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Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee.

The

Wha

Whe

That

Gro

Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go!
[Kneels. I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.- Pomfret. The dungeon of the castle.
Enter King RICHARD.

York. Against them both, my true joints bended be.
[Kneels.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face!
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.
He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel, till to the ground they grow.
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Ours, of true zeal, and deep integrity.

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have!
Boling. Good aunt, stand up!

Duch. Nay, do not say: stand

up;

now;

But pardon first; and afterwards, stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till
Say pardon, king! let pity teach thee how!
The word is short, but not so short, as sweet;.
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet.
York. Speak it in French, king! say, pardonnez moi!
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st the word itself against the word!-
Speak pardon as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there!
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up!
Duch. I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit, I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again!

Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Duch. A god on earth thou art. —

:

K. Rich. I have been studying, how I may compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world:
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
My soul, the father and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word:

As thus: Come, little ones! and then again:
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
That many have, and others must sit there.
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me, I was better, when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
Think, that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing:-but, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing.-Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time: - how sour sweet music is,

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the When time is broke, and no proportion kept!

abbot,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.-
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are!
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell! and cousin too, adieu!
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son! I pray God make thee
[Exeunt.

new.

SCENE IV.

Enter EXTON, and a Servant.

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he
spake?

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?
Was it not so?

Serv. Those were his very words.

[Music.

So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear, to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

time

Is pointig still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs, and tears, and groans,
but my
Show minutes, times, and hours:-
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This music mads me, let it sound no more!
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.

Exton. Have I no friend?quoth he: he spake it twice, Yet blessing on his heart, that gives it me!

And urg'd it twice together; did he not?

Serv. He did.

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me;
As who should say: I would, thou wert the man,
That would divorce this terror from my heart!

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The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld
In London streets that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!
K. Rich.Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
K. Rich. So proud, that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden, like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauucing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place! here is no longer stay.
[To the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time, thou wert away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart
shall say.
[Exit.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do!
Keep. Mylord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who
Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and
thee!

Patience is stale, and I'm weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

[Beats the Keeper.

Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed.
K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude
assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
[Snatching a weapon, and killing one.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell!

[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person.-Exton,thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die.
[Dies.

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood!
Both have I spilt. O, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me, I did well,
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear.
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here!
[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-Windsor. A room in the castle, Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and Attendants.

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

Welcome, my lord! What is the news?

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[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
The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

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.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life!
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife!
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Extoù, 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,
Boling, They love not poison, that do poison need.
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour!
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light!—
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow;
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent!
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier!

[Exeunt.

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SCENE I.- London. A room in the palace.
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
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight,
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded intheir mothers' womb,
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you-we will go;
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.

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.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news,
Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
And a thousand of his people butchered:
Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation

By those Welshwomen done, as may not be,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he, that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,

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;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children, where they lay,
And call'd mine-Percy, his Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts!-What think you, coz,
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,
To his own use he keeps, and sends me word,
I shall have none, but Mordake, earl of Fife.

ACT

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West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects;

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords!
But come yourself with speed to us again!
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The same. Another room in the palace.
Enter HENRY, prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF.
Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
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 would'st truly know.
What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes ca-
pons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the
signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun himself
a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata, I see no
reason why thou should'st be so superfluous to de-
mand the time ot 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, when thou art kingas, God 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.

Ful. Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythec, 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 antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief!

P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, 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, can tell you.

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Pal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy, as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag-pipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince, But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity! I would to God, thou and I knew, where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not, and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the

street to0.

P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly! able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, upon me, Hal,- God forgive thee for it! Before I let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if called thieves of the day's beauty! let us be Dia- a man should speak truly, little better, than one of na's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give the moon! And let men say, we be men of good go- it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll vernment; being governed as the sea is, by our noble be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. and chaste mistress, the moon, under whose coun- P.Hen.Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? tenance we-steal. Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an Ido not, call me villain, and baffle me! P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking.

Enter POINS, at a distance.

P. Hen Thon 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 Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning,got with swear-for a man, to labour in his vocation. Poins!-Now ing-lay by, and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as shall we know, if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men low an ebb, as the foot of the ladder; and, by and were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were by, in as high a flow, as the ridge of the gallows. hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent Fal. By the Lord, thou say st true, lad. And is not villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned! P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle! And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, ma-
ny 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, I have used my credit.

Poins. Good- morrow, sweet Hal!-What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due.

Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visors foa

you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-
morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure,
as sleep; if you will go, I will stuff your purses full
of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be
hanged!

Fal. Hear me, Yedward! if I tarry at home, and
go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith! Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P.Hen.Well,then once in my days I'll be a mad-cap. Fal. Why, that's well said.

P. Ilen. Well, come what will! I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

P. Hen. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone! I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

hallown summer!

By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious, as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
And nothing pleaseth, but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt, I never promised,
By how much better, than my word, I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes,
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that, which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest, may move,and what he hears,may be believed,that the true prince may (for recreation sake,) prove a false thief! for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell! You shall find me in Eastcheap. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All[Exit Falstaff Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with ns to-morrow! I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men, that we have already waylaid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders!

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

SCENE III.-The
he same. Another room in the palace.
Enter King Henry, NorthumbeRLAND, WORCESTER,
HOTSPUR, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Others.
K, Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me; for, accordingly,
You tread upon my patience; but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition;
Which hath been smooth, as oil, soft, as youug down,
And therefore lost that title of respect,
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be used on it;
And that same greatness too, which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. My lord,

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone! for I see danger
And disobedience in thine eye. O, sir,
Your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us; when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

[Exit Worcester.

You were about to speak. [To North. North. Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, As is deliver'd to your majesty. Either envy, therefore, or misprision, Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But, I remember, when the fight was done, P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, as true-bred cowards, as ever turned back; and for Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, the third, if he fight longer, than he sees reason, I'll Fresh, as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd, forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home; incomprehensible lies, that this same fat rogue will He was perfumed like a milliner,

tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
he fought with; what wards, what blows, what ex- A pouncet-box, which ever and auon
tremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this,
lies the jest.

P. Hen, Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in
Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell!
Poins. Farewell, my lord!

[Exit Poins.
P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,

He gave his nose, and took't away again;-
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff:-and still he smil'd, and talk'd
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

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