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Sons to the King :
Friends to the King. Sir Walter Blunt, Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland: Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his Son. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Scroop, Archbishop of York. Archibald, Earl of Douglas. Owen Glendower. Sir Richard Vernon. Sir John Falstaff., Poins. Gadshill. Peto. Bardolph. Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mortimer. Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to
Mortimer. Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern in Fastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Curriers, Travellers, and Attendants.
Enter King Henry, WESTMORELAND, SIR WAL
TER BLUNT, and others. K. Henry. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a lime 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,
West. My liege, this haste was not in question,
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 For more uneven and unwelcome news [lord; 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, Where did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,
K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,
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
my lord Northumberland
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this;
SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.
Enter HENRY Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF.
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 wouldst truly know. What the devil hast thou to do with the time of the day ? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffata; I see no reason, why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of 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 king,—as, 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.
P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king,