SCENE, the Palace in LONDON:

Enter King Henry in bis Night-gown, with a Page.

K. HENRY.

G But, tre they come,

But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters.

And well confider of them: make good speed.

[Exit Page.

How many thousands of my pooreft Subjects
Are at this hour afleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature's foft Nurfe, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And feep my fenfes in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in fmoaky cribs,
Upon uneafie pallets ftretching thee,

And huht with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,
Under the Canopies of coftly State,

And lull'd with founds of fweetest melody?
O thou dull God, why ly'ft thou with the vile
In loathfom beds, and leav'ft the kingly couch
A watch cafe, or a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy maft,
Seal up the fhip boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious Surge;
And in the vifitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flip'ry fhrouds,
That, with the hurley, death it self awakes?
Can't thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose

To

To the wet fea-boy in an hour fo rude?
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a King? then, happy low! lye down;
Uneafie lyes the head, that wears a Crown.
Enter Warwick and Surrey.

War. Many good morrows to your Majesty!
K. Henry. Is it good morrow, lords?

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Henry. (12) Why, then, good morrow to you! Well, my lords,

Have you read o'er the letters I fent you?

War: We have, my Liege.

K. Henry. Then you perceive the body of our Kingdom,

How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.
War. It is but as a body, yet diftemper'd,
Which to its former ftrength may be restor'd,
With good advice and little medicine;
My lord Northumberland will foon be cool'd.

K. Henry. Oh heav'n, that one might read the book of fate,

And fee the revolution of the times.

Make Mountains level, and the Continent,

Weary of folid firmness, melt it felf

Into the Sea; and, other times, to fee

The beachy girdle of the Ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips: how Chances mock,

(12) Why then good morrow to you all, my Lords:

Have you read o'er, &c.] I must account for the Change I have ventur'd at here. In the preceding Page the King fends Letters to Surrey and Warwick, with Charge that they should read them and attend him. Accordingly here Surrey and Warwick come, and no body elfe, in Obedience to that Summons. The King would hardly have faid Good morrow to You All, to two Peers, and no more. My Emendation wants no further Support, than This naked Stating of the Cafe,

And

And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! Ô, if this were seen,
The happiest youth viewing his progrefs through,
What perils paft, what crosses to enfue,

Wou'd fhut the book, and fit him down and die.
"Tis not ten Years gone,

Since Richard and Northumberland,

great Friends,
Did feaft together; and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years fince,
This Percy was the man neareft my foul;
Who, like a brother, toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my fake, ev'n to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by?
(You, coufin Nevil, as I may remember)
When Richard, with his eye brim-full of tears,
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy.
• Northumberland, thou ladder by the which

[To Wari

5 My coufin Bolingbroke afcends my Throne :
(Though then, Heav'n knows, I had no fuch intent
But that Neceffity fo bow'd the State,

That I and Greatnefs were compell'd to kifs:)
The time shall come, (thus did he follow it,)
The time will come, that foul fin, gathering head,
• Shall break into corruption: fo went on,
Foretelling this fame time's condition,
And the divifion of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the Nature of the times deceas'd;
The which obferv'd, a man may prophefie,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their feeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured.

Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And by the neceffary form of this,

King Richard might create a perfect guefs,
That great Northumberland, then falfe to him,
Would of that feed grow to a greater falfeness,
Which fhould not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on You.

K. Henry.

K. Henry. Are these things then neceffities?
Then let us meet them like neceffities;

And that fame word even now cries out on us :
They say, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.

War. It cannot be :

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your Grace
To go to bed. Upon my life, my lord,
The Pow'rs, that you already have fent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.

To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain inftance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majefty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unfeafon'd hours perforce must add
Unto your fickness.

K. Henry. I will take your counfel:

And were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Justice Shallow's Seat in
Gloucefterfhire.

Enter Shallow and Silence, Juftices; with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf.

NOME on, come on, come on; give me

Shal. Coy
COM

your hand, Sir; an early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my good coufin Silence?

Sil, Good morrow, good coufin Shallow..

Shal. And how doth my coufin, your bed-fellow ? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, coufin Shallow.

Shal. By yea and nay, Sir, I dare fay, my coufin William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

Sil. Indeed, Sir, to my coft.

Shal. He must then to the Inns of Court fhortly: I was once of Clement's-Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

You were call'd lufty Shallow then, coufin.

So I was call'd any thing, and I would have done any thing, indeed, too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bere, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cot'sqold man, you had not four fuch swinge bucklers in all the Inns of Court again: and I may fay to you, we knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, (now Sir John) a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

Sil. This Sir John, coufin, that comes hither anòn about Soldiers ?

Shal. The fame Sir John, the very fame: I faw him break Schoggan's head at the Court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus high; and the very fame day I did fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer behind GraysInn. O the mad days that I have fpent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead?

Sil. We fhall all follow, coufin.

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain, very fure, very fute: Death (as the Pfalmift faith) is certain to all, all shall die. How a good yoke of Bullocks at Stamford Fair ? Sil. Truly, coufin, I was not there.

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?

Sil. Dead, Sir.

Shal. Dead! fee, fee, he drew a good bow: and dead? he shot a fine fhoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much mony on his head. Dead! he would have clapt in the clowt at twelve score, and car ried you a fore-hand fhaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to fee. How a fcore of ewes now?

Sil. Thereafter as they be: a fcore of good ewes may be worth ten pounds.

Shal. And is old Double dead ?

Enter