King.
Lords, give us leave:
The Prince of Wales, and I,
Must have some private Conference,
But be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you. [Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether Heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing Service I have done;
That in his secret Doom, out of my Blood,
He'll breed 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 Heaven
To punish my Mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lew'd, such mean Attempts,
Such barren Pleasures, rude Society,
As thou art match'd withall, and grafted too,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy Princely heart?

Prince.
So please your Majesty, I would 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,
I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wandred, and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.

King.
Heaven 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 do fore-think thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my Presence been,
So common hackney'd in the ways 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 wondred at.
That Men would tell their Children, This is he:
Others would say, where? which is Bullingbrook?
But now there's not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more:
Which now doth, that I would not have it do,
Make blind it self with foolish tenderness.

Prince.
I shall heareafter, my thrice gracious Lord,
Be more my self.

King.
For all the World,
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France set forth at Ravenspurg;
And even 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 Lyon's armed Jaws;
And being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient Lords, and reverend Bishops on
To bloody Battels, and to bruising Arms.
What never-dying Honour hath he got,
Against renowned Dowglas?
Thrice hath the Hotspur Mars, in swathing Cloaths,
This infant-Warriour, in his Enterprises,
Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'ne 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,
The Arch-Bishops Grace of York, Dowglas, 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 art like enough, through Vassal Fear,
Base Inclination, and the start of Spleen,
To fight against me under Percie's Pay,
To dog his Heels, and courtsie at his Frowns.
To shew how much thou art degenerate.

Prince.
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
And Heaven forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your Majesties good Thoughts away from me:
I will redeem all this on Percie'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're it lights,
That this same Child of Honour and Renown,
This gallant Hotspur, 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.
Or I will tear the Reckoning from his Heart.
This, in the the Name of Heaven, I promise here:
The which, if I promise, 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 Bands,
And I will dye a hundred thousand deaths,
E'er break the smallest parcel of this Vow.

King.
A hundred thousand Rebles 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 hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Dowglas and the English Rebels met
The eleventh of this Month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful Head they are,
(If promises be kept on every hand)
As ever offered foul play in a State.

King.
The Earl of Westmerland set forth to day:
With him my Son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For his Advertisement is five days old.

On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward:
On Thursday, we our selves will march.
Our meeting is Bridgenorth: And Harry, you shall march
Through Glocester-shire: By which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence,
Our general Forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: Let's away,
Advantage feeds them fat, while Men delay. [Exeunt.

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