North.
I pr'ythee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs.
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be like them to Percy, troublesome.

L. North.
I have giv'n over, I will speak no more:
Do what you will: your wisdom be your guide.

North.
Alas, sweet wife, my Honour is at pawn,
And, but my Going, nothing can redeem it.

L. Percy.
Oh, yet, for heav'n's sake, go not to these wars.
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart-dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his Pow'rs: but he did long in vain!
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two Honours lost; yours and your son's.
For yours, may heav'nly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the Sun
In the grey vault of heav'n: and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass,
Wherein the noble Youth did dress themselves.
^{3 note}He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait:
And speaking thick, which Nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant:
For those, that could speak low and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him. So that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him, wondrous him!
O miracle of men! him did you leave
(Second to None, unseconded by You;)
To look upon the hideous God of War
In disadvantage; to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hot-spur's Name
Did seem defensible: so you left Him.

Never, O, never do his Ghost the wrong,
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him. Let them alone:
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
&wlquo;To day might I, (hanging on Hot-spur's neck)
&wlquo;Have talk'd of Monmouth's Grave.&wrquo;

North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me,
With new-lamenting ancient over-sights.
But I must go and meet with danger there;
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.

L. North.
Fly to Scotland,
'Till that the Nobles and the armed Commons
Have of their puissance made a little taste.

L. Percy.
If they get ground and 'vantage of the King,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger. But, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son:
He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow:
And never shall have length of Life enough,
^{4 note}

North.
Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.

Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back:
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
'Till time and 'vantage crave my company. [Exeunt.

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