K. Henry.
Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference: but be near,

For we shall presently have need of you.— [Exeunt Lords.
I know not, whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done;
That in his secret doom, out of my blood
He breeds revengement and a scourge for me:
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heav'n,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
Accompany the Greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

P. Henry.
So please your Majesty, I wish, I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well, as, I am doubtless, I can purge
My self of many I am charg'd withal.
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,
Which oft the ear of Greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers;
I may for some things true (wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular)
Find pardon, on my true submission.

K. Henry.
Heav'n pardon thee: yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy Ancestors.
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger Brother is supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the Court and Princes of my blood.
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
Prophetically does fore-think thy Fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,

So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the Crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession;
And left me in reputeless Banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But like a comet I was wonder'd at!
That men would tell their children, this is he.
Others would say, where? which is Bolingbroke?
And then I stole all courtesie from heav'n,
And drest my self in such humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned King.
Thus I did keep my person fresh and new,
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at; and so my State,
Seldom, but sumptuous, shewed like a feast,
And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
The skipping King, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled, and soon burnt; carded his State;
Mingled his Royalty with carping fools;
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gybing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless, vain comparative:
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity:
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
They surfeited with honey, and began
To loath the taste of sweetness; whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but, as the Cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes,
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze;
Such as is bent on sun-like Majesty,
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes:

But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and rendred such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou;
For thou hast lost thy Princely privilege
With vile participation. Not an eye,
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind it self with foolish tenderness.

P. Henry.
I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,
Be more my self.

K. Henry.
For all the world,
As thou art at this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And ev'n as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy Interest to the State,
Than thou, the shadow of succession!
For, of no Right, nor colour like to Right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the Realm,
Turns head against the Lion's armed jaws;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and rev'rend bishops on,
To bloody battels, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Dowglas, whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief Majority,
And military Title capital,
Through all the Kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.
Thrice hath this Hot-spur Mars in swathing cloaths,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises,
Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,
And shake the peace and safety of our Throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
Th' Arch-bishop's Grace of York, Dowglas and Mortimer,

Capitulate against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell this news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's Pay:
To dog his heels, and curt'sie at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.

P. Henry.
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
And heav'n forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head.
And in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son.
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, washt away, shall scowre my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, when e'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hot-spur, this all-praised Knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet.
For every honour sitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern Youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
T' engross up glorious deeds on my behalf:
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.
This, in the name of heav'n, I promise here:
The which, if I perform, and do survive,
I do beseech your Majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperature.
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Henry.
A hundred thousand Rebels die in this!
Thou shalt have Charge, and soveraign Trust herein. Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt.
So is the Business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Dowglas and the English rebels met
Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a State.

K. Henry.
The Earl of Westmorland set forth to day,
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old.
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward:
On Thursday, we our selves will march: our meeting
Is at Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you shall march
Through Glo'stershire: by which, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section