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Section 775
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P. Hen.
No: I will sit, and watch here by the King.
Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow,
Being so troublesome a Bed‑fellow?
O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!
That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide,
To many watchfull Night: sleepe with it now,
Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete,
As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound)
Snores out Watch of Night. O Maiestie!
When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sit:
Like a rich Armor, worne in heat of day,
That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath,
There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not:
Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlne
Perforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father,