The FIRST PART of Η Ε Ν R Y IV. АСТ І. SCENE I. The Court in London. Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancafter, Earl of Weftmorland, and others. King HENRY. O fhaken as we are, fo wan with Care, pant, And breathe fhort-winded accents of new Broils "To be commenc'd in ftronds a-far remote. 66 No more the thirty entrance of this Soil "Shall trempe her lips with her own children's blood: "No more fhall trenching war channel her fields, 1 Sball damp her lips-] This nonfenfe should be read, Shall TREMPE, i. e. moiften, and refers to thirsty, in the preceding line: Trempe, from the French, tremper, properly fignifies the moiftnefs made by rain. VOL. IV. H "Nor "Nor bruife her flowrets with the armed hoofs 2 "Of hottile paces. Those opposed files, "Which, like the meteors of a troubled heav'n, "Shall now, in mutual, well-befeeming, ranks (Whofe foldier now, under whofe bleffed Crofs But this our purpofe is a twelvemonth old, afe 2 -Those oppofed eyes,] The fimilitude is beautiful: But, what eyes meeting in inteftine fhocks, and marching all one way? The true reading is, FILES; which appears not only from the integrity of the metaphor, well befeeming ranks march all one way; but from the nature of those meteors to which they are compared; namely long ftreaks of red, which represent the tines of armies; the appearance of which, and their likeness to fuch lines, gave occafion to all the fuperftition of the common people concerning armies in the air, &c. Out of mere contradiction, the Oxford Editor would improve my alteration of files to arms, and fo lofes both the integrity of the metaphor and the likeness of the comparison. 3 this dear expedience.] For expedition. West. Weft. My Liege, this hafte was hot in queftion, Upon whose dead corps there was fuch mifufe, K. Henry. It feems then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our bufinefs for the holy Land. [lord; Weft. This, matcht with other, did, my gracious For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the North, and thus it did import. And shape of likelihood, the news was told; 4 And many limits-] Limits for eftimates. 5 This, matcht with other like, my gracious Lord, Far more uneven and unwelcome news] Far more, the Oxford Editor alters to Farther; because this other news is matcht with the former, and yet faid to be Far more uneven: As if two uneven things could not be matcht together! But, to dispatch this emendation from whence it came, we muft obferve the old books (which our Editor appears never once to have look'd into, as trusting all to his own fagacity) read the first line thus, This, matcht with other, did, my gracious lord: i. e. did break off the bufinefs of the holy land. And this is right. K. Henry. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours: Ten thousand bold Scots, three and twenty Knights, To beaten Douglas, and the Earls of Athol, And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, coufin, is it not? Weft. In faith, a conquest for a Prince to boast of. K. Henry. Yea, there thou mak'ft me fad, and mak'ft me fin In Envy, that my lord Northumberland A fon, who is the theam of Honour's tongue : • Which makes him plume himself, and bristle up The Creft of youth against your Dignity. K. Henry. But I have fent for him to answer this; Coufin, on Wednesday next our Council we Weft. I will, my Liege. A An Apartment of the Prince's. [Exeunt. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff. N°Y Fal. OW, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Henry. Thou art fo fat-witted with drinking old fack, and unbuttoning thee after fupper, and fleeping upon benches in the afternoon, that thou haft forgotten to demand. That truly, which thou would'ft truly know. What a devil haft thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of fack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the figns of leaping-houses, and the bleffed Sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata; I fee no reafon why thou fhould't be fo fuperfluous, 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, 7 he, that wandring knight fo fair. And I pray thee, fweet wag, when thou art King 6 Which makes him PRUNE himself,-] Doubtless Shakespear wrote PLU ME. And to this the Oxford Editor gives his fiat. 7 be, that wandering] Line of an old ballad. |