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Introduction
The two parts of K'mg Henry IV- may be considered as one play in ten acts. It is probable that Shakespeare wenv on with little or no delay from the tirst part to its continuation in the second. Both were written before the entry ot llie lust in the Stationers' register, Feb. L'5, 15y7-y8 ; for the entry shows that the name of the tat knight, who originally appeared in both parts under the name of Oldcastle, had been already altered to Falstaft'. Meres makes mention of Htnry J V. .• and Ben Jonson, in Every Man Out of His Humour (1599), alludes to Justice Silence, one of the characters of the Second Part of Shakespeare's pl;'.y . The materials upon which Shakespeare worked in Henry IV. and Henry V. were obtained from Holinshed, and from an old play, full of vulgar mirth, and acted before 15N8, The Famous Victories of Henry V. Both parts of Henry I V. conaist ot a comedy and a history fused together. The hero of the one is the royal Bolingbroke, the hero of the other is Falstatf, while Prince Henry passes to and fro between the history and the comedy, servino- as the bond which unites the two. Henry IV. is the same Bolingbroke who had been so gre.otly conceived in Richard II. ; only he is no longer in the full force of his manhood. He is worn by care and toil, harassed by revolts and conspiracies, yet still resolved to hold hrmly what he has forcibly attained. There is a pathetic power in the tigure of this weary ambitious man, who can take no rest until the rest of death comes upon him.
Hotspur, who, to bring him into contrast with the Prince is made much younger than the Harry Percy ot history, is a-s ardent in the pursuit of glory as the Prince seems to be indifferent to it. To his hot temper aaid quick sense of personal honor small matters are great ; he does not see things in their true proportions ; he lacks self-control, he has no easiness of nature. Yet he is gallant, chivalrous, not devoid of generosity nor of quick affections, though never in a high sense disinteiested. Prince Hal, whom Shakespeare admires and loves more than any other person in English histoiy, afterwards to become Shakespeare's ideal king of England, rares little for mere reputation. He does not think much of himself and of his own honor; and while there is nothing to do, and his great father holds .ill power in his own right hand, he escapes from the cold proprieties of the court to the boisterous life and mirth of the tavern. He is, however, onb waiting for a call to action, and ShakesJ)eare declares that from the first he was conscious of hisgrea*: destiny, and while seeniinLC to scr-tter his force in frivolity, was holding his true self, welguarded .in reserve Falstaff is everything in little, or rather everything in inncli ; tor is ha not a tun of tiesh? English literature knows no numorous creation to set beside Falstaff; and to find his equal—yet his opposite— we must turn to tlie gaunt llgure of the romantic knight of LaMancha, in whose person Cc antes smiled away pathetically the chivalry of the :\Iiddle Ages from out our modem world. Falstaff exercises upon the reader of these play.s much the same fascination which he exercised upon ihe Prince. We know him to be a gross-bodied, self-indulgent old sinner, devoid of moral sense and of self-respect, and yet we cannot part with him. We cannot live in this world withcit humor, and Falstaff is humor maintaining its mastery against all antagonisms. W^e admit, however, the necessity of his utter banishment from Uenry, when Henry enters upon the grave responsibilifes of kingship. Still we have a tender thought for Sir John iii his exile from London taverns. And at the last, when he fumbles with the sheets and plays with flowers, when " a' went away, an it had been any christom child," we bid him adieu with a tear that does not forbid a smile, Ihe historical period represented bv 1 Henry /K. dates from the battle of Holmedon Hill, Sept. 14 1402, to the battle of Shrewsbury, July 21, 1403. 2 Henry IV, continues the history to the king', death ajwi the accession of Henry V., 1413.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Kino Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, | 4. ^.i tt-
.lOHN of Lancaster, } ''""^ ^ "^^ King,
Earl ob' Westmoreland.
Sir Walter Blttnt.
Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.
Henky Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, snrnamed Hotspttr, his sod Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, Ricii.\RD Scroop, Archbishop of York. Arciiip.ald, Earl of Douglas. Owen Glendower, Sir Richard Vernon, Sir John Falstaff.
KING HENRY TV. PART I.
[Act I.
Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York.
POINS.
Gadshill.
Peto.
Bardolph.
Lauy Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower,
and wife to Mortimer.
Mistress Quickly, liostess of a tavern in
Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintuer, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.
Scene : England.
Scene I. London. The palace
Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancaster, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
King. 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 commenced in strands afar remote. •fNo more the tbirsty entrance of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's
blood ; Nor more shall trenching war channel her
fields, Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven. All of one nature, of oue substance bred, 11 Did lately meet in the intestine shock Aud furious close of civil butchery Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming rauks, March all oue way and be no more opposed Against acquaintance, kindred and allies : The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife. No more shall cut his master. Therefore,
friends.
