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William Shakespeare - King Henry IV, Part I

William Shakespeare - King Henry IV, Part I

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Published by Jason Bentley
A history by William Shakespeare
A history by William Shakespeare

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Published by: Jason Bentley on Jun 25, 2007
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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1 KING HENRY IVDRAMATIS PERSONAEKING HENRYthe Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)HENRY,Prince of Wales(PRINCE HENRY:)|| sons of the KingJOHN of Lancaster(LANCASTER:)|WESTMORELAND:SIR WALTER BLUNT:THOMAS PERCYEarl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)HENRY PERCYEarl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)HENRY PERCYsurnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)EDMUND MORTIMEREarl of March. (MORTIMER:)RICHARD SCROOPArchbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)ARCHIBALDEarl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)OWEN GLENDOWER:SIR RICHARD VERNON(VERNON:)SIR JOHN FALSTAFF(FALSTAFF:)SIR MICHAELa friend to the Archbishop of York.POINS:GADSHILL:PETO:BARDOLPH:FRANCISa waiter.LADY PERCYwife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.LADY MORTIMERdaughter to Glendower,and wife to Mortimer.MISTRESS QUICKLYhostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
 
and an Ostler.(Sheriff:)(Vintner:)(Chamberlain:)(First Carrier:)(Second Carrier:)(First Traveller:)(Servant:)(Messenger:)(Ostler:)SCENEEngland.1 KING HENRY IVACT ISCENE ILondon. The palace.[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARLof WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]KING HENRY IVSo shaken as we are, so wan with care,Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,And breathe short-winded accents of new broilsTo be commenced in strands afar remote.No more the thirsty entrance of this soilShall daub her lips with her own children's blood;Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofsOf 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 shockAnd furious close of civil butcheryShall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,March all one way and be no more opposedAgainst 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 crossWe are impressed and engaged to fight,Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' wombTo chase these pagans in those holy fieldsOver whose acres walk'd those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nail'dFor our advantage on the bitter cross.
 
But this our purpose now is twelve month old,And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hearOf you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,What yesternight our council did decreeIn forwarding this dear expedience.WESTMORELANDMy liege, this haste was hot in question,And many limits of the charge set downBut yesternight: when all athwart there cameA post from Wales loaden with heavy news;Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wild Glendower,Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,A thousand of his people butchered;Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,Such beastly shameless transformation,By those Welshwomen done as may not beWithout much shame retold or spoken of.KING HENRY IVIt seems then that the tidings of this broilBrake off our business for the Holy Land.WESTMORELANDThis match'd with other did, my gracious lord;For more uneven and unwelcome newsCame 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 heatAnd pride of their contention did take horse,Uncertain of the issue any way.KING HENRY IVHere is a dear, a true industrious friend,Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.Stain'd with the variation of each soilBetwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter seeOn Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur tookMordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest sonTo beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:And is not this an honourable spoil?A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?WESTMORELANDIn faith,It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.KING HENRY IVYea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sinIn envy that my Lord Northumberland

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