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 come the heavy issue of dead Harry: O that the living Harry had the temper Of him, 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 the 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 other from your