Ver.
Grant me the combat, gracious Sovereign.

Bas.
And me, my lord; grant me the combat too.

York.
This is my servant; hear him, noble Prince.

Som.
And this is mine; sweet Henry, favour him.

K. Henry.
Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

Ver.
With him, my lord, for he hath done me wrong.

Bas.
And I with him, for he hath done me wrong.

K. Henry.
What is the wrong whereon you both complain?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

Bas.
Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious, carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks;
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms.
In confutation of which rude reproach,
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.

Ver.
And that is my petition, noble lord;
For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
Yet, know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge,
Pronouncing, that the paleness of this flow'r
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

York.
Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

Som.
Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

K. Henry.
Good lord! what madness rules in brainsick men!
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise!
Good cousins both of York and Somerset,
Quiet your selves, I pray, and be at peace.

York.
Let this dissention first be try'd by fight,
And then your Highness shall command a peace.

Som.
The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
Betwixt our selves let us decide it then.

York.
There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

Ver.
Nay, let it rest, where it began at first.

Bas.
Confirm it so? mine honourable lord.

Glou.
Confirm it so? confounded be your strife,
And perish ye with your audacious prate;

Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd
With this immodest clamorous outrage
To trouble and disturb the King, and us?
And you, my lords, methinks, you do not well
To bear with their perverse objections:
Much less to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt your selves:
Let me persuade you, take a better course.

Exe.
It grieves his Highness: good my lords, be friends.

K. Henry.
Come hither you, that would be combatants:
Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
And you, my lords; remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
If they perceive dissention in our looks,
And that within our selves we disagree,
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful Disobedience, and Rebel?
Beside, what infamy will there arise,
When foreign Princes shall be certify'd,
That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's Peers and chief Nobility
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France?
O, think upon the Conquest of my father,
My tender years, and let us not forego
That for a trifle, which was bought with blood.
Let me be Umpire in this doubtful strife:
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more encline to Somerset, than York.
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both.
As well they may upbraid me with my Crown,
Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade,
Than I am able to instruct or teach:
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love.
Cousin of York, we institute your Grace

To be our Regent in these parts of France:
And, good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go chearfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Our self, my lord Protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alanson, and that trait'rous rout. [Flourish. Exeunt. Manent York, Warwick, Exeter, and Vernon.

War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the King
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York.
And so he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War.
Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet Prince, he thought no harm.

York.
And, if I (a) ^note wis, he did.—But let it rest;
Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt. Manet Exeter.

Exe.
Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:
For had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decypher'd there
More ranc'rous spight, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of Nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the Court,
This factious bandying of their favourites;
But that he doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much, when scepters are in childrens' hands;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division:
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit.

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