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Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with-brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord, your son,-

North.

Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet, speak,
Morton ;

Tell thou thy earl his divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's
dead.

I see a strange confession in thine eye :

Being sick, have in some measure made me well;
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with
grief,

Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou
nice crutch;

A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly
quoif;

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron: And approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die!
And let the world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act;

Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin, But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:

The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead;
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is
dead.

Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe That which I would to Heaven I had not seen : But these mine eyes saw him in a bloody state, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and breath'd,

out

To Henry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat

down

The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
Fled, and in his flight was took. The sum of all
Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
[Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong,
my lord.]

Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd:
Yet did you say,-Go forth; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be ?

L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas,
That if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth; body and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble

lord,

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,-
The gentle Archbishop of York is up,
With well-appointed powers; he is a man,
Who with a double surety binds his followers,
My lord, your son had only but the corps,
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain❜d,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion :
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones :
Derives from Heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,

North. For this I shall have time enough to Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;

mourn.

In poison there is physic; and these news,

Having been well, that would have made me sick,

And more and less do flock to follow him,
North. I knew of this before; but, to speak

truth,

This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety and revenge;
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never so few, nor never yet more need. [Exeunt.

SCENE. A Room in the Archbishop's Palace. Enter ARCHBISHOP, HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH.

(Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot)
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair
That frost will bite them.

Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth)

The utmost man of expectation;
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd

I think we are a body strong enough,

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and Even as we are, to equal with the king.

know our means;

And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?

Mowb. I will allow the occasion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries.

L. Bard. The question, then, Lord Hastings,
standeth thus ;

Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Hast. With him, we may.

L. Bard.
Ay, marry, there's the point.
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand:
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain, should not be admitted.
Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for, in-
indeed,

It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself
with hope,

Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination,

Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And winking, leap'd into destruction.

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.

L. Bard. Yes;-if this present quality of war

L. Bard. What! is the king but five-and-twenty thousand ?

Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord

Bardolph.

For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads; one power against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us: So is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
Let us on;

Arch.

And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:
An habitation giddy and unsure

Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many! with what loud applause
Didst thou beat Heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would have him be!
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these
times ?

They that when Richard liv'd would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,

Criest now, 66 O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this!" O thoughts of men accurs'd!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present,
worst.

Moub. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on ?

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt.

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When your own Percy, when my heart's dear With new lamenting ancient oversights.

Harry,

Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?

There were two honours lost; yours, and your
son's.

For yours, may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun

In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light,
Did all the chivalry of England move

To do brave acts. And him,-O wondrous,
O miracle of meu!-him did you leave
(Second to none, unseconded by you),
To look upon the hideous god of war

In disadvantage; to abide a field,

But I must go, and meet with danger there;
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.

Lady N.
O, fly to Scotland,
Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,
Have of their puissance made a little taste.

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the
king,

Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger: but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves: So did your son!
He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough,
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,

Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name For recordation to my noble husband.

Did seem defensible :-so you left him :
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong,
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him; let them alone:
The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me,

North. Come, come, go in with me; 'tis with

my mind,

As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back;
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE. A Room in the Palace. King HENRY
on a couch, a Page in attendance.

K. Hen. Go, call the Earls of Surrey and of
Warwick;

But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these
letters,

And well consider of them: Make good speed.
[Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds, of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperial surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly,* death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
Hurly means noise.

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude`;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low-lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter WARWICK and SURREY.

War. Many good-morrows to your majesty!
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords?
War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Hen. Why, then, good morrow to you all,
good lords.

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?
War. We have, my liege.

K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our
kingdom

How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.

War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd,
Which to his former strength may be restor❜d,
With good advice and little medicine:
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
K. Hen. O Heaven! that one might read the
book of fate;

And see the revolution of the times; how chances
mock,

And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! [O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,

Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.]
'Tis not ten years gone

Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, | And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.

Did feast together, and, in two years after,

Were they at wars: It is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot:
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember),

[To WAR. When Richard,—with his eye brimfull of tears, Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,— Did speak these words, now prov❜d a prophecy? "Northumberland, thou ladder, by which My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ;"Though then, Heaven knows, I had no such intent, But that necessity so bow'd the state, That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss :"The time shall come," thus did he follow it, "The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,

Shall break into corruption :"- -so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition,
And the division of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd:
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds,

Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And, by the necessary form of this,

King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness,
Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.

K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ?
Then let us meet them like necessities :
And that same word even now cries out on us:
They say, the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
War.
It cannot be, my lord;
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the feared; Please it your grace
To go to bed; upon my life, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add
Unto your sickness.
K. Hen. I will take your counsel:
And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

ACT IV.

SCENE.-Westminster, a Room in the Palace.

Enter the KING and younger princes.

Cla. What would my lord and father?
K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of
Clarence.

How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother?

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,

Between his greatness and thy other brethren :
Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love:
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will,
For he is gracious, if he be observed ;*
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:

Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint;
As humourous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd;
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But, being moody, give him line and scope;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in:
If he has attention shown him,

[Exeunt.

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Cla. With Poins, and other, his continual fol. lowers.

K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth,

Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, the unguided days,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon,
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!

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With a great power of English and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
The manner and true order of the fight,
This packet, please it you, contains at large.

K. Hen. And wherefore should this good news
make me sick?

Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ?
She either gives a stomach, and no food,—
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast,
And takes away the stomach,-such are the rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy ;-
O me! come near me, now I am much ill.

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;

[Swoons. O my royal father! P. Humph. This apoplexy will, certain, be his

end.

K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me

hence

Into some other chamber: softly, pray.

[They convey the KING into an inner part
of the room, and place him on a bed.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

War. Call for the music in the other room.
K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Less noise, less noise.

Enter PRINCE HENRY.

[Exeunt.

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honours

Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm
thee.

Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop: my day is dim.
Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and, at my death,
Thon hast seal'd up my expectation:*
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,

And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou bid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts;
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.

P.Hen. Why doth the crown lie there upon his What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?

pillow,

Being so troublesome a bedfellow?

O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night !-sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet,
As he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound,
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord!

father!

my

This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep,
That from this golden rigol hath divore'd
So many English kings. Thy due, from me,
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown;
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,-
[Putting it on his head.
Which Heaven shall guard: And put the world's
whole strength

Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me: This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
K. Hen. Warwick! Gloucester !

• Ports means gates.

Then get thee gone; and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear,
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head:
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Harry the fifth is crown'd :-Up, vanity!
Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence,
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness!
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall double gild his treble guilt:
England shall give him office, honour, might:
For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!

P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my
tears,
[Kneeling.
[Exit.
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke,

• Confirmed my opinion.

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