Host. Thou art vniust man in saying so; thou, or anieman knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou
Prince. Thou say'st true Hostesse, and he slanders theemost grossely
Host. So he doth you, my Lord, and sayde this otherday, You ought him a thousand pound
Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?Falst. A thousand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue isworth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue
Host. Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said heewould cudgell you
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?Bar. Indeed Sir Iohn, you said so
Fal. Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper
Prince. I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good as thy word now? Fal. Why Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the roaring of the Lyons Whelpe
Prince. And why not as the Lyon?Fal. The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nayif I do, let my Girdle breake
Prin. O, if it should, how would thy guttes fall about thy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth, nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Woman with picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudent imbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houses, and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie other iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you will stand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not asham'd? Fal. Do'st thou heare Hal? Thou know'st in the state of Innocency, Adam fell: and what should poore Iacke Falstaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou seest, I haue more flesh then another man, and therefore more frailty. You confesse then you pickt my Pocket? Prin. It appeares so by the Story
Fal. Hostesse, I forgiue thee:Go make ready Breakfast, loue thy Husband,Looke to thy Seruants, and cherish thy Guests:Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason:Thou seest, I am pacified still.Nay, I prethee be gone.
Exit Hostesse.
Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad?How is that answered?Prin. O my sweet Beefe:I must still be good Angell to thee.The Monie is paid backe againe
Fal. O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a doubleLabour
Prin. I am good Friends with my Father, and may doanything
Fal. Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st,and do it with vnwash'd hands too
Bard. Do my Lord
Prin. I haue procured thee Iacke, A Charge of Foot
Fal. I would it had beene of Horse. Where shal I finde one that can steale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and twentie, or thereabout: I am heynously vnprouided. Wel God be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but the Vertuous. I laud them, I praise them
Prin. Bardolph
Bar. My Lord
Prin. Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of LancasterTo my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Westmerland,Go Peto, to horse: for thou, and I,Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time.Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple HallAt two a clocke in the afternoone,There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiueMoney and Order for their Furniture.The Land is burning, Percie stands on hye,And either they, or we must lower lye
Fal. Rare words! braue world.Hostesse, my breakfast, come:Oh, I could wish this Tauerne were my drumme.
Exeunt. omnes.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Harrie Hotspurre, Worcester, and Dowglas.
Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truthIn this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,Such attribution should the Dowglas haue,As not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe,Should go so generall currant through the world.By heauen I cannot flatter: I defieThe Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer placeIn my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord
Dow. Thou art the King of Honor:No man so potent breathes vpon the ground,But I will Beard him.Enter a Messenger.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there?I can but thanke you
Mess. These Letters come from your Father
Hot. Letters from him?Why comes he not himselfe?Mes. He cannot come, my Lord,He is greeuous sicke
Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now,In such a iustling time? Who leades his power?Vnder whose Gouernment come they along?Mess. His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde
Wor. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?Mess. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I set forth:And at the time of my departure thence,He was much fear'd by his Physician
Wor. I would the state of time had first beene whole,Ere he by sicknesse had beene visited:His health was neuer better worth then now
Hotsp. Sicke now? droope now? this sicknes doth infectThe very Life-blood of our Enterprise,'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.He writes me here, that inward sicknesse,And that his friends by deputationCould not so soone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,To lay so dangerous and deare a trustOn any Soule remou'd, but on his owne.Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertisement,That with our small coniunction we should on,To see how Fortune is dispos'd to vs:For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,Because the King is certainely possestOf all our purposes. What say you to it?Wor. Your Fathers sicknesse is a mayme to vs
Hotsp. A perillous Gash, a very Limme lopt off:And yet, in faith, it is not his present wantSeemes more then we shall finde it.Were it good, to set the exact wealth of all our statesAll at one Cast? To set so rich a mayneOn the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,It were not good: for therein should we readeThe very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,The very List, the very vtmost BoundOf all our fortunes
Dowg. Faith, and so wee should,Where now remaines a sweet reuersion.We may boldly spend, vpon the hopeOf what is to come in:A comfort of retyrement liues in this
Hotsp. A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto,If that the Deuill and Mischance looke biggeVpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires
Wor. But yet I would your Father had beene here:The qualitie and Heire of our AttemptBrookes no diuision: It will be thoughtBy some, that know not why he is away,That wisedome, loyaltie, and meere dislikeOf our proceedings, kept the Earle from hence.And thinke, how such an apprehensionMay turne the tyde of fearefull Faction,And breede a kinde of question in our cause:For well you know, wee of the offring side,Must keepe aloofe from strict arbitrement,And stop all sight-holes, euery loope, from whenceThe eye of reason may prie in vpon vs:This absence of your Father drawes a Curtaine,That shewes the ignorant a kinde of feare,Before not dreamt of
