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    HENRY IV, PART I

    A monologue from the play by William Shakespeare


    KING: God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,
    At thy affections, which do hold a wing
    Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
    Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
    Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
    And art almost an alien to the hearts
    Of all the court and princes of my blood.
    The hope and expectation of thy time
    Is ruined, and the soul of every man
    Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
    Had I so lavish of my presence been,
    So common-hackneyed in the eyes of men,
    So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
    Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
    Had still kept loyal to possession
    And left me in reputeless banishment,
    A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
    By being seldom seen, I could not stir
    But, like a comet, I was wond'red at;
    That men would tell their children, 'This is he!'
    Others would say, 'Where? Which is Bolingbrook?'
    And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
    And dressed myself in such humility
    That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
    Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths
    Even in the presence of the crownèd king.
    Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
    My presence, like a robe pontifical,
    Ne'er seen but wond'red at; and so my state,
    Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
    And wan by rareness such solemnity.
    The skipping king, he ambled up and down
    With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
    Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state;
    Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools;
    Had his great name profanèd with their scorns
    And gave his countenance, against his name,
    To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
    Of every beardless vain comparative;
    Grew a companion to the common streets,
    Enfeoffed himself to popularity;
    That, being daily swallowed by men's eyes,
    They surfeited with honey and began
    To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
    More than a little is by much too much.
    So, when he had occasion to be seen,
    He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
    Heard, not regarded -- seen, but with such eyes
    As, sick and blunted with community,
    Afford no extraordinary gaze,
    Such as is bent on sunlike majesty
    When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
    But rather drowsed and hung their eyelids down,
    Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect
    As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
    Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full.
    And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
    For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
    With vile participation. Not an eye
    But is aweary of thy common sight,
    Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;
    Which now doth that I would not have it do--
    Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

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