This musick mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad,
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.

Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich.
Thanks, noble peer;
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who travelling towards
York.

With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime master's face.
D, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle
How went he under him?
[friend,
Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the
ground.

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on
his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.

Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down

(Since pride must have a fall), and break the

neck

Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I wast not made a horse;
And yet, I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper with a Dish.

Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer
stay.
[To the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert

away.

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my
heart shall say.
[Exit.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

pains;

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to
London
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be for-
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. [got;

Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of CARLISLE.
Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West-
minster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:--
Choose out some secret place, some reverend

room,

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So, as thou livest in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Keep. My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Ex-Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies ton, who [trary. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Lately came from the king, commands the con- Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou and thee! hast wrought

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
[Beats the Keeper.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, and then EXTON strikes

[need,

A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.That hand shall burn iu never quenching fire, Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow. fierce hand [own land. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's And put on sullen black incontinent: Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here To wash this blood from off my guilty hand:to die. [Dies. March sadly after; grace my mournings here, Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt.

him down.

Persons Represented.

Earl of WESTMORELAND, Friends to the King LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to

SCENE-England.

K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this
broil

Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gra-
cious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,

And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

[friend,
K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;|
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome
The earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty
knights,

[news.

Balk'd in their own blood, did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur
Mordake earl of Fife, and eldest son [took
To beaten Douglas, and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st truly know. What the devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata; I see no reason why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Ful. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, that wandering knight so fuir. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,--as, God save thy grace (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none),

P. Hen. What, none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be-Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government: being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we-steal.

P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely

mak'st me sin

In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow

Of my young Harry. Oh, that it could be prov'd,
That some night tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine-Percy, his-Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts:-What think
you, coz',

Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners.
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd,
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is
Worcester,

Malevolent to you in all aspects;
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this:
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter HENEY, Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper,

snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearinglay by; and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin, a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman,

[brave judge.

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort of jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

A A

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hon. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes: and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not and yet he talk'd very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the

street too.

P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of
the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten
shillings.
[mad-cap.

P. Hen. Well, then once in my days I'll be a
Fal. Why, that's well said.

[home.

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when P. Hen. I care not. [thou art king. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execnte, Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration; and art, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee we have already way-laid; yourself and I will for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew no-not be there: and when they have the booty, if thing; and now am I, if a man should speak you and I do not rob them, cut this head from truly, little better than one of the wicked. Imy shoulders. [setting forth? must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me.

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee: from praying, to purse-taking.

Enter POINS, at a distance.

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins! -Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man,

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. [for us.

P. Hen. But, I doubt they will be too hard Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; Poins, Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at friday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs,hewill give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. [the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester; I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; If you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged.

Fal. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home,
and go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? [faith.
P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor

supper; how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest.

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins Farewell, my lord. [Exit PoINS.

P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while up-
The unyok'd humour of your idleness: [hold
Yet herein will I imitate the sun;
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wondered at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for