Hotsp. You strayne too farre.I rather of his absence make this vse:It lends a Lustre, and more great Opinion,A larger Dare to your great Enterprize,Then if the Earle were here: for men must thinke,If we without his helpe, can make a HeadTo push against the Kingdome; with his helpe,We shall o're-turne it topsie-turuy downe:Yet all goes well, yet all our ioynts are whole
Dowg. As heart can thinke:There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland,At this Dreame of Feare.Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
Hotsp. My Cousin Vernon, welcome by my Soule
Vern. Pray God my newes be worth a welcome, Lord.The Earle of Westmerland, seuen thousand strong,Is marching hither-wards, with Prince Iohn
Hotsp. No harme: what more?Vern. And further, I haue learn'd,The King himselfe in person hath set forth,Or hither-wards intended speedily,With strong and mightie preparation
Hotsp. He shall be welcome too.Where is his Sonne,The nimble-footed Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales,And his Cumrades, that daft the World aside,And bid it passe?Vern. All furnisht, all in Armes,All plum'd like Estridges, that with the WindeBayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath'd,Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images,As full of spirit as the Moneth of May,And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid-summer,Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls.I saw young Harry with his Beuer on,His Cushes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd,Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds,To turne and winde a fierie Pegasus,And witch the World with Noble Horsemanship
Hotsp. No more, no more,Worse then the Sunne in March:This prayse doth nourish Agues: let them come.They come like Sacrifices in their trimme,And to the fire-ey'd Maid of smoakie Warre,All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them:The mayled Mars shall on his Altar sitVp to the eares in blood. I am on fire,To heare this rich reprizall is so nigh,And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse,Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt,Against the bosome of the Prince of Wales.Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to HorseMeete, and ne're part, till one drop downe a Coarse?Oh, that Glendower were come
Ver. There is more newes:I learned in Worcester, as I rode along,He cannot draw his Power this fourteene dayes
Dowg. That's the worst Tidings that I heare ofyet
Wor. I by my faith, that beares a frosty sound
Hotsp. What may the Kings whole Battaile reachvnto?Ver. To thirty thousand
Hot. Forty let it be,My Father and Glendower being both away,The powres of vs, may serue so great a day.Come, let vs take a muster speedily:Doomesday is neere; dye all, dye merrily
Dow. Talke not of dying, I am out of feareOf death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare.
Exeunt. Omnes.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.
Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le to Sutton-cop-hill to Night
Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?Falst. Lay out, lay out
Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell
Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it make twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end
Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.Enter.
Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a sowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse damnably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie Souldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me none but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire me out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd twice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues, as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as feare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole, or a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes and Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then Pinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices: And now, my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as ragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were neuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged, then an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the roomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd Prodigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the dead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile not march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if they had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my Company: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together, and throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds Coat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth, stolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose Inne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde Linnen enough on euery Hedge. Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.
Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt? Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill do'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmerland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already beene at Shrewsbury
West. 'Faith, Sir Iohn, 'tis more then time that I were there, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie. The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we must away all to Night
Falst. Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, tosteale Creame
Prince. I thinke to steale Creame indeed, for thy thefthath alreadie made thee Butter: but tell me, Iack, whosefellowes are these that come after?Falst. Mine, Hal, mine
Prince. I did neuer see such pittifull Rascals
Falst. Tut, tut, good enough to tosse: foode for Powder, foode for Powder: they'le fill a Pit, as well as better: tush man, mortall men, mortall men
Westm. I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceeding poore and bare, too beggarly
Falst. Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where they had that; and for their barenesse, I am sure they neuer learn'd that of me
Prince. No, Ile be sworne, vnlesse you call three fingers on the Ribbes bare. But sirra, make haste, Percy is already in the field
Falst. What, is the King encamp'd?Westm. Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee shall stay toolong
Falst. Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginningof a Feast, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Guest.
Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.
Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night
Worc. It may not be
Dowg. You giue him then aduantage
Vern. Not a whit
Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?Vern. So doe wee
Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull
Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night
Vern. Doe not, my Lord
Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:You speake it out of feare, and cold heart
Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,And I dare well maintaine it with my Life,If well-respected Honor bid me on,I hold as little counsaile with weake feare,As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.Let it be seene to morrow in the Battell,Which of vs feares
Dowg. Yea, or to night
Vern. Content
Hotsp. To night, say I
Vern. Come, come, it may not be.I wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you areThat you fore-see not what impedimentsDrag backe our expedition: certaine HorseOf my Cousin Vernons are not yet come vp,Your Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,And now their pride and mettall is asleepe,Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,That not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe
Hotsp. So are the Horses of the EnemieIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:The better part of ours are full of rest
Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:For Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.
The Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect
Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:And would to God you were of our determination.Some of vs loue you well: and euen those someEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,Because you are not of our qualitie,But stand against vs like an Enemie
Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,You stand against anoynted Maiestie.But to my Charge.The King hath sent to knowThe nature of your Griefes, and whereuponYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,Such bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious LandAudacious Crueltie. If that the KingHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,Which he confesseth to be manifold,He bids you name your Griefes, and with all speedYou shall haue your desires, with interest;And Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,Herein mis-led, by your suggestion
Hotsp. The King is kinde:And well wee know, the KingKnowes at what time to promise, when to pay.My Father, my Vnckle, and my selfe,Did giue him that same Royaltie he weares:And when he was not sixe and twentie strong,Sicke in the Worlds regard, wretched, and low,A poore vnminded Out-law, sneaking home,My Father gaue him welcome to the shore:And when he heard him sweare, and vow to God,He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,To sue his Liuerie, and begge his Peace,With teares of Innocencie, and tearmes of Zeale;My Father, in kinde heart and pitty mou'd,Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.Now, when the Lords and Barons of the RealmePerceiu'd Northumberland did leane to him,The more and lesse came in with Cap and Knee,Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages,Attended him on Bridges, stood in Lanes,Layd Gifts before him, proffer'd him their Oathes,Gaue him their Heires, as Pages followed him,Euen at the heeles, in golden multitudes.He presently, as Greatnesse knowes it selfe,Step me a little higher then his VowMade to my Father, while his blood was poore,Vpon the naked shore at Rauenspurgh:And now (forsooth) takes on him to reformeSome certaine Edicts, and some strait Decrees,That lay too heauie on the Common-wealth;Cryes out vpon abuses, seemes to weepeOuer his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face,This seeming Brow of Iustice, did he winneThe hearts of all that hee did angle for.Proceeded further, cut me off the HeadsOf all the Fauorites, that the absent KingIn deputation left behinde him heere,When hee was personall in the Irish Warre
Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this
Hotsp. Then to the point.In short time after, hee depos'd the King.Soone after that, depriu'd him of his Life:And in the neck of that, task't the whole State.To make that worse, suffer'd his Kinsman March,Who is, if euery Owner were plac'd,Indeede his King, to be engag'd in Wales,There, without Ransome, to lye forfeited:Disgrac'd me in my happie Victories,Sought to intrap me by intelligence,Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord,In rage dismiss'd my Father from the Court,Broke Oath on Oath, committed Wrong on Wrong,And in conclusion, droue vs to seeke outThis Head of safetie; and withall, to prieInto his Title: the which wee findeToo indirect, for long continuance
Blunt. Shall I returne this answer to the King?Hotsp. Not so, Sir Walter.Wee'le with-draw a while:Goe to the King, and let there be impawn'dSome suretie for a safe returne againe,And in the Morning early shall my VnckleBring him our purpose: and so farewell
Blunt. I would you would accept of Grace and Loue
Hotsp. And't may be, so wee shall
Blunt. Pray Heauen you doe.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter the Arch-Bishop of Yorke, and Sir Michell.
