K. Henry.
So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
^{3 note}
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.
^{4 note}

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: ^{5 note}

(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy^{7 note};
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' wombs
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 is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you—we will go,
Therefore we meet not now9Q0665:—Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree,
In forwarding ^{8 note}this dear expedience.

West.
My liege, this haste was hot in question,
^{9 note}

Such beastly, shameless transformation,
^{1 note}By those Welshwoman done, as may not be,
Without much shame, retold or spoken of.

K. Henry.
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^{2 note}
,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald^{3 note},
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 it, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Henry.
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,
^{4 note}

Mordake the earl of Fife^{5 note}
, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the earls
Of Athol, Murray, Angus, and Menteith^{6 note}.
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.

K. Henry.
Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straitest 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 prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-cloths 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? ^{7 note}

West.
This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects;
^{8 note}

K. Henry.
But I have sent for him to answer this;
And, for this cause, a while 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,
^{9 note}Than out of anger can be uttered.

West.
I will, my liege. [Exeunt.

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