And a Head of gallant Warriors,

Noble Gentlemen.

Tork. And fo there is, but yet the King hath drawn
The fpecial Head of all the Land together;

The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Weftmorland, and warlike Blunt;
And many more Corrivals, and dear Men
Of Eftimation, and command in Arms.

Sir Michell. Doubt not, my Lord, he shall be well oppos'd
York. I hope no lefs: Yet needful 'tis to fear,
And to prevent the worft, Sir Michell speed;
For if Lord Percy thrive not, e'er the King
Difmifs his Power, he means to vifit us;
For he hath heard of our Confederacy,

And, 'tis but Wisdom to make strong against him:
Therefore make hafte, I must go write again

To other Friends; and fo farewel, Sir Michell.

[Exeunt.

A CT II.

SCENE

I.

Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
Earl of Weftmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff.

K. Henry. HOW bloodily the Sun begins to peer
Above yon busky Hill: The Day looks pale

At his diftemperature.

P. Henry. The Southern Wind

Doth play the Trumpet to his Purposes,

And by his hollow whiftling in the Leaves,
Foretels a Tempeft, and a bluft'ring Day,

K. Henry. Then with the Lofers let it fympathize,
For nothing can seem fower to them that win.

Enter Worcester.

[The Trumpet founds.

K. Henry. How now, my Lord of Wor'fter? 'Tis not well, That you and I fhould meet upon fuch terms,

As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our Trufts

And made us doff our eafie Robe of Peace,

To

To crush our old Limbs in ungentle Steel:
This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.
What fay you to it? Will you again unknit
This churlish Knot of all-abhorred War;
And move in that obedient Orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural Light,
And be no more an exhal'd Meteor,

A Prodigy of Fear, and a Portent

Of broached M.fchief, to the unborn Times?
Wer. Hear me, my Liege:

For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the Lag-end of my Life
With quiet Hours: For I do protest,

I have not fought the Day of this dislike.

K. Henry. You have not fought it; how comes it then?
Fal. Rebellion lay in this way, and he found it.
P. Henry. Peace, Chewet, peace.

Wor. It pleas'd your Majefty, to turn your Looks
Of Favour, from my Self, and all our House;
And yet I must remember you, my Lord,

We were the firft, and deareft of your Friends:
you, my Staff of Office did I break

For

In Richard's time, and pofted Day and Night
To meet you on the way, and kits your Hand,
When yet you were in place, and in account
Nothing fo ftrong and fortunate, as I;

It was my felf, my Brother, and his Son,
That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare
The danger of the time. You fwore to us,

And you

That

did fwear that Oath at Doncafter,

you did nothing purpose 'gainst the State,
Nor claim no further, than your new-fal'n Right,
The Seat of Gaunt, Dukedom of Lancaster.
To this, we fware our Aid: But in fhort Space,
It rain'd down Fortune showring on your Head,
And fuch a Flood of Greatnefs fell on you,
What with our help, what with the abfent King,
What with the Injuries of wanton Time,
The feeming Sufferances that you hard born,
And the contrarious Winds that held the King
So long in the unlucky Irish Wars,

P 4

That

That all in England did repute him dead;
And from this fwarm of fair Advantages,
You took occafion to be quickly woo'd,
To gripe the general fway into your Hand:
Forgot your Oath to us at Doncaster,
And being fed by us, you us'd us fo,
As that ungentle Gull, the Cuckow's Bird,
Ufeth the Sparrow, did opprefs our Neft,
Grew by our Feeding, to fo great a Bulk,
That even our Love durft not come near your Sight
For fear of fwallowing; but with nimble Wing
We were inforc'd for fafety's fake, to fly
Out of your Sight, and raise this prefent Head,
Whereby we ftand oppofed by fuch means
As you your felf, have forg'd against your self,
By unkind Ufage, dangerous Countenance,
And violation of all Faith and Troth

Sworn to us in your younger Enterprize.

