SCENE I. London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, [Sir
Walter Blunt,] with 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 commenc\'d in stronds 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 flow\'rets with the armed
hoofs Of hostile paces. Those opposed 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 illsheathed
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 engag\'d to fight- Forthwith a power of English shall
we levy, Whose arms were moulded in their mother\'s womb 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 now is 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 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 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;