He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through
both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter Aumerle, hastily.

Where is the king?

Aum.
Boling.
What means
Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your
majesty,

alone.

To have some conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
[Exeunt Percy and lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
[Kneels.
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.

Boling. Have thy desire. [Aum. locks the door.
York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to
thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-
hardy king:

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[Bolingbroke opens the door.
Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt
know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise
past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

man;

Love, loving not itself, none other can.
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou
make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gen-
tle liege.
[Kneels.
Beling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech:
For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give jov; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my
knee.
[Kneels.

York. Against them both, my true joints bended
be.

[Kneels.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.

down.

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king:
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold
racy!-

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.
Nay, do not say-stand up;
But, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech.
conspi-I never long'd to hear a word till now;

O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer,' immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages,
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet.
York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonne:
moy.

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de

strov?

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st the word itself against the word!-
Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our lard;
The chopping French we do not unde stand.
Thine eve begins to speak, set thy tongue there:
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

(5) Excuse me

That many have, and others must sit there :
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am : Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
and Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,

Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing' Bolingbroke.

Enter Keeper, with a dish.

Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert

away.

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

[Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who

Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee !

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy

pains;

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Fitzwater.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon-
don
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely;
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Two of the dangerous and consorted traitors,

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot,
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle, living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
[Beats the Keeper. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :-

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
[Snatching a weapon, and killing one.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce

hand

Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
[Dies.

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood:
Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me-I did well,
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear;-
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

[Exeunt.

Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter Exton, with attendants bearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast
wrought

A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all this famous land.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I
this deed.

Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
Boling. They love not poison that do poison need,

I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor night.-
SCENE VI.-Windsor. A room in the castle. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of wo,
Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with
lords and attendants.

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap-
piness.

The next news is,-I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper.

(1) Jaunting. (2) Immediately.

That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow:
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :-
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt.

This play is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently revised; but as success in works of invention is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. JOHNSON.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-London. A room in the palace.
Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter
Blunt, and others.

King Henry.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,,
Aud breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds' afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces; those opposed eyes,
Which,-like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,-
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd,
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you-we will go;
Therefore we meet not now:-Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.'

(1) Strands, banks of the sea.

(2) The Fury of discord.

(Poins.
Gadshill.

Peto. Bardolph.

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer.

Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and At-
tendants.
Scene, England.

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 corps there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.
K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this
broil

Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gra
cious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day," the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved 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,
Stain'd 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 Douglass is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son

(6) Estimates. (7) September 14.
(8) Covered with dirt of different colours.

(3) Force, army. (4) Needless. (5) Expedition. (9) Piled up in a heap.

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.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us beDiana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government: being govern'd as the sea is,

K. Hen Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under

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 prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes 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 surpris'd,'
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, a while 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 uttered.
West. I will, my liege.

whose countenance we-steal.

P. Hen. Thou say'st 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 governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 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 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 say'st 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, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows stand[Exeunt. ing in England when thou art king? and resolu tion thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old SCENE II.-The same. Another room in the father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

palace.

Falstaff.

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. 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 would'st Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I the time of the day? unless hours were cups of can you.

tell

sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues P. Hen. For obtaining of suits?
of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses,
and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in
flame-colour'd taffeta; I see no reason, why thou
should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of
the day.

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the
hangman hath no lean wardrobe. "Sblood, 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 sayest thou to a hare, or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch?

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 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou none,)

P. Hen. What, none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

(1) Points. (2) Trim, as birds clean their feathers. (3) Favourites. (4) Stand still. (5) More wine. (6) The dress of sheriffs' officers.

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.

(7) Gib cat, should be lib cat,a Scotch term at this day for a gelded cat. (8) Croak of a frog.