1. Scene I. The King's Camp near Shrewsbury.
[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt,
and Sir John Falstaff.]
How bloodily the Sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
Then with the losers let it sympathize,
For nothing can seem foul to those that win.--
[The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester and Vernon.]
How, now, my Lord of Worcester! 'tis not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust;
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.
What say you to't? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war,
And move in that obedient orb again
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhaled meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times?
Hear me, my liege:
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life
With quiet hours; for I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
You have not sought it! why, how comes it, then?
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
Peace, chewet, peace!