My sleep my death? 60
Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him hither.
This part of his conjoins with my disease,
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are!
How quickly nature falls into revolt 64
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts,
Their brains with care, their bones with industry; 68
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises: 72
When, like the bee, culling from every flower
The virtuous sweets,
Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive, and like the bees, 76
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments to the ending father.
Enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? 80
War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow
That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 84
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
King. But wherefore did he take away the crown?
62 part: act
69 engrossed: amassed
70 canker'd: tarnished
strange-achieved: gained in foreign lands
74 virtuous: beneficial
80 determin'd: ended
82 kindly: natural
