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  • Title: Henry IV, Part 1 (Quarto 1, 1598)
  • Editor: Rosemary Gaby
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-371-7

    Copyright Rosemary Gaby. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Rosemary Gaby
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Henry IV, Part 1 (Quarto 1, 1598)

    of Henrie the fourth.
    For heauen to earth some of vs neuer shall
    A second time do such a courtesie.
    Here they embrace the trumpets sound,the king enters with his
    2890power, alarme to the battel, then enter Douglas, and sir Wal-
    ter Blunt.
    Blunt. What is thy name that in battell thus thou crossest me,
    What honour dost thou seeke vpon my head?
    Doug. Know then my name is Douglas,
    2895And I do haunt thee in the battell thus
    Because some tell me that thou art a king.
    Blunt. They tell thee true.
    Doug. The Lord of Stafford deare to day hath bought
    Thy likenesse, for in steed of thee king Harry
    2900This sword hath ended him, so shall it thee
    Vnlesse thou yeeld thee as my prisoner.
    Blunt. I was not borne a yeelder thou proud Scot,
    And thou shalt find a king that will reuenge
    Lord Staffords death.
    They fight, Douglas kils Blunt, then enter Hotspur.
    Hot. O Douglas hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus
    I neuer had triumpht vpon a Scot.
    Doug. Als done, als won here, breathles lies the king.
    Hot. Where?
    Doug. Here.
    Hot. This Douglas? no, I know this face full well,
    A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt,
    Semblably furnisht like the king himselfe.
    Doug. Ah foole, goe with thy soule whither it goes,
    2915A borrowed title hast thou bought too deare.
    Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
    Hot. The king hath many marching in his coates.
    Doug. Now by my sword I will kill al his coates.
    Ile murder all his wardrop, peece by peece
    2920Vntill I meete the king.
    Hot. Vp and away,
    Our souldiers stand full fairely for the day.
    Alarme, Enter Falstalffe solus.
    Falst. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I feare the
    2925shot here, heres no skoring but vpon the pate. Soft, who are you?
    sir Walter Blunt, theres honour for you, heres no vanitie, I am as