York. [Kneels.] Against them both, my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly, and would be denied; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have Nay, do not say-"stand up;" moy. Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sett'st the word itself against the word!Speak "pardon" as 'tis current in our land, The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee "pardon" to rehearse. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying "pardon " doth not pardon twain, Boling. With all my heart A god on earth thou art. I pardon him. With all the rest of that consorted crew, K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com- This prison, where I live, unto the world: I cannot do it ;-yet I'll hammer't out. As thus,-" Come, little ones;" and then again,- Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how com'st thou hither, Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another: then EXTON strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt;-O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear:Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Excunt. SCENE VI.-WINDSOR. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, YORK, Lords, and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle Welcome, my lord: what is the news? friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. [To the Groom.] Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keep. Help, help, help! [Strikes the Keeper. Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter PERCY, with the BISHOP of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, A Room in the Palace. SCENE I.-LONDON. Enter KING HENRY, WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; old, What yesternight our council did decree, A West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, By those Welshwomen done, as may not be K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this Brake off our business for the Holy Land. [lord; West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear, and true-industrious Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, On Holmedon's plains: of prisoners, Hotspur took To beaten Douglas, and the earls of Athol, And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? West. In faith, It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and In envy that my lord Northumberland To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. cester, Malevolent to you in all aspects; Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say, we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. P. Hen. Thou sayest well, and it holds well, too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing-"lay by;" and spent with crying-"bring in;" now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due; thou hast paid all there. F. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,—but, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with the rusty curb of old father [Exeunt. antick, the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. SCENE II.-LONDON. Another Room in the Palace. Enter PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? F. 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 wouldst 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 taffeta,-I see no reason why thou shouldst 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 the seven stars, and not by Phoebus,-he, "that wandering knight so fair." And, I pr'ythee, 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? P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fai. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. F. Hen. Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. F. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascallest,-sweet young prince, but, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me |