King HENRY the Fourth.
HENRY, Prince of Wales,
JOHN, Duke of Lancafler, S
Earl of WORCESTER.
Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND.
HENRY PERCY, furnamed HOTSPUR.
EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March.
SCROOP, Archbishop of York.
ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas.
OWEN GLENDOWER.
Sir RICHARD VERNON.
Earl of WESTMORELAND.
Sir WALTER BLUNT.
Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.
Lady PERCY, Wife to Hotfpur, and Sifter to Mortimer Lady MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower, and Wif to Mortimer.
QUICKLY, Hoftefs of a Tavern in Eaft-cheap.
Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants, Sc.
SCENE I. The Court in London.
Enter King HENRY, Earl of WESTMORELAND, Sin WALTER BLUNT, and others.
O fhaken as we are, fo wan with care
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in ftronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this foil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more fhall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hoftile paces: thofe 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 clofe of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-befeeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-fheathed knife,
No more fhall cut his master.
Therefore, friends, As far as to the fepulchre of Chrift
(Whofe foldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impreffed and engag'd to fight)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whofe arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chafe thefe pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whofe acres walk'd thofe blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage, on the bitter crofs.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootlefs 'tis to tell
you-we will go;
Therefore we meet not now :-Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Weftmoreland,
What yefternight our council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.
Weft. My liege, this hafte was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge fet down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A poft from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whofe worst was,-that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
And a thousand of his people butcher'd:
Upon whofe dead corps there was fuch misuse,
Such beaftly, fhamelefs transformation,
By thofe Welshwomen done as may not be,
Without much shame, retold or spoken of.
K. Henry. It feems then, that the tidings of this
Brake off our business for the Holy land.
Weft. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
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