The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and Death of HENRY Actus Primus. Scana Prima. Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earle of Westmerland, with others. King. O shaken as we are, so wan with care, Finde we a time for frighted Peace to pant, No more the thirsty entrance of this Soile, Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes, As farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ, Whose Souldier now under whose blessed Crosse Therefore we meete not know. Then let me heare West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question, King. It seemes then, that the tidings of this broile, Brake off our businesse for the Holy land. West. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord, Farre more uneven and unwelcome Newes Came from the North, and thus it did report: On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotspurre there, That ever-valiant and approoved Scot, At Holmeden met, where they did spend As by discharge of their Artillerie, And shape of likely-hood the newes was told : King. Heere is a deere and true industrious friend, And he hath brought us smooth and welcomes newes. Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights On Holmedons Plaines. Of Prisoners, Hotspurre tooke To beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl, Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoyle? A gallant prize? Ha Cosin, is it not? Infaith it is. In King. Yea, there thou makʼst me sad, & mak'st me sin, envy, that my Lord Northumberland Should be the Father of so blest a Sonne : A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue; Then would I have his Harry, and he mine: you Coze West. This is his Unckles teaching. This is Worcester Malevolent to you in all Aspects: Which makes him prune himselfe, and bristle up The crest of Youth against your Dignity. King. But I have sent for him to answer this: And for this cause a-while we must neglect Cosin, on Wednesday next, our Councell we will hold But come your selfe with speed to us againe, For more is to be said, and to be done, Then out of anger can be uttered. West. I will my Liege. Scana Secunda. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir John Falstaffe, Fal. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad? Exeunt. Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of olde Sacke, and unbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping upon Benches in the afternoone, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truely, which thou wouldest truly know. What a divell hast thou to do with the time of the day? unlesse houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons, and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the signes of Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sunne himselfe a faire hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I see no reason, why thou shouldest bee so superfluous, to demaund the time of the day. Fal. Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that take Purses, go by the Moone and seven Starres, and not by Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight so faire. And I prythee sweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God save thy Grace, Majesty I should say, for Grace thou wilte have none. Prin. What, none? Fal. No, not so much as will serve to be Prologue to an Egge and Butter. Prin. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry then, sweet Wagge, when thou art King, let not us that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'd Theeves of the Dayes beautie. Let us be Dianaes Forresters, Gentlemen of the Shade. Minions of the Moone; and let them say, we be men of good Government, being governed as the Sea is, by our noble and chast mistris the Moone, under whose countenance we steale. Prin. Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for the fortune of us that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and flow like the Sea, beeing governed as the Sea is, by the Moone; as for proofe. Now a Purse of Gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday Morning; got with swearing, Lay by: and spent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe as the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the Gallowes. Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: and is not my Hostesse of the Taverne a most sweet Wench? Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and is not a Buffe Jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to doe with a BuffeJerkin? Prin. Why, what a poxe have I to doe with my Hostesse of the Taverne? |