The First Part of King Henry the Fourth1st World Publishing, 2005 - 112 Seiten KING. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. No more the thirsty entrance of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood. No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks March all one way and be no more oppos'd Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies. The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ- Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engag'd to fight- Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old, And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go. Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, What yesternight our Council did decree In forwarding this dear expedience. |
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Anon answer arms art thou BARDOLPH bear better blood BLUNT brother CARRIER charge comes cousin coward death devil dost doth Douglas EARL OF WESTMORELAND earth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith FALSTAFF Farewell father fear fight four Francis friends GADSHILL give GLENDOWER grace hand hang Harry hath head hear heart hold honour horse HOSTESS HOTSPUR hour I'll Jack John keep King LADY Lancaster leave live looks lord matter meet Mortimer never night noble NORTHUMBERLAND Peace Percy PETO plague play POINS poor pray Prince of Wales prisoners prithee reason rogue sack SCENE Scot Sir John soul speak stand sweet sword tell thee There's thing thou art thou hast thousand true VERNON Welsh WORCESTER York