Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
Let no one make noise, my gentle friends, unless someone will whisper music softly to my tired spirit.
Everyone keep quiet, okay? Unless someone wants to play soft music to help me relax.
quiet maybe soft music that's it
Call for the music in the other room.
Get the music from the other room.
Go get the musicians from the next room.
get the musicians
Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
Place my crown right on my pillow.
Put my crown on my pillow.
crown goes on pillow
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
His eyes are hollow, and he is changing greatly.
His eyes look sunken, and he's looking worse.
he's looking rough eyes hollow
Less noise, less noise!
Keep the noise down, keep it down!
Quiet down, everyone!
shut up
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
Has anyone seen the Duke of Clarence?
Where's the Duke of Clarence? Has anyone seen him?
where's clarence?
I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
I am here, brother, full of sadness.
I'm right here, and I'm devastated.
i'm here sad as hell
How now, rain within doors, and none abroad?
How doth the King?
Why is there rain indoors and none outside? How is the King?
Why are there tears in here but no rain outside? How's our father doing?
why are we all crying? how's dad?
The crown on the pillow is one of Shakespeare's most powerful stage images. Henry cannot wear it — he places it beside him as if it were both comfort and burden. Hal takes it not in triumph but in grief, believing his father dead. Henry wakes to find it gone and immediately reads the worst possible meaning. Hal's explanation — that he spoke to the crown as an enemy that devoured his father — reframes the image entirely: the crown is the murderer, not the inheritance. By the scene's end, the crown has moved from pillow to Hal's head and back again, and the meaning of that movement is the play's central question: is kingship a gift or a curse?
Exceeding ill.
Exceeding ill.
Exceeding ill.
exceeding ill.
Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.
Did he receive word of the victory yet? Inform him of it.
Did he hear the good news? Go tell him.
does he know about the victory? go tell him
He alt’red much upon the hearing it.
He changed greatly when he heard it.
He reacted pretty strongly when he found out.
he got emotional about it
If he be sick with joy, he’ll recover without physic.
If he's sick with joy, he'll recover without medicine.
If he's sick from happiness, he doesn't need a doctor to cure it.
if it's joy making him sick no medicine needed
Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet prince, speak low;
The King your father is disposed to sleep.
Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet prince, speak quietly; the King your father wants to sleep.
Quiet down, everyone. Prince, speak softly— your father needs to rest.
quiet he needs sleep
Let us withdraw into the other room.
Let us withdraw to the other room.
Let's go to the other room.
let's go
Will’t please your Grace to go along with us?
Would it please your Grace to go along with us?
Will you come with us, sir?
you coming?
No, I will sit and watch here by the King.
No, I will sit and stay here watching the King.
No, I'll stay here and keep watch over my father.
nah i'm staying to watch him
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish’d perturbation! golden care!
That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now;
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scald’st with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord, my father!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood,
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, where it sits,
Which God shall guard; and put the world’s whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as ’tis left to me.
Why does the crown rest on his pillow, Being such a tormenting companion? Oh polished source of anxiety! golden burden! You who keep the doors of sleep sealed tight Against many sleepless nights! Rest now; Yet not as deeply and sweetly As someone whose simple head-cloth is bound Who snores through the watch of night. Oh majesty! When you torment your wearer, you sit Like expensive armor worn in the heat of the day, That burns while giving protection. By the gates of his breath There lies a downy feather that doesn't move: If he took a breath, that light and weightless thing Would have to shift. My gracious father! This sleep is truly profound; it's a sleep That has separated so many English kings from life. What I owe you is tears and deep sorrow of blood, Which nature, love, and my duty as your son Will, oh dear father, pay you abundantly. What you owe me is this imperial crown, Which, descending directly from your rank and blood, Comes to me. There it sits, May God protect it; and if all the world's strength Were put into one giant arm, it still couldn't tear This birthright from me. This from you I will leave to my heir, exactly as you left it to me.
What's that crown doing on his pillow? It's the worst thing to sleep with. This golden thing that causes nothing but worry! It keeps people awake night after night. Meanwhile, some ordinary guy with a simple cloth wrapped around his head? He snores right through the night. The crown's like wearing expensive armor in scorching heat—it protects you but it burns. Look, he's barely breathing now. He's finally gotten real sleep, the kind that takes kings away from the world. I owe him tears and heartache. And in return, I get this crown—it's mine by right of birth. God will protect it; nothing could ever rip it from me. I'll keep it safe and hand it down just as he gave it to me.
crown on pillow worst bedfellow ever golden anxiety machine keeps u awake someone else sleeps great he's finally resting deep real sleep that takes kings i owe him tears but the crown? it's mine nothing taking this keeping it and passing it down
Henry's great speech to Hal contains the closest thing to a direct confession of usurpation in either Henry IV play. 'By what by-paths and indirect crooked ways / I met this crown' — he names the act as crooked. He doesn't call it wrong, he doesn't name Richard, he doesn't say 'I deposed a legitimate king.' But he says enough: the acquisition was indirect, the taint was real, the quarrels that followed were the consequence. And then he gives the advice that is both cynical and honest: wage foreign wars to keep your barons occupied and the old history buried under new glory. This is not a villain's speech. It is a dying man's honest account of the compromises that sustained a dynasty.
