Imágenes de páginas

When it shines feldom in admiring eyes;
But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd and full.',
And in that very line, Harry, stand'ft thou;
For thou hast lost thy Princely privilege
With vile participation. Not an eye,
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more:
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

P. Henry. I shall hearafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more my felf.

K. Henry. For all the world, As thou art at this hour was Richard then, When I from France set foot at Ravenfpurg; And ev'n as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, i He hath more worthy interest to the State, Than thou, the shadow of succession ! For, of no Right, nor colour like to Right, He doth fill fields with harness; in the Realm Turns head against the Lion's armed jaws ; And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and rev'rend bishops on, To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. What never dying honour hath he got Against renowned Dowglas, whose high deeds, Whose hot excursions, and great name in arms, Holds from all soldiers chief majority, And military Title capital, Through all the Kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. Thrice hath this Hot-spur, Mars in swathing-clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises, '' Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'en him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, To fili the mouth of dcep defiance up, i


And shake the peace and safety of our Throne.
And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland,
Th’Archbishop's Grace of York, Dowglas, and Mortimer,
Capitulate against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell this news to thee ?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'ft and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's pay;
To dog his heels, ad curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerale.

P. Henry. Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
And heav'n forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!;
I will redeem all this on Percy's head.
And in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son.
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favour in a bloody malk,
Which, wash'd away, shall scowr my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, when e'er it lights,
That this fame child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hot-spur, this all-praised Knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet.
For every honour fitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes, and on


My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern Youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
T'engross up glorious deeds on my behalf:
And I will call him to fợ strict account,
That he shall render every glory. 'up, o
Yea, even the slightest worfhip of his time,
Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.
This in the name of heav'n I promise here:
The which, if I perform, and do survive,
I do beseech your Majesty, may salve


[ocr errors]

The long-grown wounds of my intemperature.
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest pareel of this vow,

K. Henry. A hundred thousand Rebels die in this ! Thou shalt have Charge, and fovereign Trust herein,

Enter Blunt, How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So is the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath fent word, That Dowglas and the English rebels met Th' eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a State.

K. Henry. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day, With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ; For this advertisement is five days old. On Wednesday next, Harry, thou thalt set forward : On Thursday, we ourselves will march: our meeting Is at Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you shall march Through Glo'ftershire : by which some twelve days

hence Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. Our hands are full of buliness : let's away, Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay. [Exeunt.

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Fal. BA

Changes to the Boar's-head Tavern in East-cheap.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
ARDOLPH, am not I fall'n away vilely,

since this last action ? Do I not bate? do I not dwindle ? why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown: I am wither'd, like an old apple John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly,

while I am in fome liking: I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse; the inside of a church! company, villainous company hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it; come, sing me a bawdy song, to make me merry : I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough ; Twore little ; diced not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour; paid money, that I borrow'd, ihree or four times ; liv'd well, and in good compass: and now I live out all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must eeds be out of all compass, 'out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our Admiral, thou bearest the lanthorn in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it, as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori. I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning.--If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath thould be, by this fire ; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not ihink, thou had't been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light; thou halt faved me a ihousand marks in links and torches,


walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the fack, that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the deareft chandler's in Europe. I have maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly.

Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heartburn'd.

Enter Hostess. How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket?

Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think, I keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquir'd, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Fal. Ye lie, hostess; Bardolph was shav'd, and loft many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a woman, go.

Hoft. Who I? I defy thee; I was never call'd lo in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Host. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John : you owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made boulters of them.

Host. Now as I am a true woman, Helland of eight shillings an ell: you owe money, here besides, Sic John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pounds.

Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay.
Hoft. He ? alas! he is poor, he hath nothing.
Fal. How! poor? look upon his face: what call


« AnteriorContinuar »