Arch. Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this sealed BriefeWith winged haste to the Lord Marshall,This to my Cousin Scroope, and all the restTo whom they are directed.If you knew how much they doe import,You would make haste
Sir Mich. My good Lord, I guesse their tenor
Arch. Like enough you doe.To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,Wherein the fortune of ten thousand menMust bide the touch. For Sir, at Shrewsbury,As I am truly giuen to vnderstand,The King, with mightie and quick-raysed Power,Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell,What with the sicknesse of Northumberland,Whose Power was in the first proportion;And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence,Who with them was rated firmely too,And comes not in, ouer-rul'd by Prophecies,I feare the Power of Percy is too weake,To wage an instant tryall with the King
Sir Mich. Why, my good Lord, you need not feare,There is Dowglas, and Lord Mortimer
Arch. No, Mortimer is not there
Sir Mic. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,And there is my Lord of Worcester,And a Head of gallant Warriors,Noble Gentlemen
Arch. And so there is, but yet the King hath DrawneThe speciall head of all the Land together:The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,The Noble Westmerland, and warlike Blunt;And many moe Corriuals, and deare menOf estimation, and command in Armes
Sir M. Doubt not my Lord, he shall be well oppos'dArch. I hope no lesse? Yet needfull 'tis to feare,And to preuent the worst, Sir Michell speed;For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the KingDismisse his power, he meanes to visit vs:For he hath heard of our Confederacie,And, 'tis but Wisedome to make strong against him:Therefore make hast, I must go write againeTo other Friends: and so farewell, Sir Michell.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle ofWestmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaffe.
King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peereAboue yon busky hill: the day lookes paleAt his distemperaturePrin. The Southerne windeDoth play the Trumpet to his purposes,And by his hollow whistling in the Leaues,Fortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day
King. Then with the losers let it sympathize,For nothing can seeme foule to those that win.
The Trumpet sounds.
Enter Worcester.
King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not wellThat you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,And made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,To crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele:This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.What say you to it? Will you againe vnknitThis churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre?And moue in the obedient Orbe againe,Where you did giue a faire and naturall light,And be no more an exhall'd Meteor,A prodigie of Feare, and a PortentOf broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times?Wor. Heare me, my Liege:For mine owne part, I could be well contentTo entertaine the Lagge-end of my lifeWith quiet houres: For I do protest,I haue not sought the day of this dislike
King. You haue not sought it: how comes it then?Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it
Prin. Peace, Chewet, peace
Wor. It pleas'd your Maiesty, to turne your lookesOf Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our House;And yet I must remember you my Lord,We were the first, and dearest of your Friends:For you, my staffe of Office did I breakeIn Richards time, and poasted day and nightTo meete you on the way, and kisse your hand,When yet you were in place, and in accountNothing so strong and fortunate, as I;It was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne,That brought you home, and boldly did out-dareThe danger of the time. You swore to vs,And you did sweare that Oath at Doncaster,That you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,Nor claime no further, then your new-falne right,The seate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaster,To this, we sware our aide: But in short space,It rain'd downe Fortune showring on your head,And such a floud of Greatnesse fell on you,What with our helpe, what with the absent King.What with the iniuries of wanton time,The seeming sufferances that you had borne,And the contrarious Windes that held the KingSo long in the vnlucky Irish Warres,That all in England did repute him dead:And from this swarme of faire aduantages,You tooke occasion to be quickly woo'd,To gripe the generall sway into your hand,Forgot your Oath to vs at Doncaster,And being fed by vs, you vs'd vs so,As that vngentle gull the Cuckowes Bird,Vseth the Sparrow, did oppresse our NestGrew by our Feeding, to so great a builke,That euen our Loue durst not come neere your sightFor feare of swallowing: But with nimble wingWe were infor'd for safety sake, to flyeOut of your sight, and raise this present Head,Whereby we stand opposed by such meanesAs you your selfe, haue forg'd against your selfe,By vnkinde vsage, dangerous countenance,And violation of all faith and trothSworne to vs in yonger enterprize
Kin. These things indeed you haue articulated,Proclaim'd at Market Crosses, read in Churches,To face the Garment of RebellionWith some fine colour, that may please the eyeOf fickle Changelings, and poore Discontents,Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newesOf hurly burly Innouation:And neuer yet did Insurrection wantSuch water-colours, to impaint his cause:Nor moody Beggars, staruing for a timeOf pell-mell hauocke, and confusion
Prin. In both our Armies, there is many a souleShall pay full dearely for this encounter,If once they ioyne in triall. Tell your Nephew,The Prince of Wales doth ioyne with all the worldIn praise of Henry Percie: By my Hopes,This present enterprize set off his head,I do not thinke a brauer Gentleman,More actiue, valiant, or more valiant yong,More daring, or more bold, is now aliue,To grace this latter Age with Noble deeds.For my part, I may speake it to my shame,I haue a Truant beene to Chiualry,And so I heare, he doth account me too:Yet this before my Fathers Maiesty,I am content that he shall take the oddesOf his great name and estimation,And will, to saue the blood on either side,Try fortune with him, in a Single Fight
King. And Prince of Wales, so dare we venter thee,Albeit, considerations infiniteDo make against it: No good Worster, no,We loue our people well; euen those we loueThat are misled vpon your Cousins part:And will they take the offer of our Grace:Both he, and they, and you; yea euery manShall be my Friend againe, and Ile be his.So tell your Cousin, and bring me word,What he will do. But if he will not yeeld,Rebuke and dread correction waite on vs,And they shall do their Office. So bee gone,We will not now be troubled with reply,We offer faire, take it aduisedly.
