Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of Westmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaffe.
King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere Aboue yon busky hill: the day lookes pale At his distemperature Prin. The Southerne winde Doth play the Trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the Leaues, Fortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day
King. Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seeme foule to those that win.
The Trumpet sounds.
King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well That you and I should meet vpon such tearmes, As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust, And made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace, To crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele: This is not well, my Lord, this is not well. What say you to it? Will you againe vnknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre? And moue in the obedient Orbe againe, Where you did giue a faire and naturall light, And be no more an exhall'd Meteor, A prodigie of Feare, and a Portent Of broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times? Wor. Heare me, my Liege: For mine owne part, I could be well content To entertaine the Lagge-end of my life With quiet houres: For I do protest, I haue not sought the day of this dislike
King. You haue not sought it: how comes it then? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it
Prin. Peace, Chewet, peace
Wor. It pleas'd your Maiesty, to turne your lookes Of Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our House; And yet I must remember you my Lord, We were the first, and dearest of your Friends: For you, my staffe of Office did I breake In Richards time, and poasted day and night To meete you on the way, and kisse your hand, When yet you were in place, and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate, as I; It was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne, That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare The danger of the time. You swore to vs, And you did sweare that Oath at Doncaster, That you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State, Nor claime no further, then your new-falne right, The seate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaster, To this, we sware our aide: But in short space, It rain'd downe Fortune showring on your head, And such a floud of Greatnesse fell on you, What with our helpe, what with the absent King. What with the iniuries of wanton time, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious Windes that held the King So long in the vnlucky Irish Warres, That all in England did repute him dead: And from this swarme of faire aduantages, You tooke occasion to be quickly woo'd, To gripe the generall sway into your hand, Forgot your Oath to vs at Doncaster, And being fed by vs, you vs'd vs so, As that vngentle gull the Cuckowes Bird, Vseth the Sparrow, did oppresse our Nest Grew by our Feeding, to so great a builke, That euen our Loue durst not come neere your sight For feare of swallowing: But with nimble wing We were infor'd for safety sake, to flye Out of your sight, and raise this present Head, Whereby we stand opposed by such meanes As you your selfe, haue forg'd against your selfe, By vnkinde vsage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworne to vs in yonger enterprize
Kin. These things indeed you haue articulated, Proclaim'd at Market Crosses, read in Churches, To face the Garment of Rebellion With some fine colour, that may please the eye Of fickle Changelings, and poore Discontents, Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newes Of hurly burly Innouation: And neuer yet did Insurrection want Such water-colours, to impaint his cause: Nor moody Beggars, staruing for a time Of pell-mell hauocke, and confusion