THE HISTORY OF

KING HENRY IV.

PART II.

THE second portion of the History of Henry the Fourth is not considered equal to the opening part: the same fidelity of delineation in the strictly historical subjects is, however, preserved, as in the first part, and in the comic characters we have a rich addition in Justice Shallow, Silence, and their retainers. As a record of historical events, and in its truthful picture of the manners and habits of the times, the whole drama is, however, worthy of careful study by the youthful readers of Shakspeare. The action of this dramatic history takes up about nine years, commencing with the account of Hotspur's defeat and death at Shrewsbury, 1403, and closing with the death of Henry the Fourth, and the coronation of Henry the Fifth, 1412-13.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

HENRY, Prince of Wales; afterwards K. Hen. V.

THOMAS, Duke of Clarence,

PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOSTER,

PRINCE JOHN of Lancaster,

EARL OF WARWICK,

EARL OF WESTMORELAND,

EARL OF SURREY,

GOWER HARCOURT,

Of the KING's Party.

His Sons.

Sir WILLIAM GASCOIGNE, Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.

A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice.

EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND,

SCROOP, Archbishop of York.

LORD MOWBRAY,

LORD HASTINGS,

Lord Bardolph,

Sir JOHN COLevile,

Opposites to the KING.

TRAVERS and MORTON, Retainers of NORTHUMBERLAND.

Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.

His Page.

BARDOLPH.

PISTOL.

POINS.

PETO.

SHALLOW and SILENCE, Country Justices.

DAVY, Servant to SHALLOW.

MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULL-CALF, Recruits.

FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's Officers.

A Porter.

LADY NORTHUMBERLAND.

LADY PERCY.

Hostess QUICKLY.

Lords and Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Messenger, Drawers, Grooms, &c.

SCENE, ENGLAND.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—Warkworth Castle.

Enter LORD BARDOLPH.

L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here? ho!—

Enter Porter above the gate.

Where is the earl?

Port. What shall I say you are?

L. Bard.

Tell thou the earl,

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard: Please it your honor, knock but at the gate,

And he himself will answer.

L. Bard.

Here comes the earl.

[Exit Porter above.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem.

The times are wild: contention, like a horse

Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

L. Bard.

Noble earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an heaven will!

As good as heart can wish:h;

L. Bard.
The king is almost wounded to the death
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright. O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,

Came not till now to dignify the times,

Since Cæsar's fortunes!

North.

How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; A gentleman well bred, and of good name,

That freely render'd me these news for true.

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnish'd with no certainties,

More than he haply may retail from me.

Enter TRAVERS.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?
Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,

That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
North:

Ha!-Again:

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion

Had met ill luck?

L. Bard.

My lord, I'll tell you what;

If my young lord your son have not the day,

Upon mine honor, for a silken point

I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers, Give, then, such instances of loss?

L. Bard.

Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow, that had stolen

The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,

Spoke at a venture.-Look, here comes more news.

Enter MORTON.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretels the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask,
To fright our party.

North. How doth my son and brother?

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd;
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would'st say,-Your son did thus, and thus;
Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with-brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But, for my lord your son,-

North.

Why, he is dead.-
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,

That what he fear'd is chanc'd. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou thy earl his divination lies,

And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,

And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:

Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.

I see a strange confession in thine eye:

Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;

The tongue offends not, that reports his death :
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

L. Bird. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mɔr. I am sorry I should force you to believe

That which I would to heaven I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, (whose spirit lent a fire

Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)

Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest

Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
The sum of all

Is that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,

And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves.

Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Tra. This strainèd passion doth you wrong, my lord.

L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honor,
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices

Lean on your health; and which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas,
That if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one;
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.

Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods.

Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,

I hear for certain, and to speak the truth,

The gentle archbishop of York is up,

With well-appointed powers.

And more, and less, do flock to follow him.