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
warwick! gloucester! clarence!
Doth the King call?
Is the King calling?
Did the King call for us?
did he call?
What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?
What do you wish, your Majesty? How are you?
What do you need, Your Majesty? Are you alright?
what do you need
Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
Why have you left me here by myself, my lords?
Why did you leave me alone like this?
why'd you leave me
We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, who promised to sit and watch over you.
We left your son the Prince here to watch over you, sir.
the prince stayed he was watching you
The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.
He is not here.
My Prince of Wales! Where has he gone? I need to see him. But he is absent.
Where is the Prince of Wales? I want to see him. He's gone!
where's the prince? he's not here
This door is open, he is gone this way.
The door stands open; he has gone in this direction.
The door is open—he went through there.
door's open he went that way
He came not through the chamber where we stay’d.
He didn't come through the room where we were staying.
He didn't pass through our room.
didn't come past us
Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?
My crown—where is it? Who has removed it from my pillow?
Where's my crown? Who took it from my pillow?
where's my crown? who took it?
When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
We departed, my liege, and left it in this place.
We left it here when we went out, sir.
we left it here
When Hal speaks to the crown, accusing it of devouring his father, he articulates the play's deepest theme: power destroys those who hold it. His argument — that the finest gold is the worst because it consumes its wearer, while lesser gold preserves life in medicine — is not just rhetoric. It's the truth of Henry IV's reign, compressed into a single image. And then Hal puts it on his head to confront it, not to celebrate it. This is the moment that explains Hal's apparent indifference to the crown throughout the plays: he has always known what it costs. He was never indifferent. He was dreading it.
The Prince hath ta’en it hence. Go seek him out.
Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
My sleep my death?
Find him, my Lord of Warwick, chide him hither.
The Prince has taken it from here. Go find him. Does he assume that my sleep is my death? Find him, my Lord of Warwick, bring him back to me.
The Prince took it. Find him. Does he think I'm already dead? Warwick, go find him and bring him back here.
prince took the crown go find him does he think i'm dead?
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
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;
For this they have engrossed and piled up
The canker’d heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises;
When, like the bee, tolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets,
Our thighs pack’d with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive; and like the bees,
Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste
Yields his engrossments to the ending father.
This act of yours works with my illness And helps to end me. Look at what you've become, my sons— How quickly human nature turns corrupt When gold becomes all that matters! This is why foolish, over-anxious fathers Have sacrificed their sleep to worry, Worn out their brains with anxiety, exhausted their bodies with labor; Why they have accumulated and heaped up The corroded masses of hard-won gold; Why they have carefully schooled Their sons in learning and military skills; Like the bee collecting from every flower The precious nectar, Our thighs loaded with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive; and like those bees, We are killed for our labor. This bitter result Shows the father's accumulated wealth dying with him.
You're killing me with this, you know. Do you see what you really are? How fast people turn greedy when money gets involved! This is why fathers work themselves to exhaustion, ruin their sleep worrying, destroy their bodies working, pile up mountains of money they've scraped together, teach their sons everything they know. Like bees collecting nectar from every flower, filling themselves with their work, bringing it all to the hive—and then getting killed for it. That's what happens. All that wealth the father accumulated? It just ends up dying with him on his deathbed.
ur killing me with this greed ruins everything fathers work til they die pile up gold train their sons like bees working flowers making stuff bringing it home then getting killed for it that's what happens
Now where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determin’d me?
So where is he who wouldn't wait long enough For his loved one's sickness to determine my fate?
Where's the guy who couldn't even stick around long enough for sickness to finish me?
where's the guy couldn't wait for me to die
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,
Would, by beholding him, have wash’d his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
My lord, I found the Prince in the next room, washing his gentle cheeks with kind tears, with such deep sorrow in his bearing that even a tyrant, who has only drunk blood, would have washed his knife with gentle tears seeing him. He is coming here.
