Imatges de pÓgina
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Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Weftmorland, and others.


O fhaken as we are, fo wan with Care,
Find we a time for frighted Peace to pant,
And breathe fhort winded accents of new

To be commenc'd in Stronds afar remote:

No more the thirfty Entrails of this Soil

Shall damb her Lips with her own Childrens Blood:
No more fhall trenching War channel her Fields,
Nor bruise her Flowrets with the armed Hoofs
Of Hoftile Paces. Thofe oppofed Eyes,
Which like the Meteors of a troubled Heav'n,
All of one Nature, of one Substance bred,
Did lately meet in the inteftine fhock,



And furious close of civil Butchery,
Shall now in mutual well-befeeming Ranks
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
Against Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies;
The edge of War, like an ill-fheathed Knife,
No more fhall cut his Mafter. Therefore, Friends,
As far as to the Sepulchre of Christ,

Whofe Soldier now, under whofe bleffed Crofs
We are impreffed, and engag'd to fight,
Forthwith a Power of English fhall we levy,
Whofe Arms were moulded in their Mother's Womb
To chase these Pagans in those holy Fields,
Over whofe Acres walk'd thofe bleffed Feet
Which fourteen hundred Years ago were nail'd
For our Advantage on the bitter Crofs.
But this our purpofe is a Twelvemonth old,
And bootlefs 'tis to tell you we will go
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you my gentle Coufin Westmorland,
What yefternight our Council did decree,
In forwarding this dear Expedience.

Weft. My Liege, this hafte was hot in question,
And many limits of the Charge fet down
But yefternight: When all athwart there came
A Poft from Wales, loaden with heavy News;
Whole worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the Men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude Hands of that Welshman taken,
And a thousand of his People butchered;
Upon whofe dead Corps there was such misuse,
Such beaftly, fhameless Transformation,
By thofe Welshwomen done, as may not be,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.

K. Henry. It feems then, that the tidings of this Broil Brake off our Business for the Holy Land,

Weft. This, matcht with other like; my gracious Lord, Far more uneven and unwelcome News

Came from the North, and thus it did report:
On Holy-rood Day, the gallant Hot-Spur there,


Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met, where they did fpend
A fad and bloody Hour:

As by difcharge of their Artillery

And shape of likelihood the News was told:
For he that brought them, in the very Heat
And pride of their Contention, did take Horse,
Uncertain of the Iffue any way.

K. Henry. Here is a dear and true induftrious Friend.
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each Soil,

Betwixt the Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome News.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited,

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights
Balk'd in their own Blood did Sir Walker fee

On Holmedon's Plains. Of Prifoners, Hot Spur took
Mordake Earl of Fife, and eldest Son

To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an Honourable Spoil?

A gallant Prize? Ha, Coufin, is it not? In faith it is.
Weft. A Conqueft for a Prince to boast of.

K. Henry. Yea, there thou mak'ft me fad, and mak'st me fin, In envy, that my Lord Northumberland

Should be the Father of fo bleft a Son;

A Son, who is the Theam of Honour's Tongue:
Amongst a Grove, the very ftreighteft Plant,
Who is fweet Fortune's Minion, and her Pride:
Whilft I by looking on the Praise of him,
See Rior and Dishonour ftain the Brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd,
That fome Night-tripping Fairy had exchang'd,
In Cradle Cloaths, our Children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet;

Then would I have his Harry, and he mine:

But let him from my Thoughts. What think you Coz,
Of this young Percy's Pride? The Prisoners,
Which he in this Adventure hath furpriz'd,



To his own ufe he keeps, and fends me Word
I fhall have none bur Mordake Earl of Fife.

Weft. This is his Uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all Afpects;

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The creft of Youth against your Dignity.

K. Henry. But I have fent for him to answer this;
And for this Cause a while we must neglect..
Our holy Purpose to Jerufalem.

Coufin, on Wednesday next, our Council we will hold
At Windfor, fo inform the Lords,

But come your felf with Speed to us again;

For more is to be faid, and to be done,
Than out of Anger can be uttered.

Weft. I will, my Liege.




Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff.
Fal. Now Hal, what time of Day is it, Lad?

P. Henry. Thou art fo fat-witted with drinking of old Sack and unbuttoning thee after Supper, and fleeping upon Benches in the Afternoon, that thou haft forgotten to demand that truly, which thou wouldst truly know. What a Devil haft thou to do with the time of the Day? unless Hours were Cups of Sack, and Minutes Capons, and Clocks the Tongues of Bawds, and Dials the Signs of Leaping-Houfes, and the bleffed Sun himself a fair hot Wench in Flame-colour'd Taffata, I fee no Reafon why thou fhouldft be fo fuperfluous, to demand the time of the Day.

Fal. Indeed you come rear me now, Hal. For we that take Pufes, go by the Moon and feven Stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wandring Knight fo fair. And I pray thee, fweet Wag, when thou art King, as God fave thy Grace, Majefty I fhould fay, for Grace thou wilt have none.

P. Henry. What! none?

Fal. No, not fo much as will ferve to be Prologue to an Egg and Butter.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry then, fweet Wag, when thou art King, let not us that are Squires of the Night's Body, be call'd Thieves of the Day's Beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moon; and let Men fay, we be Men of good Government, being governed as the Sea is, by our noble and chaft Mistress the Moon, under whofe Countenance we fteal.

P. Henry. Thou fay'ft well, and it holds well too; for the Fortune of us that are the Moon's Men, doth ebb and flow like the Sea, being govern'd as the Sea is, by the Moon. As for Proof, now: A Purfe of Gold most refolutely fratch'd on Monday Night, and most diffolutely spent on Tuesday Morning; got with fwearing, Laid by; and fpent with cry ing, Bring in: Now in as low an Ebb, as the Foot of the Ladder; and by and by in as high a flow as the ride of the Gallows. Fal. Thou fay'ft true, Lad: And is not my Hoftess of the Tavern a moft fweet Wench?

P. Henry. As is the Honey, my old Lad of the Castle, and is not a Buff-Jerkin a moft fweet Robe of durance ? Fal. How, how? How now mad Wag? What in thy Quips and thy Quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a Buff-Jerkin?

P. Henry. Why, what a Pox have I to do with my Hoftefs of the Tavern?

Fal. Well, thou haft call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

P. Henry. Did I ever call thee to pay thy Part? Fal. No, I'll give thee thy due, thou haft paid all there: P. Henry. Yea, and elfewhere, fo far as my Coin would ftretch, and where it would not, I have us'd my Credit. Fal. Yea, and fo us'd it, that were it here apparent, that thou art Heir apparent But I prithee fweet Wag, fhall there be Gallows ftanding in England when thou art King? and Refolution thus fobb'd as it is, with the rusty curb of old Father Antick the Law? Do not thou when thou art a King, hang a Thief.

P. Henry. No, thou fhalt.

Fal. Shall ? O rare! I'll be a brave Judge.

P. Henry. Thou judgeft falfe already; I mean thou fhalt

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