ACT I
SCENE I. London. The palace.
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[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]
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KING HENRY IV.
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So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
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Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
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And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
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To be commenced in strands afar remote.
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No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
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Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
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Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
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Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
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Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
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Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
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All of one nature, of one substance bred,
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Did lately meet in the intestine shock
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And furious close of civil butchery
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Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
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March all one way and be no more opposed
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Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
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The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
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No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
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As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
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Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
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We are impressed and engaged to fight,
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Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
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Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
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To chase these pagans in those holy fields
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Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
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Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
[169]
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For our advantage on the bitter cross.
[170]
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But this our purpose now is twelve month old,
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And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
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Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
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Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
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What yesternight our council did decree
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In forwarding this dear expedience.
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WESTMORELAND.
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My liege, this haste was hot in question,
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And many limits of the charge set down
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But yesternight: when all athwart there came
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A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
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Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
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Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
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Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
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Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
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A thousand of his people butchered;
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Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
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Such beastly shameless transformation,
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By those Welshwomen done as may not be
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Without much shame retold or spoken of.
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KING HENRY IV.
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It seems then that the tidings of this broil
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Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
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WESTMORELAND.
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This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
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For more uneven and unwelcome news
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Came from the north and thus it did import:
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On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
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Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
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That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
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At Holmedon met,
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Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
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As by discharge of their artillery,
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And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
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For he that brought them, in the very heat
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And pride of their contention did take horse,
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Uncertain of the issue any way.
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KING HENRY IV.
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Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
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Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
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Stain'd with the variation of each soil
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Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
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And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
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The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
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Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
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Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
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On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
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Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
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To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
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Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
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And is not this an honourable spoil?
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A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
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WESTMORELAND.
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In faith,
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It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
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KING HENRY IV.
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Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
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In envy that my Lord Northumberland
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Should be the father to so blest a son,
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A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
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Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
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Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
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Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
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See riot and dishonour stain the brow
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Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
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That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
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In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
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And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
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Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
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But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
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Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
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Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
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To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
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I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
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WESTMORELAND.
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This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
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Malevolent to you in all aspects;
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Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
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The crest of youth against your dignity.
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KING HENRY IV.
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But I have sent for him to answer this;
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And for this cause awhile we must neglect
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Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
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Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
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Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
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But come yourself with speed to us again;
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For more is to be said and to be done
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Than out of anger can be uttered.
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WESTMORELAND.
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I will, my liege.
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[Exeunt]