Your Majesty, I found the Prince in the next room crying genuine tears down his face, so full of grief that even a brutal killer would have wept at the sight of him. He's on his way here now.
found the prince crying hard he's coming
But wherefore did he take away the crown?
But why did he take away the crown?
But why did he take my crown?
why'd he take the crown?
Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
Look, here he comes. Come to me, Harry. Everyone leave the chamber, leave us alone.
Here he is. Come here, Harry. Everyone get out, we need to talk alone.
he's here come here harry everyone out
I never thought to hear you speak again.
I had given up hope of hearing you speak once more.
I didn't think I'd ever hear you talk again.
didn't think you'd speak ever again
The play's final irony is so precise it feels inevitable. Henry spent two plays planning a Crusade to Jerusalem as penance for deposing Richard. A prophecy said he would die in Jerusalem. He dies in the Jerusalem Chamber at Westminster, having never left England. The penance was never paid in the form he intended. But the prophecy was always true. This is not comedy or tragedy — it is something rarer: the sense of a design closing, of a man who sought something his whole life receiving it in the wrong form, in the right place, at exactly the right moment. Shakespeare gives Henry IV the most economical death imaginable: six lines, a name, and peace.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind
That it will quickly drop. My day is dim.
Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours
Were thine without offence, and at my death
Thou hast seal’d up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou loved’st me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head,
Only compound me with forgotten dust.
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Harry the Fifth is crown’d. Up, vanity!
Down, royal state! All you sage counsellors, hence!
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness!
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
England shall double gild his treble guilt,
England shall give him office, honour, might,
For the fifth Harry from curb’d license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
You wanted it to be so, Harry, that's why you thought it. I stay too long in your presence, I tire you. Do you hunger so much for my empty throne that you must take my position before you have the right to it? Oh foolish youth! You seek the power that will destroy you. Wait just a little; my dignity is held up by such a weak breath of wind that it will fall quickly. My days are finished. You have stolen what in a few hours would have been yours without blame, and when I die you have seized my expectation. Your life shows you did not love me, and you will have me die knowing this. You hide a thousand knives in your thoughts, which you have sharpened on your hard heart, to strike at just half an hour of my life. What, cannot you wait even half an hour for me? Then go dig my grave yourself, and have the happy bells ring for you to celebrate that you are crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should fall on my coffin become healing drops on your head, while I turn to forgotten dust. Give what gave you life to the worms. Destroy my officials, break my laws; for now is the time to abandon order. Harry the Fifth is crowned. Let vanity rise! Let royal power fall! All you wise counselors, leave! And to the English court call together, from every region, followers of laziness! Now, neighboring lands, rid yourselves of your waste people. Do you have a criminal who will swear, drink, dance, revel at night, steal, murder, and commit the oldest sins in new ways? Be happy, he will bother you no more. England will double his guilt with gold, England will give him position, honor, and power, for the fifth Harry removes all restraint, and the wild dog will bite every innocent person. Oh my poor kingdom, sick with civil war! When my care could not stop your riots, what will you do when rioting is your leader? Oh, you will become a wild place again, filled with wolves, your old inhabitants!
You wanted this to happen, didn't you, Harry? That's what you were hoping. I'm staying too long—I'm just keeping you from what you want. Are you that desperate for my throne that you have to steal it before you've even earned it? You foolish kid! You're grabbing power that's going to destroy you. Just wait a little longer. My time as king is hanging by such a thin thread that it's about to snap. My life is almost over. You've taken what would have been yours in a few hours anyway, and when I die, you'll know for sure I saw you coming. Your whole life shows you never loved me, and now I'll die knowing that. You've been carrying a thousand daggers in your head all along, sharping them against your cold heart, waiting to use them against me. Can't you even wait half an hour? Just go ahead and dig my grave yourself and have the bells ring celebrating you being crowned, not me being dead. All the tears that should fall on my coffin can be oil for your coronation, while I turn to dust and nothing. Give my body to the worms. Fireyour officers, break my laws; it's time to let everything fall apart. Harry the Fifth is king. Up with vanity! Down with royal order! Wise counselors, get out of here! Come to court, everyone, from everywhere, bring all your lazy, worthless people! Do you have a thug who likes to drink, dance, raise hell, steal, kill, and sin in new ways? He can come—the new king won't stop him. England's going to pay for this mistake over and over. The new king will give positions and power to criminals, and the wild dog that was chained up will bite everyone and everything it finds. Oh my poor country, torn apart by fighting! When I couldn't control your riots, what will happen when your leader loves rioting? You'll turn into a wilderness again, wild wolves instead of people!
you wanted this you were waiting for me to die can't you wait half an hour? england's done hope you're happy being king of chaos wolves and thieves everywhere
O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall’d this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more
Than as your honour and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending.
God witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die
And never live to show th’ incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,
I spake unto this crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: “The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
Preserving life in med’cine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honour’d, most renown’d,
Hast eat thy bearer up.” Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it, as with an enemy
That had before my face murder’d my father,
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head
And make me as the poorest vassal is
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
Oh, forgive me, my liege! But because of my tears, which block my speech, I would have stopped this harsh rebuke before now, if you had not been speaking with grief and I had not heard it going this far. Here is your crown; and may He who wears the crown eternally long protect it as yours! If I care for it more than for your honor and your reputation, then let me never rise from this obedience, which my truest and most dutiful spirit teaches me to show by bending down. God knows, when I came in here and found no breath in your Majesty, how cold my heart became! If I am lying, let me die right now in my current state of shock and never live to show the world the noble change I have resolved to make! When I came to look at you, thinking you dead, and almost dying myself thinking you were gone, I spoke to this crown as if it could hear me, and scolded it: 'The care you cause has consumed my father's body; therefore you most precious gold are the worst kind of gold. Other gold, less pure, is more valuable, because it can be made into healing medicine; but you, most pure, most honored, most famous, have eaten up your wearer.' So, my most royal father, blaming it, I put it on my head, to fight with it, like fighting an enemy that had murdered my father before my eyes, as a true heir should. But if it filled my blood with joy, or swelled my thoughts with any pride, if any rebel or proud thought in me accepted its power with any welcome, then let God keep it from my head forever and make me as low as the poorest servant who kneels to it with fear and awe!
Father, please forgive me! I'm so choked up I can barely speak, otherwise I'd have answered you before you got this upset. Here's your crown. May God protect it for you forever! If I love this crown more than I love your honor and your good name, then I'll never stand up again from this kneeling position, which is what my most honest and loyal heart wants anyway. God knows that when I walked in here and couldn't hear you breathing, my heart completely froze. If I'm lying to you, let me drop dead right now and never get the chance to show the world the better person I'm going to be! When I came in and saw you, thinking you were dead, and feeling like I was dying too, I actually spoke to the crown like it could hear me. I told it: 'This crown has killed my father; you're the worst kind of gold. Other, less pure gold is actually more valuable because it can save lives when turned into medicine; but you, the most pure, most famous gold, have destroyed the person who wore you.' So I put it on my head to blame it the way you'd blame an enemy who murdered your father right in front of you— as any real heir would do. But I swear if it gave me any joy, or puffed me up with any pride, if I welcomed its power in any way, then may God keep it from my head forever and make me lower than the poorest person who kneels to it out of pure terror!
forgive me i couldn't speak i was crying so hard here's your crown if i took it for power and pride let me die i swear i'm not lying
O my son,
God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou mightst win the more thy father’s love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
By what by-paths and indirect crook’d ways
I met this crown, and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation,
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem’d in me
But as an honour snatch’d with boisterous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances,
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears
Thou seest with peril I have answered;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument. And now my death
Changes the mood, for what in me was purchased,
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear’st successively.
Yet though thou stand’st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanced
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced; which to avoid,
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive,
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
Oh my son, may God have put it in your heart to take it, so that you might win more of your father's love, speaking so wisely to defend yourself! Come here, Harry, sit by my bed, and listen to what I believe will be the very last advice I will ever give you. God knows, my son, by what hidden paths and crooked ways I got this crown, and I know well myself how heavy it has sat on my head. It will come down to you with more peace, better reputation, better right, because all the conflict of getting it will be buried with me. To me it was only a position seized by force, and I had many alive who blamed me for taking it with their help, which each day turned into argument and bloodshed, wounding the false peace. All these dangerous threats I have had to answer with force; for my entire reign has been spent acting out this struggle. And now my death changes everything; what I had to fight for comes to you more easily; so you wear the crown without question. Yet though you stand more firm than I could, you are not firm enough, since the wounds are fresh; and all my allies, which you must now call yours, have only recently had their teeth and claws removed; by their strong actions I rose to power, and I feared they would knock me down again; which to avoid, I destroyed them, and I had planned to lead many away to fight in the Holy Land, so that rest and peace might not make them look too closely at my rule. Therefore, my Harry, make sure to keep restless minds busy with wars in other lands, so that action overseas might erase memory of past days. I would say more, but my lungs are so wasted that I cannot speak with strength anymore. Oh God, forgive me for how I got this crown, and let it remain peacefully with you!
