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FIRST PART

OF

KING HENRY IV.

BY

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

From the Text of the Rev. Alexander Dyce's

Second Edition,

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THE FIRST PART

OF

KING HENRY IV.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
KING HENRY the Fourth. OWEN GLENDOWER.
HENRY, prince of

SIR RICHARD VERNON.
Wales,

sons to the Sir John FALSTAFF. PRINCE JOHN of King. SIR MICHAEL, a friend to the Lancaster,

Archbishop of York.
EARL OF WESTMORELAND. POINTZ.
SIR WALTER BLUNT.

GADSHILL.
THOMAS PERCY, earl of Worces- PETO.
ter.

BARDOLPH. HENRY PERCY, earl of Northumberland.

LADY PERCY, wife to Hotspur, HENRY PERCY, surnamed Hot. and sister to Mortimer. SPUR, his son.

LADY MORTIMER, daughter to EDMUND MORTIMER, earl of Glendower, and wife to MorMarch.

timer. SCROOP, archbishop of York. MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a ARCHIBALD, earl of Douglas. tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two

Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.

SCENE — England.

ACT 1. SCENE I. London. A room in the palace. Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND, Sir WALTER BLUNT,

and others. K. Hen. 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 strands 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 flowerets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposèd 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-sheathéd knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessèd cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' wombs
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 is a 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.

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was,

- that the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

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