happy, having such a son

That would deliver up his greatness so

Into the hands of justice.” You did commit me,

For which I do commit into your hand

Th’ unstained sword that you have used to bear,

With this remembrance: that you use the same

With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit

As you have done ’gainst me. There is my hand.

You shall be as a father to my youth,

My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear,

And I will stoop and humble my intents

To your well-practised wise directions.

And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you,

My father is gone wild into his grave,

For in his tomb lie my affections;

And with his spirit sadly I survive

To mock the expectation of the world,

To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out

Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down

After my seeming. The tide of blood in me

Hath proudly flow’d in vanity till now.

Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,

Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,

And flow henceforth in formal majesty.

Now call we our high court of parliament,

And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel

That the great body of our state may go

In equal rank with the best-govern’d nation;

That war, or peace, or both at once, may be

As things acquainted and familiar to us;

In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.

Our coronation done, we will accite,

As I before remember’d, all our state:

And, God consigning to my good intents,

No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,

God shorten Harry’s happy life one day!