Exit Worcester.
Prin. It will not be accepted, on my life,The Dowglas and the Hotspurre both together,Are confident against the world in Armes
King. Hence therefore, euery Leader to his charge,For on their answer will we set on them;And God befriend vs, as our cause is iust.
Exeunt.
Manet Prince and Falstaffe.
Fal. Hal, if thou see me downe in the battell,And bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship
Prin. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that frendshipSay thy prayers, and farewell
Fal. I would it were bed time Hal, and all well
Prin. Why, thou ow'st heauen a death
Falst. 'Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay him before his day. What neede I bee so forward with him, that call's not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, Honor prickes me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come on? How then? Can Honour set too a legge? No: or an arme? No: Or take away the greefe of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No. What is Honour A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy'de a Wednesday. Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare it? No. Is it insensible then? yea, to the dead. But wil it not liue with the liuing? No. Why? Detraction wil not suffer it, therfore Ile none of it. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and so ends my Catechisme. Enter.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.
Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,The liberall kinde offer of the King
Ver. 'Twere best he did
Wor. Then we are all vndone.It is not possible, it cannot be,The King would keepe his word in louing vs,He will suspect vs still, and finde a timeTo punish this offence in others faults:Supposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;For Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,Who ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,Will haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:Looke how he can, or sad or merrily,Interpretation will misquote our lookes,And we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,The better cherisht, still the nearer death.My Nephewes Trespasse may be well forgot,It hath the excuse of youth, and heate of blood,And an adopted name of Priuiledge,A haire-brain'd Hotspurre, gouern'd by a Spleene:All his offences liue vpon my head,And on his Fathers. We did traine him on,And his corruption being tane from vs,We as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:Therefore good Cousin, let not Harry knowIn any case, the offer of the King
Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile say 'tis so.Heere comes your Cosin.Enter Hotspurre.
Hot. My Vnkle is return'd,Deliuer vp my Lord of Westmerland.Vnkle, what newes?Wor. The King will bid you battell presently
Dow. Defie him by the Lord of WestmerlandHot. Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so
Dow. Marry and shall, and verie willingly.
Exit Dowglas.
Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King
Hot. Did you begge any? God forbid
Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances,Of his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,By now forswearing that he is forsworne,He cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will scourgeWith haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs.Enter Dowglas.
Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrownA braue defiance in King Henries teeth:And Westmerland that was ingag'd did beare it,Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on
Wor. The Prince of Wales stept forth before the king,And Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight
Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,And that no man might draw short breath to day,But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,How shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt?Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my lifeDid heare a Challenge vrg'd more modestly,Vnlesse a Brother should a Brother dareTo gentle exercise, and proofe of Armes.He gaue you all the Duties of a Man,Trimm'd vp your praises with a Princely tongue,Spoke your deseruings like a Chronicle,Making you euer better then his praise,By still dispraising praise, valew'd with you:And which became him like a Prince indeed,He made a blushing citall of himselfe,And chid his Trewant youth with such a Grace,As if he mastred there a double spiritOf teaching, and of learning instantly:There did he pause. But let me tell the World,If he out-liue the enuie of this day,England did neuer owe so sweet a hope,So much misconstrued in his Wantonnesse,Hot. Cousin, I thinke thou art enamoredOn his Follies: neuer did I heareOf any Prince so wilde at Liberty.But be he as he will, yet once ere night,I will imbrace him with a Souldiers arme,That he shall shrinke vnder my curtesie.Arme, arme with speed. And Fellow's, Soldiers, Friends,Better consider what you haue to do,That I that haue not well the gift of Tongue,Can lift your blood vp with perswasion.Enter a Messenger.
