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FIRST PART OF
KING HENRY IV.
ACT I. SCENE I.
A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt,
K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so 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 stronds afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys 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 hoofs 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
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
many liniits of the charge set down
K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this
broil Brake off our business for the Holy land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious
lord; 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, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious
friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stain’d with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The earl of Douglas is discomfited; Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son To beaten Douglas; and the earl of Athol Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,
mak'st me sin
K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this:
But come yourself with specd to us again;
ANOTHER ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff: Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flamecolour'd taffata; I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous 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 Phæbus, --he, that wandering knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king, -as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,)--
P. Hen. What! none?
Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.