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Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,

Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bow'r,

With ravishing division, to her lute.

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

The Lady speaks again in Welsh.

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this!

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down

And rest your gentle head upon her lap,

And she will sing the song that pleaseth you

And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,

Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,

Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep

As is the difference betwixt day and night

The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team

Begins his golden progress in the East.

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing.

By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do so,

And those musicians that shall play to you

Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,

And straight they shall be here. Sit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick,

quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

The music plays.

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;

And 'tis no marvel, be is so humorous.

By'r Lady, he is a good musician.

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are

altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the

lady sing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither! 'Tis a woman's fault.

Lady P. Now God help thee!

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.

Lady P. What's that?

Hot. Peace! she sings.

Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.

Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth? Heart! you swear like a

comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth!' and 'as true

as I

live!' and 'as God shall mend me!' and 'as sure as day!'

And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths

As if thou ne'er walk'st further than Finsbury.

Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

A good mouth-filling oath; and leave 'in sooth'

And such protest of pepper gingerbread

To velvet guards and Sunday citizens. Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor or be redbreast-teacher.

An

the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours;

and so

come in when ye will. Exit.

Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer. You are as slow

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,

And then to horse immediately.

Mort. With all my heart.

Exeunt.

Scene II. London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I

Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,

For we shall presently have need of you.

Exeunt Lords.

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 mark'd

For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven

To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,

Could such inordinate and low desires,

Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,

Such barren pleasures, rude society,

As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,

Accompany the greatness of thy blood

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could

Quit all offences with as clear excuse

As well as I am doubtless I can purge

Myself of many I am charged withal.

Yet such extenuation let me beg

As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,

Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear

By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers,

I may, for some things true wherein my youth

Hath faulty wand'red and irregular,

And pardon on lily true submission.

King. 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