King Henry IV. William Hazlitt

with her own children’s blood;

       No more shall trenching war channel her fields,

       Nor bruise her flowerets 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 opposed

       Against acquaintance, 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 sepulchre of Christ—

       Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross

       We are impressed and engaged to fight—

       Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,

       To chase these pagans in those holy fields

       Over whose acres walk’d those blessed feet

       Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail’d

       For our advantage on the bitter cross.

       But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,

       And bootless ‘tis to tell you we will go:

       Therefore we meet not now.—Then let me hear

       Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,

       What yesternight our Council did decree

       In forwarding this dear expedience.

      WEST.

       My liege, this haste was hot in question,

       And many limits of the charge set down

       But yesternight; when, all athwart, there came

       A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;

       Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,

       Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

       Against th’ irregular and wild Glendower,

       Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken;

       A thousand of his people butchered,

       Upon whose dead corpse’ there was such misuse,

       Such beastly, shameless transformation,

       By those Welshwomen done, as may not be

       Without much shame re-told or spoken of.

      KING.

       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.

      KING.

       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 Earls of Athol,

       Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

       And is not this an honourable spoil,

       A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

      WEST.

       Faith, ‘tis a conquest for a prince to boast of.

      KING.

       Yea, there thou makest me sad, and makest me sin

       In envy that my Lord Northumberland

       Should be the father to so blest a son,—

       A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue;

       Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;

       Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride:

       Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,

       See riot and dishonour stain the brow

       Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved

       That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged

       In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,

       And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet!

       Then would I have his Harry, and he mine:

       But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,

       Of this young Percy’s pride? the prisoners,

       Which he in this adventure hath surprised,

       To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,

       I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

      WEST.

       This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester,

       Malevolent to you in all aspects;

       Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up

       The crest of youth against your dignity.

      KING.

       But I have sent for him to answer this;

       And for this cause awhile we must neglect

       Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

       Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council we

       Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:

       But come yourself with speed to us again;

       For more is to be said and to be done

       Than out of anger can be uttered.

      WEST.

       I will, my liege.

      [Exeunt.]

      SCENE II.

       The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s.

       Table of Contents

      [Enter Prince Henry and Falstaff.]

      FAL.

       Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

      PRINCE. 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