K. Henry. The things indeed you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at Market Croffes, read in Churches,
To face the Garment of Rebellion

With fome fine Colour, that may pleafe the Eye
Of fickle Changelings, and poor Difcontents,
Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the News
Of hurly burly Innovation:

And never yet did Infurrection want
Such Water-colours, to impaint his Caufe;
Nor moody Beggars, ftarving for a time
Of pell-mell Havock, and Confufion.

P. Henry. In both our Armies, there is many a Soul

Shall pay full dearly for this Encounter,

If once they join in trial. Tell your Nephew,

The Prince of Wales doth join with all the World
In praife of Henry Percy: By my Hopes,
This prefent Enterprize fet off his Head,
I do not think a braver Gentleman,

More Active, Valiant, or more valiant Young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
o grace this latter Age with noble Deeds.
For my part, I may fpeak it to my Shame,
I have a Truant been to Chivalry,

And

And fo, I hear, he doth account me too:
Yet this before my Father's Majefty,
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great Name and Eftimation,

And will, to fave the Blood on either fide,
Try Fortune with him, in a fingle Fight.

K. Henry. And, Prince of Wales, fo dare we venture thee, Albeit, Confiderations infinite

Do make against it: No, good Wor'fter, no,
We love our People well; even those we love
That are mif-led upon your Coufin's part:
And will they take the offer of our Grace;
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every Man
Shall be my Friend again, and I'll be his.
So tell your Coufin, and bring me word,
What he will do. But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread Correction wait on us,
And they fhall do their Office. So be gone,
We will not now be troubled with Reply,
We offer fair, take it advisedly.

[Exit Worcester. P. Henry. It will not be accepted, on my Life, The Douglass and the Hot-fpur both together,

Are confident against the World in Arms.

K. Henry. Hence therefore, every Leader to his Charge. For on their Anfwer will we fet on them:

And God befriend us, as our Caufe is juft.

Manet Prince Henry and Falftaff.

Fal. Hal, if thou fee me down in the Battel, And beftride me, fo; 'tis a point of Friendship.

[Exeunt.

P. Henry. Nothing but a Coloffus can do thee that FriendSay thy Prayers, and farewel.

[hip: Fal. I would it were Bed-time, Hal, and all well. P. Henry. Why, thou oweft Heav'n a Death.

Fal. 'Tis not due yet: I would be loth to pay him before his Day. What need I be fo forward with him that call's not on me? Well, 'tis no Matter, Honour pricks me on. But how if Honour prick me off when I come on? How then; can Honour fet to a Leg? No. Or an Arm ? No. Or take away the Grief of a Wound? No. Honour hath no Skill in Surgery then? No. What is Honour? A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre; a trim reckoning. Who

hath

hath it? He that dy'd a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it infenfible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not fuffer it, therefore I'll none of it. Ho nour is a meer Scutcheon, and fo ends my Catechifm. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.

Wor. O no, my Nephew muft not know, Sir Richard, The liberal kind Offer of the King.

Ver. 'Twere beft he did.

Wor. Then we are all undone.

It is not poffible, it cannot be,

The King would keep his Word in loving us,

He will fufpect us ftill, and find a time

To punish this Offence in other Faults:

Suppofe then, all our Lives fhall be ftruck full of Eyes;

For Treafon is but trufted like the Fox,

Who ne'er fo tame, fo cherish'd, and lock'd up,

Will have a wild trick of his Ancestors;

Look how we can, or fad, or merrily,
Interpretation will mifquote our Looks,
And we shall feed like Oxen at a Stall,
The better cherish'd, fill the nearer death.
My Nephew's Trefpafs may be well forgot,
It hath the excufe of Youth, and heat of Blood,
And an adopted Name of Privilege,

A hare-brain'd Hot-Spur, govern'd by a Spleen:
All his Offences live upon my Head,
And on his Father's. We did train him on,
And his Corruption being ta'en from us,
We as the Spring of all, fhall pay for all:
Therefore, good Coufin, let not Harry know,
In any cafe, the Offer of the King.

Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll fay 'tis fo.
Here comes your Confin.

Enter Hot-pur and Dowglafs.

Hot. My Uncle is return'd:

Deliver up my Lord of Westmorland.
Uncle, what News?

Wor.