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And then, betwixt me and my married wife. | That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
Let meunkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me!

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.

And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Partus, Northumberland! I towards the north, But heaven hath a hand in these events;
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp, To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
She came adorned hither, like sweet May,

Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part? Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle,
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart York. Aumerle that was;
from heart.

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me! And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
North. That were some love, but little policy. am in parliament pledge for his truth,
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go ! And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Duch. Welcome, my son! Who are the violets now,
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
Go, count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans. God knows, I had as lief benone, as one.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
K. Rich. Twice for one steep I'll groan, the way be- Lest you becropp'd before you come to prime.
ing short,

What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.

triumphs? Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. York. You will be there, I know.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Aum. If God prevent it not, I purposeso.
Thus give I mine, and thus l take thy heart, York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy

( They kiss. bosom?
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing!
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. (Kiss again. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
So, now I have mine own again, begone,

York. No matter then who sees it,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing!
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
Once more, adieu ! the rest let sorrow say! [Exeunt. It is a matter of small consequence,

Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

The Sume.

A room in the Duke of York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
York's palace.

I fear, I fear,
Enter York, and his Duchess.

Duch. What should you fear?
Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
When weeping made you break the story off For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York, Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond,
York. Where did I leave?

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. –
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord,

Boy, let me see the writing!
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window's tops, Äum. I do beseech you, pardon me! I may not show it.
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-

[Snatches it, and reads. broke,

Treason! foul treason!-- villain! traitor! slave! Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? Which his aspiring rider seem’d to know,

York. Ho! who is within there? (Enter a Servant.] With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,

Saddle my horse!
While all tongues cried: God save thee, Boling- God for his mercy! what treachery is here!

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?
You would have thonglit the very windows spake, York. Give me my boots, I say! saddle my horse!
So many greedy looks of young and old

For by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
Through casements darted their desiring eyes I will impeach the villain !
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,

Duch. What's the matter?
With painted imag’ry, had said at once:

York. Peace, foolish woman!
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!

Duch. I will not peace! – What is the matter, son?
Whilst he, from one side to the otherturning, Aum. Good mother, be content: it is no more
Bare-headed, lower, than his proud steed's neck, Than my poor life must answer.
Bespake them thus:- I thank you, countrymen : Duch. Thy life answer!
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Re-enter Servant, with boots.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while? York. Bring me my boots ! I will unto the king.
York. As in a teatre the eyes of men,

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle! — Poor boy, thou art
After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage,

amaz’d: Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight!-
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes York. Give me my boots, I say:
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him! Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Nojoyfultongue gave him his welcome home: Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,

Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Which with sach gentle sorrow he shook off, Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
His face still combating with tears and smiles, And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
The badges of his grief and patience,

And rob me of a happy mother's name?

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Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
York. Thou fond mad woman,

Aum. Then give me leave, that I m

may turn the key, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

That no man enter, till my tale be done!
A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament, Boling. Have thy desire! [Aumerle locks the door.
And interchangeably set down their hands,

York. [Within. Myliege, beware! look to thyself!
To kill the king at Oxford.

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Duch. He shall be none;

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing
We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him? Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand!
York. Away,

Thou hast no calise to fear.
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy
I would appeach him.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him,

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
As I have done, thou’dst be more pitiful.

Open the door, or I will break it open.
But now I know thy mind : thou dost suspect,

[Bolingbroke opens the door.
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son.

Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak!
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind!

Recover breath! tellus, how near is danger,
He is as like thee, as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,

That we may arm us to encounter it.
And yet I love him.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know York. Make way, unruly woman!


The treason, that my haste forbids me show.
Duch. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon' his horse, I do repent me. Read not my name there!

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past!
Spur, post, and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee!

My heart is not confederate with my hand. I'll not be long behind; though I be old,

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.

I tereit from the traitor's bosom, king; I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:

Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
And never will I rise up from the grouud,

Forget to pity him!lest thy pity prove
Till Bolingbroke have pardon’d thee. Away;


A serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.

Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy !-

O loyal father of a treacherous son!
SCENE III. – Windsor. A room in the castle.

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; Percy, and other

From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ?

Bath held his current, and defild himself? 'Tis fullthree months, since I did see him last.

Thy overflow of good converts to bad, If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

And thy abundant goodness shall excuse I would to God, my lords, he might be found.

This deadly blot in thy digressing son. Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there!

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,

And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, With unrestrained loose companions;

As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.

Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dies,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;

Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies.

Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support

The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
So dissolute a crew.

