Mayor.
Oh my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city London, pity us,

The Bishop and the Duke of Glo'ster's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of peble stones;
And banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pates,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in ev'ry street,
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. Enter in skirmish with bloody pates.

K. Henry.
We charge you on allegiance to our selves,
To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace:
Pray uncle Glo'ster mitigate this strife.

1 Serv.

Nay, if we be forbidden stones we'll fall to it with our teeth.

2 Serv.

Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

Glou.
You of my houshold leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

3 Serv.
My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and for your royal birth
Inferior to none but to his Majesty:
And ere that we will suffer such a Prince,
So kind a father of the common-weal,
To be disgraced by an Inkhorn mate,
We and our wives and children all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

1 Serv.
Ay and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again.

Glou.
Stay, stay I say,
And if you love me as you say you do,
Let me perswade you to forbear awhile

K. Henry.
O how this discord doth afflict my soul!

Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War.
My lord Protector yield: yield Winchester;
Except you mean with obstinate repulse
To slay your Soveraign and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief and what murther too
Hath been enacted through your enmity:
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win.
He shall submit, or I will never yield.

Glou.
Compassion on the King commands me stoop,
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.

War.
Behold, my lord of Winchester, the Duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
And by his smother'd brows it doth appear.
Why look you still so stern and tragical?

Glou.
Here Winchester I offer thee my hand.

K. Henry.
Fie, uncle Beauford: I have heard you preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
But prove a chief offender in the same?

War.
Sweet King! the bishop hath a kindly gird:
For shame my lord of Winchester relent;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Win.
Well Duke of Glo'ster I will yield to thee,
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.

Glou.
Ay but I fear me with a hollow heart.
See here my friends and loving countrymen,
This token serveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt our selves and all our followers:

So help me God as I dissemble not.

Win. [Aside.]
So help me God as I intend it not.

K. Henry.
Oh loving uncle, gentle Duke of Glo'ster,
How joyful am I made by this contract!
Away my masters, trouble us no more,
But join in friendship as your lords have done.

1 Serv.
Content, I'll to the surgeon's.

2 Serv.
So will I.

3 Serv.
And I'll see what physick the tavern affords. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section