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engaged to fight, 21 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; Whose arms were moulded in their mothers'
womb To chase tnese 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 now is twelve month 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, 31 What yesternight our council did decree In forwarding this dear expedience.
West. My liege, this haste was hot m 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 Against the irregular aud wild Gleudower. 40
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman
taken, A thousand of his people butchered ; Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse.
Such beastly shameless transformation, By those Welshwomen done as may not be Without much shame retold or spoken of. King. It seems then that the tidings of this
broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This match' d with other did, my
gracious lord ; For more uneven and unwelcome news 50 Came from the north and thus it did import : On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met.
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery. And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. (31
. King. Here is a dear, a true industrious
friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; Aud he hath brought us smooth and welcome
news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited : Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty
knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon' s plains. Of prisoners, Hotsijur
took 70
Mordake the Earl of Fife, aud eldest son To beaten Douglas ; and the Earl of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, aud Menteith : And is not this an honorable spoil ? A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ?
West. In faith.
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. King. Yea, there thou makest me sad and
makest me sin In envy that my Lord Northumberland Should be the father to so blest a son, 80
A son who is the theme of honor's tongue ; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; Who is sweet Fortune's minion and iier pride : Whilst I, by looking on the ju-aise of him. See riot and dishonor stain the brow
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged In cradle-clothes our children where they laj', And cail'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. IK) JJut let him from my thoughts. What think
you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, Wliic'.'. he in this adventure hath surprised, To his: own use he keeps ; and sends me word, I shall have none hut Mordake Earl of Fife. West. This is his uncle's teaching ; this is
Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects ; Which makes him prune himself, and bristle
lip Tlie crest of youth agahist your dignity.
Kilt'/. But I liave sent for him to answer this ; 100
And for this cause awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor ; so inform the lords : But come yourself with sjieed to us again ; For more is to be said and to be done Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt.
ScENBlI. London. An apartment of the Prince's.
Eater the Prince of Wales and Falstaff.
Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
Prince. Thou art so fat-witied, with drinking of old sack and unbuttoning tliee after sup|)er and sleeping uiion benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day ? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoibus, he, ' that wanderi':'! knight so fair.' And, I prithee, sweet wa,;, when thou art king, as, God save thy grace, — majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none, — 20
Prince. What, none ?
Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
Prince. Well, how then ? come, roundly, roundly.
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of tlie night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty : let us be Diana's forestei's, gentienien of the shade, minions of the moon ; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal
Prince. Thou saycst well, and it holds well too ; for the fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now : a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most disscilutely spent on Tuesday morning ; got witli swearing ' Lay by ' and spent with crying ' Bring in ; ' now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ?
Prince. As the honey of Hybla, mj^ old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ? 49
Fat. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, in thy quii^s and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin ?
Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do witli my hostess of the tavern ?
Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part ?
Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast
paid all there. (iO
Prince. Yea,, and elsewhere, so far as my
coin would stretch ; and where it would not, I
have used my credit.
Fal. Yea, and so u.sed it that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir a])parent— But, I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution tlius foblied as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law ? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 70 Prince. No ; thou shalt.
Fal. Shall I ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
Prince. Thou judgest false already : I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps with my humor as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.
Prince. For obtaining of suits ? 80
Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.
Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch ?
Fal. Thou hast the most unsavory similes and art indeed the most comparative, rascallicst, sweet young jtrince. But, Hal, I prithee, troulile nic no more with vanity. I would to (Jod thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bouglit. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not ; and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded 25
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
[Act I,
Him not ; and yet he talked wisely, and in tlie street too.
Prince. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in the streets, aud no man regards it. 100
Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration aud art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal ; God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing ; and now ami, if a man should speak truly, little better tluvu oue of the wicked. I must gis'e over this life, and I will give it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain : I'll be damned for never a king's sou in Christeudom.
Prince. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack ? Ill
Fal. 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad ; I'll make one ; an I do not, call me villain aud baffle me.
Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; from praying to purse-taking.
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.
Enter Poins.
Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him ? This is the mo.st omnipotent villain that ever cried ' Stand ' to a true man.
Prince. Good morrow, Ned.
Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse ? what says Sir John Sack and Sugar ? Jack ! how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg V 129
Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs : he will give the devil his due.
Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.
Prince. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.
Poms. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill ! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with ricli offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses : I have vizards for you all ; you have horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies' to-night in Rochester : I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap : we may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.
Fal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home aud go not, I'll hang you for going. 150
Poins. You will, chops ?
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ?
Prince. Who, I rob ? la thief ? not I, Uy my faith.
Fal. Tliere's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand lor tea shiUing^
Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. 160
Fal. Why, that's well said.
Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
Prvice. I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone : I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go. 169
Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief ; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell : you shall find me in Eastcheap.
Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring ! farewell, All-hallown summer ! {Exit Falstaf.
Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow : I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaflf, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill shall rob those men that we ha\e already waylaid : yourself and I will not be there ; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cu^ this head off from my shoulders.
Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth ?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail, aud then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves ; which they shall have no soou«r achieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall uot see: I'll tie them in the wood ; our vizards we will change after we leave them : and, sirrah. I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured ; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.
Prince. Well, I'll go with thee : provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit.
Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humor of your idleness : 220 Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
To smother up his beauty from the world, Tliat, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. By breakiug through the foul and ugly mists Of vapors that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing liolidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work ; But when they seldom come, they wish'd for
come, 230
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. Si, when this loose behavior I tlirow ofif .\nd [lay the debt I never promised, I5y how much better than my word I am, Uy so much shall 1 falsify men's hopes ; Antl like bright metjil on a sullen ground. My leforniation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more
eyes riian that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; 240
Redeeming time when men think least I will.
[Exit.
Scene III. London. The palace
Enter the King, Northumberi.and, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt,
icith others.
Kitifi. My blood hath been too cold and temperate.
Unapt to stir at thc^e indignities,
And you have found me ; for accordingly .ou tread upon my patience : but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself.
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ;
Whicli hatli been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Whicli the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
War. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 10
Tlie scourge of greatness to be used on it ;
And tliat same greatness too which our own liands
Ha\e holp to make so portly.
Xorlh. My lord, —
Kiiii/. Worcester, get thee gone ; for I do see
D.inger and disobedience in thine eye :
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory.
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us : when we need 20
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
[Exit Wor.
You were about to speak. [To Xorth.
Xnrth. Yea, ray good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded.
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took.
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deiiver'd to your majesty:
Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But I remember, when the fight was done, 30 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly
dress'd.
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new
reap'd Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; He was perfumed like a milliner ; And 'twixthis finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, whicli ever and anon He gave his nose and took't away again ; Who therewith angry, when it next came
there, 40
Took it in snuff ; and still he smiled and
talk'd.
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly. To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me ; amongst the rest, demanded My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being
cold.
To be so pesterd with a popinjay, 50
Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly I know not what. He should or he should not ; for he made me
mad To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns and drums and wounds, — God save
the mark ! — And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; And that it was great pity, so it was. This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 60 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, •Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. This bald uii jointed chat of his, my lord, I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your higli majesty. Blunt. The circumstance cousider'd, good
my lord, 7C
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said To such a person and in such a place, At such a time, with all the rest retold, May reasonably die and never rise To do him wrong or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now.
Kiufj. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, But with proviso and exception, That we at our own charge shall ransom
straight His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 80 Who, on ray ,<oul, hath wilfully betrav'd The lives of those that he «itd lead to iSght
KING HENBY IV. PART I.
[Act \.
Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower, ^V'hose daugliter, as we hear, the Earl of
March Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ? Shall we'bny treason ? and indent with fears. When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; For I sliall never hold that man my friend 90 Whose tongue shall ask me for one peuuy cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer !
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war : to jtrove that true Needs no more but oue tongue for all those
wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he
took.
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand. He did confound the best part of an hour 100 In changing hardiment with great Glendower : Three times they breathed and three times did
they drink.
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfuHy among the trembling reeds. And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Color her working with such deadly wounds ; Nor never could the noble Mortimer 110
Receive so many, and all willingly : Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him ; He never did encounter with Glendower : I tell thee.
He durst as well have met the devil alone As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art thou not ashamed ? But. sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 120
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your sou. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. \_Exexint King Heimj, Blunt, and train. Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them : I will after straight And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, Albeit I make a hazard of my head. North. What, drunk withcholer ? stay and pause awhile : Here comes your uncle.
Re-enter Worcester.
-Jfet Speak of Mortimer ! 130
'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let roy
8onl Want m«rcy, if I do act join witli ]iiai :
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins. And shed my dear blood drop by drop iu the
dust, But I will lift tlie down-trod Mortimer As liigh in the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. Xorth. Brother, the king hath made your
nephew mad.
War. Who struck this heat up after I was
gone ?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; And when I urged the ransom once again 441 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd
pale.
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him : was not he proclaim' d By Richard that dead is the next of blood ? North. He was ; I heard the proclamation : And then it was M'hen the unhappy king, — Whose wrongs in us God pardon ! — did set
forth Upon his Irish expedition ; 150
From whence lie intercepted did return To be deposed and sliortly murdered.
Wor. And loi' whose death we in the world's wide mouth Live scandalized and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, 1 pray you ; did King Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown ?
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