« السابقةمتابعة »
KING Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales,
Sons to the King
John Duke of Lancaster,
Archbishop of York,
Enemies to the King.
Sir Richard Vernon,
Sir Walter Blunt, } of the King's Party.
Sir John Falstaff.
Companions of Falstaff.
Lady Percy, Wife to Hot-spur.
Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to
Sheriff, l'intner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers,
Travellers and Attendants.
The Court in London.
Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of
Weltmorland, and others.
O we are,
Seinak ere as time or frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new Broils
To be commenc'd in fronds a-far remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this Soil
* Shall trempe her lips with her own children's blood:
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her fiowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hoftile paces. Those opposed files,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heav'n,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine Thock
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,
* Shall damp her lips----] This Nonsense should be read, Shall trempe, i. c. moisten, and refers to thirsty, in the preceding Line : Trempe, from the French, tremper, properly fignifies the Moistness made by Rain.
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
(Whofe foldier now, under whose blessed Cross
We are impressed, and engag'd to fight)
Forthwith a Power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these Pagans, in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hụndred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter Crofs.
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell
Therefore, we meet not now: Then let me hear,
Of you my gentle Cousin Westmorland,
What yesternight our Council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.
Weft. My Liege, this halte was hot in quellion,
And many limits of the Charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A Póst from Wales, loaden with heavy news ;
Whole worft was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Againft th' irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken ;
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.
K. Henry. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the holy Land.
Wit. This, matcht with other, did, my gracious
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the North, and thus it did import.
On holy.rood day, the gallant Hot-spur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon spent a sad and bloody hour: