-being a fragment MS in the autograph of Mr. W. Shakespeare, of uncertain provenance, & from the final pages of a historie derived from the English chronicles to be performed in the interim sequence between 'King Henry IV Part 2' and 'King Henry V'-
Enter Mick and Gutsall in great merriment.
Mick: And I told him in troth if she had been Yet bigger and more salted - what! Is this The royal chamber here? Ah yes - methinks The coronation sounds in yonder hall Where good Prince Hal awaits - There! Oh Gutsall, Dear Gutsall, tis the royal jewel itself! Gutsall: It is. Well blagger my most runcied bungs I had not thought to see it in my life. Is't guarded? Mick: There's none here. All's quiet at court. Th'old king is dead. What blessed chance is this - What unforeseen and wond'rous boon of fate! The portent's clear - the time has come anon For a new king, some fine and noble man Whom God has led here by His will this morn. Gutsall: What, I? Mick: No! - me, you blubbered whale flesh. There, There lies my destiny. Crown me swift, friend.
Gutsall take up the crown, places it on Mick.
Gutsall: Tis heavy! Mick: Yes, it weighs of history. Gutsall: My liege. Mick: My most loved subject. Rise, Sir Guts. Gutsall: Sir Guts! Oh that sounds good to these fat ears.
Enter Page.
Page: What treason's this? Gutsall: Boy! Kneel before thy king And master! Wretched slave! Mick: Tis true - I'm king. Page: Woulds't thou usurp Henry before he's crown'd? Die ye villain! Wrongful, hateful king!
Page draws his sword, smites King Mick in the side, seizes the crown. King Mick falls, Gutsall hides. Page runs his sword through King Mick's gut, gullet and head, slices his ears and nose, hacks off his feet and hands, cuts open the heart in his chest and spits into it. King Mick lives yet - he moans. Page: Ye damned rebel, die! You dastard, die!
Page stabs King Mick a dozen times in full face, punches the wounds fiercely, kicks him abundantly in the skull. Exit Page.
Gutsall: The king is murdered! Help! Oh me - he moves! Mick: I live yet! Help me up - oh no, I die.
King Mick dies. Trumpets sound and Gutsall flees. Enter King Henry the Fifth - newly crowned, with heralds, attendant Lords, Lord Chief Justice, Page, and divers others.
Henry: What's happened? What? What's happened, I say? What?
Page: The scruff Mick crowned himself, I ran him through With this red sword, and brought the diadem To you, my honoured majesty and king. Henry: So you have slain the odious little man! Good good. Come, sweep him up, boy - there's a dear, That blood can be just murderous to shift.
Lord Justice: Ahem. Methinks a monarch's speech here might Be fitting of your sacred divine right To rule this land. Orate for us awhile - Commence your kingly duties in fine style. Henry: Oh now, must I? Lords: You must, Sire. Henry: Christ. Alright: For in this scepter'd isle the times hath known An host of rulers; great and troubled throne It sat them all. A line of mighty kings Unjust and just, both bless'd and curs'd throughout The long and vexed history that they made. We beseech our honoured subjects full to know The turning wheel of rule doth run on smooth And roughened earth alike, stops not for peace Or war, its purpose is to order men That want for order, and hence to release Those men that wrongful order hath enslaved. And we have come to know when times are sick Our land must suffer idiots like King Mick Who, though he held full power in this court, His rule - like he - was cretinous and short. We call upon the scribes to note anon This history - King Mick hath been. And gone. In our great realm where there ne'er yet hath been So foul and fair and sodding sad a scene. How went't? Lord Justice: Not bad. Not bad at all, Sire. Henry: Sweet.