Duch. [Within.) What ho, my liege! for God's sake

let me in! Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.

eager cry? Boling. And what said the gallant?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Percy. His answer was, he would unto the stews;

Speak with me, pity me, open the door! And from the common’st creature pluck a glove,

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. And wearit as a favour; and with that

Boling. Our sceneis alter'd, from a serious thing, He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. Boling. As dissolute, as desperate! yet, through both My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ! I see some sparkles of a better hope,

I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, Which elder days may happily bring forth.

More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may;
But who comes here?

This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
Enter Aumerle, hastily.
Aum, Where is the king?

This, let alone, will all the rest confound.
Boling. What means

Enter Duchess. Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man! Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech your ma- Love, loving not itself, none other can. jesty,

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make To have some conference with your grace alone.

here? Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here Shall thy old dogs once more a traitor rear? alone!

[Exeunt Percy and Lords. Duch. Sweet York, be patient! Hear me, gentle liege! What is the matter with our cousin now?

Kneels. Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

Boling. Rise up, good aunt!

(Kneels. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech. Mytongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, For ever will I kneel upon my knees, Unless a pardon, erel rise, or speak.

And never see day, that the happy sees, Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? Tillthou give joy, until thou bid me joy, If but the first, how heinous ere it be,

By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.


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Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go!

(Kneels. I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. SCENEV. Pomfret. The dungeon of the castle.


Enier King Richard.
nl may’st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! K. Rich. I have been studying, how I may compare

Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face! This prison, where I live, unto the world:

eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; And, for because the world is populous,
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. And here is not a creature but myself,
He prays but faintly, and would be denied;

I cannot do it. -- Yet I'll hammer it out.
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. My brain I'll prove the femaleto my soul;
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;

My soul, the father: and these two beget
Our knees shall kneel, till to the ground they grow. A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;

And these same thoughts people this little world,
Ours, of true zeal, and deep integrity.

In humours, like the people of this world,
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have For no thought is contented. The better sort,
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have! As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
Boling. Good aunt, stand up!

With scruples, and do set the word itself
Duch. Nay, do not say: stand up;

Against the word :
But pardon first; and afterwards, stand up. As thus: Come, little ones! and then again:
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,

It is as hard to come, as for a camel
Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
I never long’d to hear a word till now;

Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Say pardon, king! let pity teach thee how!

Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails
The word is short, but not so short, as sweet;, May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;

York. Speak it in French, king! say, pardonnez moi! And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy? Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
That set'st the word itself against the word !- Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Speak pardon as 'tis current in our land;

Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
The chopping French we do not understand.

That many have, and others must sit there.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there! And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; Bearing their own misfortune on the back
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, of such as have before endur'd the like.
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.

Thus play I, in one person, many people,
Boling. Good aunt, stand up!

And none contented: sometimes am I king;
Duch. I do not sue to stand,

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
Pardon is all the suit, I have in hand.

And so I am. Then crushing penury
Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Persuades me, I was better, when a king;

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again!

Think, that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, And straight am nothing :- but, whate'er I am,
But makes one pardon strong.

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
Boling. With all my heart

With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
I pardon him.

With being nothing. - Music do I hear?

(Music. Duch. A god on earth thou art. —

Ha, ha! keep time: - how sour sweet music is,
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the When time is broke, and no proportion kept!

So is it in the music of men's lives.
With all the rest of that consorted crew,-

And here have I the daintiness of ear,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. – To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
Good uncle, help to order several powers

But, for the concord of my state and time,
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are !

Had not an ear, to hear my true time broke.
They shall not live within this world, I swear, I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
But I will have them, if I once know where.

For now hath time made me his numb’ring clock :
Uncle, farewell! and cousin too, adien!

My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Their watches on to mine eyes, the ontward watch,
Duch. Come, my old son! I pray God make thee Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

[Exeunt. Is pointig still, in cleansing them from tears.

Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,

Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Enter Exton, and a Servant.

Which is the bell: so sighs, and tears, and groaus,

Show minutes, times, and hours :- but
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he Rons posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,

While I stand fooling here, his Jack o’the clock.
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? This music mads me, let it sound no more!
Was it not so?

For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
Serv. Those were his very words.

In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Exton. Have I no friend?quoth he: he spake it twice, Yet blessing on his heart, that gives it me!
And arg'd it twice together; did he not?

For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Serv. He did.

Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'don me;

Enter Groom.
As who should say: I would, thou wert the man, Groom. Hail, royal prince!
That would divorce this terror from my heart ! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer!

