unsheath'd But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne Here at more leisure may your highness read, With every course in his particular. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day. Look, here's more news. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; And, when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of! The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, With a great power of English and of Scots Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: The manner and true order of the fight This packet, please it you, contains at large. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? Will fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach and no food; Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast And takes away the stomach; such are the rich, That have abundance and enjoy it not. I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: O me! come near me; now I am much ill. Comfort, your majesty! O my royal father! My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits Are with his highness very ordinary. Stand from him. Give him air; he'll straight be well. No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs: The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in So thin that life looks through and will break out. The people fear me; for they do observe Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature: The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leap'd them over. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, Say it did so a little time before That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. This apoplexy will certain be his end. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber: softly, pray. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit. Call for the music in the other room. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. Less noise, less noise! Who saw the Duke of Clarence? I am