Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well-read, and profited

In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,
And wondrous affable, and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself even of his natural scope
When you do cross his humour; faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive

Might so have tempted him as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof:

But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;

And since your coming hither have done enough
To put him quite beside his patience.

You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,
And that's the dearest grace it renders you,
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain:
The least of which haunting a nobleman
Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

Beguiling them of commendation.

Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

Re-enter GLENDOWER, with Lady MORTIMER and Lady PERCY. Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,

My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend. My daughter weeps: she will not part with you; She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

Mort. Good father, tell her she and my aunt Percy Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

[Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd har

lotry,

One no persuasion can do good upon.

[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.

Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

In such a parley should I answer thee.

[Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh.

I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,

And that's a feeling disputation:

But I will never be a truant, love,

Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,

With ravishing division, to her lute.

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run quite mad. [Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer again in Welsh. Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this!

Glend. She bids you

Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep,
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do so;

And those musicians that shall play to you

Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;

Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

[The music plays.

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel he's so humorous.

By'r lady, he's a good musician.

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.

Lady P. Now God help thee!

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady P. What's that?

Hot. Peace! she sings.

[A Welsh song sung by Lady Mortimer.

Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear like a comfit-maker's wife! "Not you, in good sooth;" and "as true as I live;" and "as God shall mend me;" and " as sure as day;"

And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

As if thou ne'er walk'dst further than Finsbúry.
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

A good mouth-filling oath; and leave "in sooth,"
And such protést of pepper-gingerbread,

To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.

Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. "Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.

[Exit.

Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book 's drawn; we'll but seal, and then
To horse immediately.

SCENE II. London. A room in the palace.

[Exeunt.

Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY, and Lords.

K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I Must have some private conference: but be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.

I know not whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life,
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,

[Exeunt Lords.

Such poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,

As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,

Accompany the greatness of thy blood,

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse

As well as I am doubtless I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,

Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,

Find pardon on my true submission.

K. Hen. God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing

Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man
Prophetically does forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at;

-

That men would tell their children, "This is he;" Others would say, "Where, which is Bolingbroke?" And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

And dress'd myself in such humility

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crownèd king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, showèd like a feast,
And won by rareness such solemnity.

The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state;
Mingled his royalty with capering fools;
Had his great name profanèd with their scorns;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative;