night, and we must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door?

Re-enter BARDOLPH.

How now? what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; a dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]Farewell, hostess ;-farewell, Doll.-You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches:-If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak;-If my heart be not ready to burst:-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester, and a truer-hearted man,-Well, fare thee well.

Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet,

Host. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master. Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. [Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter King HENRY in his nightgown, with a Page. K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of War

wick;

But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them: Make good speed.

[Exit Page.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,

In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,

A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell 55 ?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the shipboy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet seaboy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter WARWICK and SURREY.

War. Many good morrows to your majesty!
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords?

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

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?
War. We have, my liege.

K. Hen. 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, distemper'd;
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
With good advice, and little medicine:
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

K. Hen. O heaven! that one might read the book

of fate;

And see the revolution of the times

Make mountains level, and the continent
(Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself
Into the sea! and, other times, to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration

With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,

The happiest youth,-viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue,―

Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.

'Tis not ten years gone,

Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and, in two years after,
Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by 56,
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,)

[To Warwick.
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
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;-
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent;
But that necessity so bow'd the state,

That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:
The time shall come, thus did he follow it,

The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption:—so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition,
And the division of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd:
The which observ'd, a man may prophecy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds,
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And, by the necessary form of this,

King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root upon,

Unless on you.

K. Hen.

Are these things then necessities?

Then let us meet them like necessities:

And that same word even now cries out on us;

They say,

Are fifty thousand strong.

the bishop and Northumberland

War.

It cannot be, my lord;

lord,

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
The powers that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance, that Glendower is dead.