Over whose acres walked those blesséd feet
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old,
And bootless 't is to tell you we will go:
Therefore we meet not now.-Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmorland,
What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down,
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose 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 whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be,
Without much shame, retold or spoken of.

K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil

Brake of our business for the Holy Land.

West. This matched with other did, my gracious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import:
On Holyrood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approvéd Scot,
At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge 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 issue any way.

K.Hen. Here is a dear and true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new-lighted from his horse, Stained with the variation of each soil

Betwixt that 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,
Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur
took

Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the Earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.-
And is not this an honourable spoil;
A gallant prize: ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

K. Ien. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin

In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:
A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And called 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 surprised
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor-
cester,

Malevolent to you in all aspects;
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this:
And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be utteréd.
West. I will, my liege.

SCENE II.-The same.

[Exeunt.

Another Room in the

Palace.

Enter HENRY PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast 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 houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal: for we that take purses go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus, he, "that wandering

men doth ebb and flow like the sea: being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now:-a purse of gold most resolutely snatched 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 ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord thou sayst true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff-jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag: what, in

thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff-jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due; thou hast paid all there.

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir-apparent,-But 1

pr'y thee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king, and resolu tion thus fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord I'll be a brave judge.

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already: I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well: and in some sort it jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits?

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'S blood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a-Lincolnshire bagpipe.

P. Hen. What sayst thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince! But, Hal, I pr'y thee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought! An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

P. Hen. Thou didst well: for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint! Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal: God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal; I knew nothing: and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over: by the Lord, an I do not I am a villain. I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one: an I do not, call me villain and baffle me.

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee from praying to purse-taking!

:

Enter Poins, at a distance.

Fal. Why, Hal, 't is my vocation, Hal: 't is no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.-Poins! -Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match.-O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This

is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried "Stand" to a true man.

P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned.

Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal.-What says Monsieur Remorse; what says Sir John Sackand-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on GoodFriday last, for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain: for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs; he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins. But my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning by four o'clock, early at Gads-hill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for you all; you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester. I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap we may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns: if you will not, tarry at home and be hanged. Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chaps?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob! I a thief! not I, by my faith.

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

Fal. Why, that's well said.

P. Hen. Well, come what will I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, when thou art king.

P. Hen. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'y thee leave the prince and me alone: I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.

Fal. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief: for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring: farewell, Allhallown summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that

I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid: yourself and I will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we 'll set upon them.

P. Hen. Ay, but 't is like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

P. Hen. But I doubt they will be too hard for us.

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back: and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POINS. P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyoked humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the sun; Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wondered at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work: But when they seldom come, they wished-for come And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes: And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall shew more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

Enter KING HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others.

K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me; for accordingly
You tread upon my patience: but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty and to be feared, than my condition;
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de-

serves

The scourge of greatness to be used on it:
And that same greatness, too, which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.

North. My lord,—

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure

The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us: when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
[Exit WORCESTER.
You were about to speak. [To NORTHUMBERLAND.
North. Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name de-
manded,

Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is delivered to your majesty.
Either envy, therefore, or misprision,
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed,
Fresh, as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped,
Shewed liked a stubble-land at harvest-home.
He was perfumed like a milliner;

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He
gave his nose, and took 't away again;
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there

Took it in snuff:-and still he smiled and talked;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms

He questioned me: among the rest, demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pestered with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answered neglectingly, I know not what;

He should, or he should not:-for he made me mad

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

Of guns and drums and wounds, (God save the mark!)

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.-
This bald disjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered indirectly, as I said:
And, I beseech you, let not his report

Come current for an accusation

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my

lord,

Whatever Harry Percy then had said,
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, But with proviso and exception

That we, at our own charge, shall ransom

straight

His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betrayed
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower
(Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately married). Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war. To prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those

wounds,

Those mouthéd wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition hand to hand,

He did confound the best part of an hour

In changing hardiment with great Glendower. Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy

Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:

Then let him not be slandered with revolt.

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost

belie him:

He never did encounter with Glendower.
I tell thee,

He durst as well have met the devil alone,

As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son :-
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.

[Exeunt KING HENRY, BLUNT, and Train. Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them.-I will after straight, And tell him so: for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:

Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy if I do not join with him:
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke.
North. Brother, the King hath made your ne-
phew mad.
[TO WORCESTER.
Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners:
And when I urged the ransom once again