A cold taken during a game of tennis, when he was in his eighteenth year, developed into a fever, and for days he lay between life and death.

The nation waited with strange anxiety for the issue, and a cloud seemed to fall over the length and breadth of the land.
Then he became worse.
"My sword and armour!" he cried; "I must be gone!" and after that the brave boy died.
The people mourned him as their own son; and years after, when England was plunged deep in the miseries and horrors of civil war, many there were who cried in their distress,-- "If but our Henry had lived, all this had not been!".