There without ransom to lie forfeited;
Disgraced me in my happy victories,

Sought to entrap 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 seek out
This head of safety; and withal to pry
Into his title, the which now we find
Too indirect for long continuance.

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?
Hot. Not so, Sir Walter: we'll withdraw awhile.
Go to the King; and let there be impawn'd
Some surety for a safe return again,

And in the morning early shall my uncle

Bring him our purposes: and so, farewell.

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love.
Hot. And may be so we shall.

Blunt.

Pray God you do.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-York. A Room in the Archbishop's Palace. Enter the Archbishop of YORK and Sir MICHAEL. Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief 1 With winged haste to the Lord Marshal; 2

This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest

To whom they are directed.

If you knew

1 A brief is a short writing, as a letter.

2 The office of Lord Marshal was hereditary in the Mowbray family. The Lord Marshal at this time was Thomas Mowbray.

How much they do import, you would make haste.

Sir M. My good lord,

I guess their tenour.

Arch.

Like enough you do.

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly given to understand,

The King, with mighty and quick-raised power,
Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,
What with the sickness of Northumberland,

Whose power was in the first proportion,

And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
Who with them was a rated sinew too,3

And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies, —

I fear the power of Percy is too weak

To wage an instant trial with the King.

Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; there's

Douglas

And Lord Mortimer.

Arch.

No, Mortimer's not there.

Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,

And there's my Lord of Worcester; and a head

Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.

Arch. 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 Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt;
And many more corrivals and dear men

Of estimation and command in arms.

3 A strength on which they reckoned.

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed. Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, 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 haste. I must go write again To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.The King's Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY, LANCASTER, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.

King. How bloodily the Sun begins to peer Above yon bosky1 hill! the day looks pale

At his distemperature.

Prince.

The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

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

[The Trumpet sounds.

1 Bosky is woody, bushy. So in Milton's Comus :

I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side.

Enter WORCESTER and VERNON.

How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust;
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs 2 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 orb3 again
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhaled 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;4 for, I do protest,

I have not sought the day of this dislike.

King. You have not sought it! why, how comes it, then? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prince. Peace, chewet,5 peace!

2 The King was at this time but thirty-six years old. But in his development of historical characters Shakespeare had little regard to dates, so he could bring the substance of historic truth within the conditions of dramatic effect; and he here anticipates several years in the King's life, that he may make Prince Henry old enough for the course of action ascribed to him. 3 Obedient orb is orbit of obedience. The Poet often has orb for orbit. 4 Hours is here a dissyllable.

5 The meaning of chewet is thus explained from Bacon's Natural History: "As for chuets, which are likewise minced meat, instead of butter and fat, it were good to moisten them partly with cream, or almond and pistachio

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed. Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, 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 haste. I must go write again To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The King's Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY, LANCASTER, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.

King. How bloodily the Sun begins to peer

1

Above yon bosky hill! the day looks pale
At his distemperature.

Prince.

The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

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

[The Trumpet sounds.

1 Bosky is woody, bushy. So in Milton's Comus:

I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side.