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FIRST PART

OF

KING HENRY IV.

DRAMATIS PERSONA.
KING HENRY THE FOURTH. OWEN GLENDOWER.
HENRY, Prince of Wales.

SIR RICHARD VERNON.
PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF.
EARL OF WESTMORELAND. SIR MICHAEL, a friend of the
SIR WALTER BLUNT.

Archbishop of York. THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worces- POINS. ter.

GADSUILL. HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northum- PETO. berland:

BARDOLPH HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOT- LADY PÉRCY, Wife to Holspur. SPUR, bis Son.

LADY MORTIMER, Daughter 10 EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of Glendower. March.

MRS. QUICKLY, Hostess of a TaSCROOP, Archbishop of York. vern in Eastcheap. ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, Carriers,

Travellers, and Attendants.

SCENE, England.

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ACT 1. SCENE I.

London. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND, Sir WALTER BLUNT,

and Others. K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,

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And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commede'd in stroads afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hools
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way, and be no more oppos d
Against aequaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepalehre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross,
We are impressed, and engag‘d to fight,
Forth with 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 aeres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which foarteen hundred years ago were naild
For our advantage on the bitter eross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 't is to tell you we will go :
Therefore we meet pot po*. — Theo, let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our coupeil did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down
Bat yesternight; when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales loaden with beavy news;
Whose worst was, that the poble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

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