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SCENE VI. - Windsor. A room in the castle, What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog

and Attendants.
That brings me food, to make misfortune live? Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;
With much ado, at length have gotten leave But whether they be ta’en, or slain, we hear not.
To look upon my sometimes master's face.

0, how it yearn’d my heart, when I beheld Welcome, my lord! What is the news ?
In London streets that coronation day,

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!

The next news is, — I have to London sent
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.
That horse, that I so carefully have dress’d!

The manner of their taking may appear
K. Rich.Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, At large discoursed in this paper here.
How went he under him?

(Presenting a paper.
Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain’d the ground. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains,
K. Rich. So proud, that Bolingbroke was on his back! And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
That jade hath eat bread froin my royal hand;

Enter FitzwATER.
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely ;
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back? That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,

Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle.
I bear a burden, like an ass,

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,
Spur-gall’d, and tird, by jauucing Bolingbroke. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Enter Keeper, with a dish.

Hath yielded up his body to the grave:
Keep. Fellow, give place! here is no longer stay. But here is Carlisle living, to abide

[To the Groom. Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time, thou wert away. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,

(Exit. More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life! Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife! K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do! For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, Keep. Mylord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. Enter Exton, with Attendunts bearing a coffin. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present thee!

Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
Patience is stale, and I'm weary of it.

The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,

[Beats the Keeper. Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Keep. Help, help, help!

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast
Enter Exton, and Servants, armed.

K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,

Upon my head, and all this famous land.
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this

(Snatching a weapon, and killing one. deed. Go thon, and fill another room in hell!

Boling, They love not poison, that do poison need. [He kills another, then Exton strikes him down. Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. That staggers thus my person.—Exton,thy fierce hand The guilt of conscience take thon for thy labour, Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. But neither my good word, nor princely favour! Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high ; With Cain go wander through the shade of night, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. And never show thy head by day nor light!

(Dies. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood ! That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow; Both have I spilt. O, would the deed were good! Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, For now the devil, that told me, I did well, And put on sullen black incontinent! Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, This dead king to the living hing I'll bear. To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. — Take hence the rest, and give them burial here! March sadly after; grace my mournings here,

[Exeunt. 'In weeping after this untimely bier ! [Lxeunt.

shall say.

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Per sons of the Dr a m a. King Herry the Fourth.

Sir RICHARD TERXON. Henry, prince of Wales,

Sir John FALSTAFF. Prince John of LANCASTER,

sons to the king

Poixs. Earl of WESTMORELAND,

GADSHILL. Sir WALTER BLUNT, friends to the king.

Thomas Percy, earl of WORCESTER.

Lady Percy, wife to HOTSPUR, and sister to Mor-
Henry Percy, earl of NorthumBERLAND.
Hexay Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his sonho Lady MORTIMER, daughter to Glendower, and wife

to MORTIER, Scroop, archbishop of York.

Mrs Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. ARCHIBALD, earl of Douglas.

Lords,Officers,Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, DrawOwex GLENDOWER.

ets, Two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE,— England.


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K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil SCENE I. - London. A room in the palace.

Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious
Enter King Hexry, WestMORELAND, Sir Walter lord;
Blunt, and Others.

For more uneven and unwelcome news
K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Came from the north, and thus it did import.
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils

Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.

That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil

At Holmedon met,
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields, As by discharge of their artillery,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,

For he, that brought them, in the


heat Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, And pride of their contention did take horse, All of one nature, of one substance bred,

Uncertain of the issue any way. Did lately meet in the intestine shock

K. Hlen. Hereis a dear and true-industrious friend,
And furious close of civil butchery,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, Stain'd with the variation of each soil
March all one way, and be no more oppos’d Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.

And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, The earl of Douglas is discomfited;
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty kniglits,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,

Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
We are impressed and engaged to fight,

Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol,
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, And is not this an honourable spoil?
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd West. In faith,
For our advantage on the bitter oross.

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old, K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak'st
And bootless 'tis to tell you - we will go;
Therefore we meet not now. – Then let me hear

In envy, that my lord Northumberland
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,

Should be the father of so blest a son; What yesternight our council did decree,

A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; In forwarding this dear expedience.

Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
And many limits of the charge set down

Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came See riot and dishonour stain the brow
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news,

of my young Harry. 0, that it could be provid,
Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer, That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight In cradle-clothes our children, where they lay,
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, And call’d mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet!
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
And a thousand of his people butchered:

But let him from my thoughts !-What think you, coz,
Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse, of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Such beastly, shameless transformation

Which he in this adventure hath surpriz’d,
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, To his own use he keeps, and sends me word,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. I shall have none, but Mordake, earl of Fife.

me sin

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