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Which by thy younger brother is supplied,

And art almost an alien to the hearts

Of all the court and princes of my blood.

The hope and expectation of thy time

Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man

Prophetically do forethink thy fall.

Had I so lavish of my presence been,

So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,

So stale and cheap to vulgar company,

Opinion, that did help me to the crown,

Had still kept loyal to possession

And left me in reputeless banishment,

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.

By being seldom seen, I could not stir

But, like a comet, I Was wond'red at;

That men would tell their children, 'This is he!'

Others would say, 'Where? Which is Bolingbroke?'

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

And dress'd myself in such humility

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths

Even in the presence of the crowned King.

Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,

My presence, like a robe pontifical,

Ne'er seen but wond'red at; and so my state,

Seldom but sumptuous, show'd like a feast

And won by rareness such solemnity.

The skipping King, he ambled up and down

With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,

Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state;

Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools;

Had his great name profaned with their scorns

And gave his countenance, against his name,

To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push

Of every beardless vain comparative;

Grew a companion to the common streets,

Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;

That, being dally swallowed by men's eyes,

They surfeited with honey and began

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little

More than a little is by much too much.

So, when he had occasion to be seen,

He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

Heard, not regarded- seen, but with such eyes

As, sick and blunted with community,

Afford no extraordinary gaze,

Such as is bent on unlike majesty

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;

But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down,

Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect

As cloudy men use to their adversaries,

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.

And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege

With vile participation. Not an eye

But is aweary of thy common sight,

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;

Which now doth that I would not have it do-

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,

Be more myself.

King. 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 sceptre, and my soul to boot,

He hath more worthy interest to the state

Than thou, the shadow of succession;

For of no right, nor colour like to right,

He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,

Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,

And, Being no more in debt to years than thou,

Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on

To bloody battles and to bruising arms.

What never-dying honour hath he got

Against renowmed Douglas! whose high deeds,

Whose hot incursions and great name in arms

Holds from all soldiers chief majority

And military title capital

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.

Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,

This infant warrior, in his enterprises

Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,

Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up

And shake the peace and safety of our throne.

And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

The Archbishop's Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer

Capitulate against us and are up.

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,

Which art my nearest and dearest enemy'

Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,

Base inclination, and the start of spleen,

To fight against me under Percy's pay,

To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,

To show how much thou art