Either from the king, or in the present time,
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on: Were you not restor'd
To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories,
Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's?
Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father
lost,

That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me? The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then,

Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him:
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he,—
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves* in charge, their beaverst
down,
[steel,
Their eyes of tire sparkling through sights; of
And the loud trumpet blowing them together;
Then, then, when there was nothing could
have staid

My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warders down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw :
Then threw he down himself; and all their lives,
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword,
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke,
West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you
know not what:

The earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman;
Who knows, on whom fortune would then
have smil'd?

But, if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry :
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers,
and love,

Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king.

But this is mere digression from my purpose.-
Here come I from our princely general,
To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace,
That he will give you audience: and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mob. But he hath forc'd us to compel this
And it proceeds from policy, not love. [offer;
West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it
so;

This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:
For, lo! within a ken,¶ our army lies;
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as
good:-

Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.

Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley.

West. That argues but the shame of your offence:

A rotten case abides no handling.

Hast. Hath the prince John a full comIn very ample virtue of his father, [mission, To hear, and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon? West. That is intended** in the general's name:

I muse,tt you make so slight a question.

Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this schedule;*

For this contains our general grievances:-
Each several article herein redress'd;
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form;
And present execution of our wills
To us, and to our purposes, consign'd;
We come within our awful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

West. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,

In sight of both our battles we may meet: And either end in peace, which heaven so frame!

Or to the place of difference call the swords Which must decide it.

Arch. My lord, we will do so.

[Exit WEST. Mowh. There is a thing within my bosom,

tells me,

That no conditions of our peace can stand. Hust. Fear you not that: if we can make

our peace

[tains.

Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky moun-
Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice,; and wanton reason,
Shall, to the king, taste of this action:

That were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind,
That, even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.

Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this, the king is weary

Of dainty and such picking|| grievances:
For he hath found,-to end one doubt by
death,

Revives two greater in the heirs of life.
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean;
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance: For full well he knows,
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife,
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes;
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods

On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his power, like a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.

Arch. "Tis very true;-
[shal,
And therefore be assur'd, my good lord mar-
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.

Mowl. Be it so.

Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland.

Re-enter HASTINGS.

courses

I Hust. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke [place. Each hurries toward his home, and sportingWest. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for

up,

the which

I do arrest, thee, traitor, of high treason:And you, lord archbishop,-and you, lord Mowbray,

Of capital treason I attach you both.

Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable?

West. Is your assembly so?

Arch. Will you thus break your faith?
P. John. I pawn'd thee none :

I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,

I will perform with a most Christian care.
But, for you, rebels,-look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly+ brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray;
Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day.
Some guard these traitors to the block of death;
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Another part of the Forest.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and
COLEVILE, meeting.

Fal. What's your name, Sir? of what condition are you; and of what place, I pray?

Cole. I am a knight, Sir; and my name is

Colevile of the dale.

Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight is your degree; and your place, the dale: Colevile shall still be your name; a traitor your degree; and the dungeon your place, -a place deep enough; so shall you still be

Colevile of the dale.

Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?

Fal. As good a man as he, Sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye yield, Sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.

Cole. I think, you are Sir John Falstaff; and, in that thought, yield me.

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An 1 had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.-Here comes our general.

Enter Prince JOHN of Lancaster, WESTMORELAND, and others.

P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now ;

Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. [Exit WEST. Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?

When every thing is ended, then you come : These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back. Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and Young bullocks.

+ Foolishly

came.

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal. Let it shine then.

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. P. John. Is thy name Colevile?

Cole. It is, my lord.

P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. Fal. And a famous true subject took him. That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me, Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, You should have won them dearer than you have.

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and I thank thee for thee.

Re-enter WESTMORELAND.

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit ?
West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates,
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him
To York, to present execution :-
sure. [Exeunt some with COLEVILE.
And now despatch we toward the court, my
lords;

I hear, the king my father is sore sick:
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,-
Which, cousin, you shall bear,-to comfort
him;

And we with sober speed will follow you.

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire: and when you come to court, stand my good lord,t 'pray, in your good report.

P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition,t

Shall better speak of you than you deserve.

[Exit.

Fal. I would, you had but the wit; twere better than your dukedom.-Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh;-but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they

* Cæsar.

+ Stand my good friend. In my present temper.

fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and cowards;-which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack had a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it: makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is,-the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris: So that skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it a-work and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil; till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris; that he is become very hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be,-to forswear thin potations,

and addict themselves to sack.

Enter BARDOLPH.'

How now, Bardolph ?

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: I have him already tempering be tween my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Westminster.-A Room in the Paluce.

Enter King HENRY, CLARENCE, Prince HUMPHREY, WARWICK, and others.

K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give successful end

To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will our youth lead on to higher fields, And draw no swords but what are sanctified.

ur navy is address'd, our power collected, Jur substitutes in absence well invested, And every thing lies level to our wish: Only, we want a little personal strength; And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government. War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty

shall soon enjoy.

K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, Where is the prince your brother?

P. Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

K. Hen. And how accompanied?
P. Humph. I do not know, my lord.

K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence with him?

P. Humph. No, my good lord; he is in pre-
sence here.

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?
[Thomas;
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him,
Thou hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou may'st effect
Of mediation, after I am dead, [thren :-
Between his greatness and thy other bre
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 observ'd ;*
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity: [flint;
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's
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;
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder.

Cla. I shall observe him with all care and
love.

K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with
him, Thomas?

Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in
London.

K. Hen. And how accompanied? can'st
thou tell that?

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers.

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 to-

terms,

* Has an attention shown him.

+ Wolf's bane, a poisonous herb

The prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers: and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his grace must mete the lives of
Turning past evils to advantages.

[others; K. Hen. "Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb [land? In the dead carrion.-Who's here? Westmore

Enter WESTMORELAND.

West. Health to my sovereign! and new

happiness

Added to that that I am to deliver! [hand: Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,

Are brought to the correction of your law; There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne, Here at more leisure, may your highness read; With every course, in his particular.

K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,

Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news.
Enter HARCOURT.

Hur. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; [fall And, when they stand against you, may they As those that I am come to tell you of! The earl of Northumberland, and the lord Bar

dolph,

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 these 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
That have abundance, and enjoy it not. [rich,
I should rejoice now at this happy news;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is gid
dy:-

O me! come near me, now I am much ill.
[Swoons.

P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty!
Cla. O my royal father!
West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself,
look up!

War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits

Are with his highness very ordinary. [well. Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs;

The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, [out. So thin, that life looks through, and will break P. Humph. The people fear me ;; for they do

observe

Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between:*

And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
Say, it did so, a little time before

That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.

War. Speak lower, princes, for the king re

covers.

P. Humph. This apoplex 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.

prince, speak low;

The king your father is dispos'd to sleep.
Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room.
War. Will't please your grace to go along
with us?

P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by
the king. [Exeunt all but P. HENRY.
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keeps the portst 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 bigging 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! my
father!-

This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep,
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'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,