ACT V SCENE I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt and Sir John Falstaff. KING. How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon bulky hill! The day looks pale At his distemp’rature. PRINCE. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blust’ring day. KING. 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 it? 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? WORCESTER. 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. KING. You have not sought it? How comes it, then? FALSTAFF. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. PRINCE. Peace, chewet, peace! WORCESTER. It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks Of favour from myself and all our house; And yet I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you my staff of office did I break In Richard’s time, and posted day and night To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother, and his son, That brought you home, and boldly did outdare The dangers of the time. You swore to us, And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state, Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster. To this we swore our aid. But in short space It rain’d down fortune show’ring on your head, And such a flood of greatness fell on you, What with our help, what with the absent King, What with the injuries of a wanton time, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious winds that held the King So long in his unlucky Irish wars That all in England did repute him dead: And from this swarm of fair advantages You took occasion to be quickly woo’d To gripe the general sway into your hand, Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And, being fed by us, you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo’s bird, Useth the sparrow—did oppress our nest, Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk That even our love durst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforced, for safety sake to fly Out of your sight, and raise this present head,