KING Henry the Fourth.

Prince Henry, afterwards crowned King Henry the Fifth. Prince John of Lancaster, Sons to Henry the Fourth, Humphrey of Gloucester,

Thomas of Clarence,
Northumberland,

The Archbishop of York,

Mowbray,

Haftings,

Lord Bardolph,

Travers,

Morton,

and Brethren to Henry the Fifth.

Oppofites against King Henry, the Fourth.

Pistol,

Peto,

Page,

Shallow and Silence, Country Juftices.

Davy, Servant to Shallow.

Phang and Snare, two Serjeants.

Mouldy,

(2) The SECOND PART of

HENRY IV.

ACT I.

SCEN E,

Northumberland's Caftle.

Enter Lord Bardolph; the Porter at the door.

W

BARDOLPH.

HO keeps the gate here, hoa? where is the Earl?

Port. What shall I fay you are?

Bard. Tell thou the Earl,

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard; Please it your Honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer.

Enter Northumberland.

Bard. Here's the Earl.

(2) The 2d Part of Henry IV.] The Tranfa&tions compriz'd in this Hiftory take up about nine Years. The Action commences with the Account of Hatfpur's being defeated and kill'd; and clofes with the Death of K. Henry IV, and the Coronation of K. Henry V.

North.

North. What news, lord Bardolph? ev'ry minute now Should be the father of fome ftratagem.

The times are wild: Contention, like a horfe
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

Bard. Noble Earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, if heav'n will!

Bard. As good as heart can wifh:
The King is almost wounded to the death:
And in the fortune of my lord your fon,
Prince Harry flain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young Prince John,
And Weftmorland, and Stafford, fled the field.
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prifoner to your fon. O, fuch a day,

So fought, fo follow'd, and fo fairly won,
Came not till now, to dignifie the times,
Since Cefar's fortunes!

North. How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
Bard. I fpake with one, my lord, that came from
thence,

A gentleman well bred, and of good name;
That freely render'd me these news for true.
North. Here comes my fervant Travers, whom I fent
On Tuesday laft to liften after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way.

And he is furnish'd with no certainties,

More than he, haply, may retail from me.

Enter Travers.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?

Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him came fpurring hard A gentleman, almoft fore-fpent with speed, That ftopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horfe : He ask'd the way to Chefler; and of him

I

I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that Rebellion had ill luck;
And that young Harry Percy's Spur was cold.
With That he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, ftruck his agile hcels
Against the panting fides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, ftarting fo,
He feem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer queftion.

North. Ha? again:

Said he, young Harry Percy's fpur was cold?
Rebellion had ill luck?

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you;

If my young lord your fon have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a filken point
I'll give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it.

North. Why fhould the gentleman, that rode by
Travers,

Give then fuch inftances of lofs?

Bard. Who he?

He was fome hilding fellow, that had ftoll'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,

Spake at adventure. Look, here comes more news.

Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretels the Nature of a tragick volume:
So looks the ftrond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witnefs'd ufurpation.

Say, Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mort. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest Mask
To fright our Party.

North. How doth my fon, and Brother?
Thou trembleft; and the whitenefs in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even fuch a man, fo faint, fo fpiritless,
So dull, fo dead in look, fo woe-be-gone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:

But

But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue;

And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would't fay: your Son did thus, and thus:
Your brother, thus: fo fought the noble Douglas:
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds.
But in the end, to ftop mine ear indeed,
Thou haft a figh to blow away this praise,
Ending with brother, fon, and all are dead!
Mort. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for
lord
my

your

fon

North. Why, he is dead.

See, what a ready tongue fufpicion hath!

He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by inftinet, knowledge from other eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, fpeak:
Tell thou thy Earl, his Divination lies;

And I will take it as a sweet Disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me fuch wrong.

Mort. You are too Great, to be by me gainsaid: Your fpirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet for all this, fay not, that Percy's dead. I fee a ftrange confeffion in thine eye:

Thou fhak' thy head, and hold'it it fear, or fin,
To fpeak a truth. If he be flain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth fin, that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which fays the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a lofing office and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a fullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your fon is dead.
Mort. I'm forry, I fhould force you to believe
That, which, I would to heav'n, I had not feen.
But thefe mine eyes faw him in bloody ftate,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Monmouth; whofe fwift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence, with life, he never more fprung up.
In few; his death, whose spirit lent a fire