The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: [Presenting a paper. 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 London Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; 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. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, 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, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow : I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :- 1 Immediately. [Exeunt. Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, Which,-like the meteors of a troubled heaven, Shall now, in mutual, well beseeming ranks, 1 Strands, banks of the sea. 2 One of the Furies. No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 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 gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north, and thus it did import. Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true industrious friend, Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, 1 Expedition. Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol, And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? West. It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. 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; Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, But let him from my thoughts:-What think you, coz, To his own use he keeps and sends me word, West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Which makes him prune1 himself, and bristle up K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we SCENE II.-ANOTHER ROOM IN THE PALACE. Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? [Exeunt. 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 hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, 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 knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, 1 Trim. when thou art king,-as, save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have 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. 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 be-Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under 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 snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing-lay by1; and spent with crying-bring in2: 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. Thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet girl? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin3 a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? F. 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, 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 standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father Antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! 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. I am as melancholy as 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. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and art, indeed, 1 Stand! 2 More wine. 3 The dress of sheriffs' officers. 4 Subtilties. 5 Cheated. 6 Dragged about. 7 Croak of a frog. |