ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Palace in LONDON.

Enter King Henry in his Night-gown, with a Page.
K. HENRY.

O, call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick:
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these

letters,

And well confider of them: make good Ipeed.
Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest Subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,

Nature's foft Nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And fteep my fenfes in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneafy pallets ftretching thee,

And husht with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,
Under the Canopies of coftly State,

And lull'd with founds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull God, why ly'ft thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'it the kingly couch
*A watch-cafe to a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the fhip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious Surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

A watch cafe, &c.] This alludes to the Watchmen fet in Garrison-towns upon fome Eminence attending upon an Alarumbell, which he was to ring out in cafe of Fire, or any approaching Danger. He had a Cafe or Box to shelter him from the Weather, but at his utmoft Peril he was not to fleep whilft he was upon Duty. Thefe Alarum-bells are metioned in feveral other places of Shakespear. VOL. V. Curling

H

Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flip'ry fhrouds,
That, with the hurley, death itfelf awakes ?
Can't thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet fea boy in an hour so rude?
And, in the calmeft and the ftilleft night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a King? then, happy low! lie down;
Uneafy lies the head, that wears a Crown.

War.

MAN

ANY good-morrows to your Majefty!
K. Henry. Is it good-morrow, lords ?

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Henry. Why, then, good-morrow to you. Well, my lords,

Have you read o'er the letters I fent you?

War. We have, my Liege.

[dom,

K. Henry. Then you perceive the body of our King-
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.

War. It is but as a body flight diftemper'd,
Which to its former ftrength may be reftor'd,
With good advice and little medicine;
My lord Northumberland will foon be cool'd.,

K. Henry. Oh heav'n, that one might read the book of fate,

And fee the revolution of the times

Make Mountains level, and the Continent,

Weary of folid firmness, melt itself

Into the Sea; and, other times, to fee

The beachy girdle of the Ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips: how Chances mock, And Changes fill the cup of alteration

With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,

The

The happiest youth viewing his progress through, What perils paft, what croffes to enfue,

Wou'd fhut the book, and fit him down and die.
'Tis not ten Years gone,

Since Richard and Northumberland, great Friends,
Did feast together; and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years fince,
This Percy was the man nearest
my foul;
Who, like a brother, toil'd in my affairs;
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my fake, ev'n to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by?
(You, coufin Nevil, as I may remember) [To War.
When Richard, with his eye brim-full of tears,
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy.
Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
My coufin Bolingbroke afcends my Throne;
(Though then, Heav'n knows, I had no fuch intent;
But that neceffity fo bow'd the State,

That I and Greatnefs were compell'd to kifs:)
'The time shall come, (thus did he follow it,)
'The time will come, that foul fin, gathering head,
• Shall break into corruption: fo went on,
Foretelling this fame time's condition,
And the divifion of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the Nature of the times deceas'd;
The which obferv'd, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their feeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured.

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

King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then falfe to him,
Would of that feed grow to a greater falseness,

Which fhould not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on You.

K. Henry. Are these things then neceffities?
Then let us meet them like neceffities;

And that fame word even now cries out on us :
They fay, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand ftrong.

War. It cannot be:

Grace

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your
To go to bed. Upon my life, my lord,
The Pow'rs, that you already have fent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.

To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain inftance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majefty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unfeason'd hours perforce must add
Unto your fickness.

K. Henry. I will take your counfel:

And were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

[Exeunt.

Changes to Justice Shallow's Seat in Gloucestershire.

Enter Shallow and Silence, Juftices; with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf.

Shal.

OME on, come on, come on; give me

an carly fitter, rood.

And how doth my good coufin Silence?

Sil. Good-morrow, good coufin Shallow.

Shal. And how doth my coufin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

Sil.

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, coufin Shallow.

Shal. By yea, and nay, Sir, I dare fay, my coufin William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

Sil. Indeed, Sir, to my coft.

Shal He must then to the Inns of Court fhortly: I was once of Clement's-Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

Sil. You were call'd lufty Shallow then, coufin.

Shal. I was call'd any thing, and I would have done any thing, indeed, too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cot's-wold man, you had not four fuch fwinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again: and I may fay to you, we knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, (now Sir John) a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, • Duke of Norfolk.

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Sil. This Sir John, coufin, that comes hither anon about Soldiers?

Shal. The fame Sir John, the very fame: I saw him break Schoggan's head at the Court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus high; and the very fame day I did fight with one Sampfon Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays-Inn. O the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead? Sil. We fhall all follow, coufin.

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain, very fure, very fure. Death (as the Pfalmift faith) is certain to all, all shall die. How a good yoke of Bullocks at Stamford Fair? Sil. Truly, coufin, I was not there.

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of living yet?

Sil. Dead, Sir.

your town

Shal. Dead! fee, fee, he drew a good bow: and dead? he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! he

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would