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Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry hath followed certain men into this house. .

P. Hen. What men ?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord ; a gross fat man.

Trav. As far as butter.

P. Hen. Sheriff, I do engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to-morrow dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg’d withal:
And so, let me entreat you, leave the house.

Sher. I will, my lord: Here are two gentlemen
Have, in this robbery, lost three hundred marks.
P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb’d these

He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell.

Sher. Goud night, my noble lord.
P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

Exeunt SHERIFF and TRAVELLERS. P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's: go, call him forth.

Poins. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath! search his pockets. [Poins goes out and searches his Pockets.] What hast thou found ?

Enter Poins.
Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.
P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them.

Poins. Item, a capon, 2s. 2d.
Item, sauce, 4d.
Item, sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.
Item, anchories and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, bread, a halfpenny.

P. Hen, O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack !-What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage : there let him sleep till day, I'll to the court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a .charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve score. The money shall be paid back again, with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins.

Poins, Good morrow, good my lord, [Exeunt,



The Presence Chamber.


Blunt, and other GENTLEMEN, discovered.
K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales

and I Must have some private conference: but be near At hand; for we shall presently have need of you.

[Exeunt all but the King, and PRINCE OF


I know not whether Heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood

He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life,
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of Heaven,
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis’d,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
K. Hen. Heaven pardon thee!-Yet, let me won-

der, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, Which by thy younger brother is supply'd; And art almost an alien to the hearts Of all the court, and princes of my blood. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common hackney'd in the eyes of men, Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Had still kept loyal tu possession; And left me in reputeless banishment, A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir; But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at: That men would tell their children, “ This is he!” Others would say." Where? which is Bolingbrokers Not an eye

But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir’d to see thee more;
Which now doth what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

P. Hen. I shall, hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself.

K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; And even as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, He hath more worthy interest to the state, Than thou, the shadow of succession. What never-dying honour hath he got Against renowned Douglas! Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas ; ta’en him once, Enlarg’d him, and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capitulate against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near’st and dearest enemy? Thou that art like enough,—through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, To show how much thou art degenerate.

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so: And Heaven forgive them that so much have sway'd Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ;

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes! and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,

That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf:
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of Heaven, I promise here:
The which, if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge, and sov'reign trust, herein.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt. How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So is the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, That Douglas, and the English rebels, met, The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every band, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. K. Hen. The Earl of Westmoreland sets forth to

day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;

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