Scroop. That's mercy, but too much fecurity: Let him be punish'd, Sovereign, left example Breed (by his fuff'rance) more of such a kind. K. Henry. O, let us yet be merciful.

Cam. So may your Highness, and yet punish too. Grey. You fhew great mercy, if you give him life, After the tafte of much correction.

K. Henry. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orifons 'gainft this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on diftemper,

Shall not be wink'd at, how fhall we ftretch our eye, When capital crimes, chew'd, fwallow'd and digested, Appear before us? we'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care And tender prefervation of our perfon,

Would have him punifh'd. Now to our French causes; Who are the late commiffioners?

Cam. I one, my lord.

Your Highness bad me afk for it to day.
Scroop. So did you me, my Liege.

Grey. And I, my Sovereign.

K. Henry. Then Richard, Earl of Cambridge, there is yours:

There yours, lord Scroop of Masham; and Sir Knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this fame is yours;

Read them, and know, I know your worthiness.
My lord of Weftmorland and uncle Exeter,

We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen?
What fee you in thefe papers, that you lofe
So much complexion? look ye how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there,
That hath fo cowarded, and chas'd your blood

Out of appearance ?,

Cam. I confefs my fault,

And do fubmit me to your Highness' mercy.

Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal.

K. Henry. The mercy, that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is fupprefs'd and kill'd:

L 6

You

See you, my

You must not dare for fhame to talk of mercy;
For your own reafons turn into your bofoms,
As dogs upon their mafters, worrying you.
Princes and my noble Peers,
Thefe English monfters! my lord Cambridge here,
You know, how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appertinents
Belonging to his Honour; and this man
Hath for a few light crowns lightly conspir'd,
And fworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton. To the which,
This Knight, no lefs for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath likewife fworn. But O!
What fhall I fay to thee, lord Scroop, thou cruel,
Ingrateful, favage, and inhuman creature!
Thou, that didft bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew'ft the very bottom of my foul,
That almoft might'ft have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use:
May it be poffible, that foreign hire

Could out of thee extract one fpark of evil,
That might annoy my finger? 'tis fo ftrange
That though the truth of it ftand off as grofs
As black and white, my eye will scarcely fee it.
Treason and murder ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils fworn to either's purpose:
Working fo grofly in a natural cause,
That admiration did not whoop at them.
But thou, 'gainft all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason, and on murder:
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was,
That wrought upon these so prepoft'rously,
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:
And other devils, that fuggeft by-treasons,
Do botch and bungle up damnation,

With patches, colours, and with forms being fetcht
From glift'ring femblances of piety:

But he, that temper'd thee, bad thee ftand up;

Gave thee no inftance why thou shouldft do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that fame Dæmon, that hath gull'd thee thus,
Should with his Lion-gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vafty Tartar back,
And tell the legions, I can never win
A foul fo eafy as that Englishman's.

Oh, how haft thou with jealoufy infected

The fweetnefs of affiance! Shew men dutiful?
Why fo didft thou: or feem they grave and learned?
Why fo didft thou: come they of noble family?
Why fo didft thou: seem they religious?
Why fo didst thou: or are they spare in diet,
Free from grofs paffion, or of mirth, or anger,
Conftant in fpirit, not fwerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment,
Not working with the ear, but with the eye,
And but in purged judgment trufting neither?
Such, and fo finely boulted didft thou feem.
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
To mark the full-fraught man, the best endu'd,
With fome fufpicion. I will weep for thee.
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like

Another fall of man

Their faults are open;

Arreft them to the answer of the law,

And God acquit them of their practices!

Exe. I arreft thee of high treafon, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.

I arreft thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.

I arreft thee of high treafon, by the name of Thomas Grey, Knight of Northumberland.

Scroop. Our purposes God juftly hath discover'd, And I repent my fault, more than my death; Which I beseech your Highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it.

Camb. For me, the gold of France did not seduce, Although I did admit it as a motive

The

The fooner to effect what I intended;
But God be thanked for prevention,
Which I in fuff'rance heartily rejoice for,
Befeeching God and you to pardon me.

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of moft dangerous treafon,
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself,
Prevented from a damned enterprize :

My fault, but not my body, pardon, Sovereign. K. Henry. God quit you in his mercy! hear your fentence;

You have confpir'd against our royal perfon,

Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers Receiv'd the golden earneft of our death;

Wherein you would have fold your King to flaughter,
His Princes and his Peers to fervitude,

His fubjects to oppreffion and contempt,
And his whole kingdom into defolation.
Touching our person, seek we no revenge;
But we our kingdom's fafety must so tender,
Whose ruin you three fought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Go therefore hence,
(Poor miferable wretches) to your death;
The tafte whereof God of his mercy give.
You patience to endure; and true Repentance
Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence, [Exeunt.
Now, lords, for France; the enterprize whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.

We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
Since God fo graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treafon lurking in our way,
To hinder our beginning. Now we doubt not,
But every rub is fmoothed in our way;
Then forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver
Our puiffance into the hand of God,

Putting it ftraight in expedition.

Chearly to fea; the figns of war advance;

No King of England, if not King of France. [Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE

III.

Changes to Quickly's Houfe in Eaft-cheap.

Enter Pistol, Nim, Bardolph, Boy and Quickly.
R'YTHEE, honey-fweet husband, let me

Quick. PRY bring thee to Staines.

Pift. No, for my manly heart doth yern. Bardolph, be blithe: Nim, roufe thy vaunting veins : Boy, briftle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we muft yern therefore.

Bard. Would I were with him wherefome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell.

Quick. Nay, fure, he's not in hell; he's in Arthur's bofom, if ever man went to Arthur's bofom. He made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any chriftom child; a'parted ever just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' th' tide: For after I faw him fumble with the fheets, and play with flowers, and fmile upon his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; * for his nose was as fharp as a pen. How now, Sir John? quoth I: what, man? be of good cheer: fo a' cried out, God, God, God, three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him, a'fhou'd not think of God; I hop'd, there was no need to trouble himfelf with any fuch thoughts yet: fo a'bad me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as a ftone, then I felt to his knees, and fo upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any ftone.

for his nofe was as sharp as a pen. and a Table of Green-Fields.] These words, and a table of green-fields, are not to be found in the old Editions of 1600 and 1608. This Nonfenfe got into all the following Editions by a pleasant Mistake of the ftage Editors, who printed from the common piece-meal-written Parts in the Play-house. A Table was here directed to be brought in (it being a Scene in a Tavern where they drink at parting) and this Direction crept into the Text from the Margin. Green-field was the Name of the Property-man in that Time who furnish'd Implements, &c. for the A&tors. A Table of Greenfield's.

Mr. Pope.