Westminster. A palace room.
(King Henry the Fourth; King Henry’s Page; Warwick; Earl of Surrey; Sir John Blunt)
The King is suffering from insomnia, unable to shake his cares and the cares of kingship from himself. He recollects his usurpation of the throne, considering how men once friends can fall out over little things and end up dreadful enemies. Warwick assures the King that the rumor of 50,000 rebels is false, and promises the King that the situation is better than it looks, as Glendower has been killed. He begs the King to take some sleep, as his odd waking hours cannot help his illness. Henry agrees, still dreaming of his crusade to the Holy Land. (111 lines)
Enter the King in his night-gown, alone, followed by a Page.
Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o’er-read these letters
And well consider of them. Make good speed.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O 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,
And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull’d with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why li’st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leavest 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 deafing clamor in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give then 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? Then (happy) low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Enter Warwick, Surrey, and Sir John Blunt.
Many good morrows to your Majesty!
Is it good morrow, lords?
’Tis one a’ clock, and past.
Why then good morrow to you all, my lords.
Have you read o’er the letters that I sent you?
We have, my liege.
Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
How foul it is, what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.
It is but as a body yet distempered,
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine.
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool’d.
O God, that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea, and other times to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune’s hips; how chance’s mocks
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
’Tis not ten years gone
Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and in two year after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul,
Who like a brother toil’d in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot,
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by—
You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember—
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears,
Then check’d and rated by Northumberland,
Did speak these words, now prov’d a prophecy?
“Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
My cousin Bullingbrook ascends my throne”
(Though then, God knows, I had no such intent,
But that necessity so bow’d the state
That I and greatness were compell’d to kiss),
“The time shall come,” thus did he follow it,
“The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption”: so went on,
Foretelling this same time’s condition
And the division of our amity.
There is a history in all men’s lives,
Figuring the natures of the times deceas’d,
The which observ’d, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, who in their seeds
And weak beginning lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time,
And by the necessary form of this
King Richard might create a perfect guess
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness,
Which should not find a ground to root upon
Unless on you.
Are these things then necessities?
Then let us meet them like necessities;
And that same word even now cries out on us.
They say the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
It cannot be, my lord.
Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have received
A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unseasoned hours perforce must add
Unto your sickness.
I will take your counsel,
And were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.