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*** Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious Offers from the King,
If you vouchsafe më hearing, and respect.

Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt : and would to God,
You were of our determination;
Some of us love you well; and ev'n those Some
Envy your great deservings, and good name,
Because you are not of our quality;
But stand against us like an enemy.
So long as our of limit, and trúe rule,
Blunt. And heav'n defend, but still I should stand so,

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You stand against anointed Majesty.
But, to my Charge-The King hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil

peace
Such bold hoftility, feaching his dutious Land
Audacious cruelty. :-If that the King oss
Have deserts forgot,
any way your go

-
Which he confeffeth to be manifold,
He bids you name your griefs : and with all speed
You shall have your desires, with intereft:
And pardon absolute for your sell, and these,
Herein mis-led by your suggestion.

Hot. The King is kind: and well we know, the King
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father and my uncle,

and my felf,
Did give him thầt fame Royalty he wears: 3
And when he was not fix and twenty strong,
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded Out-law, sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the Thore :
And when we heard him fwear, and vow to God,
He came to be but Duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery and beg his peace, ***
With tears of innocenee and terms of zeal;
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him-affiftaneez and perform'd it too.
Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realm
Perceiv'd, Northumberland did lean to him,
Vol. III,

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They

They, more and less, came in with cap and knee;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages,
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
Gave him their heirs, as pages following him
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, as Greatness knows it self,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Raverspurg:
And now, forfooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain Edicts, and some strait Decrees,
That lay too heavy on the Common-wealth;
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs; and by this face,
This seeming brow of justice, did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for:
Proceeded further, cut me off the heads
Of all the Fav'rites that the absent King
In Deputation left behind him here,
When he was personal in the Irislo war.

Blunt. I came not to hear this.

Hot. Then, to the point.
In short time after, he depos’d the King,
Soon after Thar depriv'd him of his life :
And, in the neck of That, cask'd the whole State.
To make that worfe, suffer'd his kinsman March,
(Who is, if every Owner were right plac'd,
Indeed, his King) to be encag'd in Wales, ,
There without ransom to lie torfeited:
Disgrac'd me in my happy Victorics,
Sought to intrap me by intelligence,
Rated my uncle from the Council-board,
In rage dismiss'd my father from the Court,
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong,
And in conclusion drove us to feek out
This head of safety, and withal to pry.
Into his Title too, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance..
Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?

Hot.

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Hól. Not so; Sir Walters 'we'll withdraw a while:
Go to the King, and let there be impawn'd
Some Surety for a safe return again;
And in the morning early fall my unele
Bring him our purposes : and fo farewel.

Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love!
Hot. It may be, fo we shall.
Blunt. Pray heav'n, you do!

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Archbishop of York's

Patace.

Dici Enter the Archbishop of York, and Sir Michen. York. fealed

With winged hafte to the Lord Marethal : This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest To whom they are directed: if you knew How much they do import, you wou'd make hafte.

Sir Mich. My lord, l'guess their tenour.

York. Like enough.
To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must bide the touch. For, Sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly giv'n to underftand,
The King, with mighty and quick-raised Power,
Meets with lord Harry; and I fear, Sir Michell,
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
Whose Pow'r was in the first proportion;
And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
Who with them was a fated finew too,
And comes not in, o'er-rül'd by prophecies ;
I fear, the Pow'r of Percy is too weak,
To wage an instant tryal with the King.

Sir Mich. Why, my good lord, there's Doriglas, and lord Mortimer. York. No, Mortimer is not there.

. Sir Mich. But there is Mordako, Vernon, Harry Porcy, And there's my lord of Worcester, and a haadi Of gallant Warriors, noble gentlemen.

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York.

York. And so there is : but yet the King hath drawn The special head of all the Land together: The Prince of Wales, lord John of

Lancaster, The noble Westmorland, and warlike Blunt ; And many more corrivals, and dear men. Ofeftimation and command in arms. Sir Mich. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well

oppos'd. York. I hope no less: yet, needful 'tis to fear. And to prevent the worst, Sir Michell, speed; For if lord Percy thrive not, ere the King Dismiss his Power, he means to visit us; For he hath heard of our Confederacy, And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him: Therefore make hafte, I must go write again To other friends, and so farewel, Sir Michell. [Exeunt.

ACT V:

SCENE, the Camp at Shrewsbury. Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lord John

of Lancaster, Earl of Wellmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff.

K. HENRY.

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O w bloodily the Sun begins to peer
Above yon buský hill! the day looks pale

At his distemperature.
P. Henry. The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes,
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretels a tempest, and a blust'ring day.

K, Henry. Then with the losers let it sympathize,
For nothing can seem foul to those that win:

[The Trumpet sounds. .

Enter

Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon, K. Henry, How now, my lord of Worster ? :'cis not well,

Hii . That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our Trust, And made üs doff our easie robes of Peace, To crush our old limbs in 'ungentle steel : This is not well, my lord, this is not well. What say you to't? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient Orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light; And be no more an exhal'd meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief, to the unborn times ?

Wor. Hear me, my Liege: For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours: for I do proteft, I have not fought the day of this dislike. K. Henry. You have not sought it, Sir? how comes

it then ? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. (20)

(20) Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prince. Peace, Chevet, peace.] This, I take to be an arbitrary Refinement of Mr. Pope's : nor can I easily agree, that Chevet is ShakeSpeare's Word here. Why should Prince Henry call Falstaff Bolster, for interposing in the Discourse betwixt the King and Worcester With Submislion, he does not take him up here for his unreasonable Size, but for his ill-tim'd unseasonable Chattering. I therefore have preferr'd the Reading of the Old Books. A Chewet, or Chuet, is a noily chattering Bird, a Pie. This carries a proper Reproach to Falsaf for his meddling and impertinent Jeft. And besides, if the Poet had intended that the Prince should fleer at Falstaff, on Account of his Corpulency, I doubt not, but he would have call'd him Bolster in plain English, and not have wrapp'd up the Abuse in the French Word Chevet. In another Passage of this Play, the Prince honestly calls him Quilt ; 'Tis pity, Mr. Pope did not turn this into Lodier, or Materas, if his French would extend so far. As to Prince Henry, his Stock in this Language was fa small, that when he comes to be King, he hammers out one small Sentence of it to Princess Catharine, and tells her, It is as easy for him conquer the Kingdom as to speak so much more French.

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P. Henry

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