Mort. I understand thy looks; that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'ft down from those two swelling heavens,

I am too perfect in, and, but for fhame,
In fuch a parly fhould I anfwer thee.

[The Lady again in Welsh.

I understand thy kiffes, and thou mine,

And that's a feeling difputation:

But I will never be a truant, love,

'Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue Makes Welsh as fweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a fummer's bower,

With ravishing divifion to her lute.

Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will fhe run mad. [The Lady Speaks again in Wellh.

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.
Glend. She bids you,

All on the wanton rufhes lay you down,
And reft your gentle head upon her lap,
And fhe will fing the fong that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the God of fleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making fuch diff'rence betwixt wake and sleep,
As is the diff'rence betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heav'nly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progrefs in the East.

Mort. With all my heart I'll fit, and hear her fing: By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. Glen. Do fo;

And those musicians that fhall play to you

Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; Yet ftrait they fhall be here. Sit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down : come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady. Go, ye giddy goofe. [The mufic plays.

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welfh, and 'tis no marvel, he is fo humourous; by'r lady he's a good musician.

Lady. Then would you be nothing but mufical, for you are altogether govern'd by humours. Ly still, ye thief, and hear the lady fing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear, Lady, my brach howl in Irish.

Lady. Would't have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady. Then be still.

Hot. Neither. 'Tis a woman's fault.
Lady. Now God help thee!

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.

Lady. What's that?

Hot. Peace, fhe fings.

[Here the Lady fings a Welsh song.

Come, I'll have your fong too.

Lady. Not mine, in good footh.

Hot. Not yours, in good footh! you fwear like a comfit-maker's wife; not you, in good footh; and, as true as I live; and, as God hall mend me; and, as fure as day and giv'ft fuch farcenet furety for thy oaths, as if thou never walk'd'ft further than Finsbury.

Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

A good mouth-filling oath, and leave in footh,
And fuch proteft of pepper-ginger-bread,
To velvet guards, and Sunday-citizens.
Come, fing.

Lady. I will not fing.

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be Ro-. bin-redbreaft teacher. If the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and fo come in when ye will.

[Exit. Glen. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as flow,

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book is drawn: we will but feal,
And then to horfe immediately.

Mort. With all

my heart.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Changes to the Presence-chamber in Windfor.

Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lords and other's.

K. Henry. Lords, give us leave the Prince of Wales and I

Muft have fome private conference; but be near, For we fhall presently have need of you.

[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it fo,
For fome difpleafing service* I have done,
That, in his fecret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a fcourge for me;
But thou doft in thy paffages of life

Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of Heav'n,
To punish my mif-treadings. Tell me elfe,
Could fuch inordinate and low defires,

Such poor, fuch base, such lewd, fuch mean attempts,

Such barren pleafures, rude fociety,

As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
P. Henry. So please your Majefty, I would I could
Quit all offences with as clear excufe,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myfelf of many I am charg'd withal.
Yet fuch extenuation let me beg,

As in reproof of many tales devis'd,

Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
By fmiling pick-thanks and bafe newf-mongers,
I may for fome things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,

Find pardon on my true fubmiflion.

K. Henry. Heav'n pardon thee. Yet let me won der, Harry,

Service for ation, fimply. Warburton),

At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hafl rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is fupply'd;
And art almoft an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my bloɔd.
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the foul of every man
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall.
Had I fo lavish of my prefence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So ftale and cheap to vulgar company,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had ftill kept loyal to poffeffion,
And left me in reputelefs banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
But being feldom feen, I could not stir,
But like a comet I was wonder'd at,

That men would tell their children, this is he;
Others would say, where? which is Bolingbroke?
And then I ftole all courtesy from heav'n,
And dress'd myself in much humility,

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud fhouts and falutations from their mouths,
Even in the prefence of the crowned king.
Thus I did keep my perfon fresh and new,
My prefence, like a robe pontifical,

Ne'er feen, but wonder'd at; and fo my ftate,
Seldom, but fumptuous, fhewed like a feast,
And won, by rarenefs, fuch folemnity.
The skipping king he ambled up and down,
With fhallow jesters, and rash bavin * wits,
Soon kindled, and foon burnt; 'fcarded his ftate,
Mingled his royalty with carping fools,
Had his great name profaned with their fcorns,
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gybing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardlefs, vain comparative;
Grew a companion to the common streets,

Rafh is heady, thoughtless. Bavin is brushwood, which fred, burns fiercely, but is foon out, Johnson.

Enfeoff'd himself to popularity,

That, being daily fwallow'd by mens eyes,
They furfeited with honey, and began

To loath the taste of fweetnefs; whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So when he had occafion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded; feen, but with fuch eyes,
As, fick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze;

Such as is bent on fun-like majefty,
When it shines feldom in admiring eyes;

But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and render'd fuch aspect

As cloudy men use to their adverfaries,
Being with his prefence glutted, gorg'd and full.
And in that very line, Harry, ftand'it thou;
For thou haft loft thy princely privilege
With vile participation: not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common fight,

Save mine, which hath defir'd to fee thee more;
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. [Weeping.
P. Henry. I fhall hereafter, my thrice-gracious
Lord,

Be more myself.

K. Henry. For all the world,

As thou art at this hour was Richard then,
When I from France fet foot at Ravenspurg;
And ev'n as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my fceptre, and my foul to boot,
He hath more worthy intereft to the state,
Than thou, the fhadow of fucceffion!
For of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harnefs; 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 bruifing arms.
What never dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas, whofe high deeds,
Whofe hot incurfions, and great name in arms,