Henry IV

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.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood.

The edge of war, like an ill-sheathèd knife,
No more shall cut his master.
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Henry IV
Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stained with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.

O, that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay

The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
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How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,
That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?Personification

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
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Henry IV
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.
Warwick
It is but as a body yet distempered,
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine.
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cooled.
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I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in His secret doom, out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me.
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only marked
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings.
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God pardon thee. Yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood.

They surfeited with honey and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness,
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For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,
And even as I was then is Percy now.
Now, by my scepter, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou, the shadow of succession.

Now, by my scepter,
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Prince Hal
And God forgive them that so much have swayed
Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me.

And I will call him to so strict account
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.

I will redeem all this on Percy’s head,
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Thomas of Clarence, coming forward
What would my lord and father?
King
Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.

The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,
In forms imaginary,
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Westmoreland 
Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver.
Prince John your son doth kiss your Grace’s hand.
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all
Are brought to the correction of your law.
There is not now a rebel’s sword unsheathed,
But peace puts forth her olive everywhere.

O Westmoreland,
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