Oh my son, I hope God guided you to do that, because now I love you even more, seeing how smartly you explained yourself! Come sit by me on the bed. I think this is the last real advice I'll ever give you. God knows, son, I took some very crooked paths to get this crown, and believe me, I know how much it weighed on me. When it goes to you, it'll be easier. You'll get better respect and have a clearer right to it, because all the bloodshed and conflict stays in the ground with me. For me, it was always just a position I grabbed, and I had to deal with everyone who helped me take it, which made enemies of them over time, leading to more fights and false peaces. I've had to use force to handle all those threats; my whole reign was really just defending myself. But now that I'm dying, everything changes. What I had to fight for comes to you naturally; the crown passes to you without question. But listen—even though you're in a stronger position than I was, there are still problems because the wounds are fresh. All these powerful people I'm leaving you are still dangerous—I just removed their power, and they could rise again. To make sure they don't, I was planning to send many of them to fight in the Holy Land, so they'd stay busy and not think about taking over. So here's what you need to do, Harry: Keep people distracted with foreign wars. Let them focus on fighting overseas instead of remembering the past. I'd tell you more, but I can't—I'm too weak. God forgive me for how I got this crown, and I pray it stays safe with you.
god made you take it so i'd love you more here's my last advice this crown cost me everything but you'll have it easier keep people busy with wars so they forget the past god forgive how i got it
My gracious liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be,
Which I with more than with a common pain
’Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
My gracious liege, you won it, wore it, kept it, and gave it to me; then my ownership must be clear and right, which I will defend against everyone with more than just ordinary effort.
Your Majesty, you conquered it, you wore it, you held it, and now you're giving it to me; so my claim to it is clean and legitimate, and I'll defend it against anyone with everything I have.
you won it you gave it to me so it's mine i'll defend it
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
See, my son John of Lancaster is approaching.
Look, here's my other son, John of Lancaster.
here comes john
Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!
Good health, peace, and joy to you, my royal father!
My father! May you have health, peace, and happiness!
father be well
Thou bring’st me happiness and peace, son John,
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare wither’d trunk. Upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my Lord of Warwick?
You bring me happiness and peace, son John, but health, unfortunately, has flown away on young wings from this bare, wasted body. Your arrival ends my earthly business. Where is my Lord of Warwick?
You bring me joy and peace, John, but health—that already flew away from this dying body. Seeing you finishes my work here. Where's Warwick?
you bring joy health is gone i'm done where's warwick?
My Lord of Warwick!
Warwick, my lord!
Warwick! Where are you?
warwick!
Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
Does any special name belong to the room where I first lost consciousness?
Does that room where I passed out have a particular name?
what's that room called where i collapsed?
’Tis call’d Jerusalem, my noble lord.
It is called Jerusalem, my noble lord.
It's called Jerusalem, sir.
it's called jerusalem
Laud be to God! Even there my life must end.
It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem,
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land.
But bear me to that chamber; there I’ll lie;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
Thanks be to God! Even there my life must end. It has been prophesied to me many years ago that I would not die except in Jerusalem, which I foolishly believed meant the Holy Land. But carry me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem, Harry will die.
Thank God! So my life ends there. People prophesied to me years ago that I wouldn't die anywhere but in Jerusalem— I thought they meant the Holy Land. But take me to that room; I'll stay there; In Jerusalem, I'll die.
thank god it was prophesied i'd die in jerusalem not the holy land this room take me there to die
The Reckoning
The central scene of the play and one of the most emotionally complex scenes in Shakespeare. It has everything: a dying king who wakes to find his son has taken the crown, and goes immediately to the worst possible interpretation; a prince who genuinely grieved and genuinely misread the situation; a reconciliation that is real but not simple. Then the King's great final speech — brutal in its honesty about how he took the crown, frank about the advice to wage war to distract from old guilt. And then the Jerusalem Chamber: the play's greatest irony, a prophesied death that comes not in the Holy Land but in a room with the same name.
If this happened today…
A dying CEO is in the hospital. His eldest son — who everyone has written off as a playboy — sits by the bed. He thinks his father has died. He picks up the company key card from the bedside table. The father wakes, finds the key card gone, and delivers a devastating speech about how his own son couldn't wait even an hour. The son returns, explains through tears that he was grieving, was about to confront the instrument of the company that destroyed his father's health. Father hears this, believes him — and then says: 'Here's how I built this company through fraud. Here's what you inherit. And here's my advice: find a foreign acquisition to keep everyone occupied so nobody looks too closely at the old books.' Then: 'What's this room called?' 'The Jerusalem Conference Room.' 'I was told I would die in Jerusalem.'