Mes. My Lord, heere are Letters for you
Hot. I cannot reade them now.O Gentlemen, the time of life is short;To spend that shortnesse basely, were too long.If life did ride vpon a Dials point,Still ending at the arriuall of an houre,And if we liue, we liue to treade on Kings:If dye; braue death, when Princes dye with vs.Now for our Consciences, the Armes is faire,When the intent for bearing them is iust.Enter another Messenger.
Mes. My Lord prepare, the King comes on apace
Hot. I thanke him, that he cuts me from my tale:For I professe not talking: Onely this,Let each man do his best. And heere I draw a Sword,Whose worthy temper I intend to staineWith the best blood that I can meete withall,In the aduenture of this perillous day.Now Esperance Percy, and set on:Sound all the lofty Instruments of Warre,And by that Musicke, let vs all imbrace:For heauen to earth, some of vs neuer shall,A second time do such a curtesie.
They embrace, the trumpets sound, the King entereth with his power, alarum vnto the battell. Then enter Dowglas, and Sir Walter Blunt.
Blu. What is thy name, that in battel thus y crossest me?What honor dost thou seeke vpon my head?Dow. Know then my name is Dowglas,And I do haunt thee in the Battell thus,Because some tell me, that thou art a King
Blunt. They tell thee true
Dow. The Lord of Stafford deere to day hath boughtThy likenesse: for insted of thee King Harry,This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,Vnlesse thou yeeld thee as a Prisoner
Blu. I was not borne to yeeld, thou haughty Scot,And thou shalt finde a King that will reuengeLords Staffords death.
Fight, Blunt is slaine, then enters Hotspur.
Hot. O Dowglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thusI neuer had triumphed o're a Scot
Dow. All's done, all's won, here breathles lies the kingHot. Where?Dow. Heere
Hot. This Dowglas? No, I know this face full well:A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt,Semblably furnish'd like the King himselfe
Dow. Ah foole: go with thy soule whether it goes,A borrowed Title hast thou bought too deere.Why didst thou tell me, that thou wer't a King?Hot. The King hath many marching in his Coats
Dow. Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coates,Ile murder all his Wardrobe peece by peece,Vntill I meet the King
Hot. Vp, and away,Our Souldiers stand full fairely for the day.
Exeunt.
Alarum, and enter Falstaffe solus.
Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot heere: here's no scoring, but vpon the pate. Soft who are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as heauy too; heauen keepe Lead out of mee, I neede no more weight then mine owne Bowelles. I haue led my rag of Muffins where they are pepper'd: there's not three of my 150. left aliue, and they for the Townes end, to beg during life. But who comes heere? Enter the Prince
Pri. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword,Many a Nobleman lies starke and stiffeVnder the hooues of vaunting enemies,Whose deaths are vnreueng'd. Prethy lend me thy swordFal. O Hal, I prethee giue me leaue to breath awhile:Turke Gregory neuer did such deeds in Armes, as I hauedone this day. I haue paid Percy, I haue made him sure
Prin. He is indeed, and liuing to kill thee:I prethee lend me thy sword
Falst. Nay Hal, is Percy bee aliue, thou getst not mySword; but take my Pistoll if thou wilt
Prin. Giue it me: What, is it in the case?Fal. I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sacke a City.
The Prince drawes out a Bottle of Sacke.
Prin. What, is it a time to iest and dally now.
Enter.
Throwes it at him.
Fal. If Percy be aliue, Ile pierce him: if he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: Giue mee life, which if I can saue, so: if not, honour comes vnlook'd for, and ther's an end.
Exit
Scena Tertia.
Alarum, excursions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, and Earle of Westmerland.
King. I prethee Harry withdraw thy selfe, thou bleedest too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him
P.Ioh. Not I, My Lord, vnlesse I did bleed too
Prin. I beseech your Maiesty make vp,Least your retirement do amaze your friends
King. I will do so:My Lord of Westmerland leade him to his Tent
West. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent
Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;And heauen forbid a shallow scratch should driueThe Prince of Wales from such a field as this,Where stain'd Nobility lyes troden on,And Rebels Armes triumph in massacres
Ioh. We breath too long: Come cosin Westmerland,Our duty this way lies, for heauens sake come
Prin. By heauen thou hast deceiu'd me Lancaster,I did not thinke thee Lord of such a spirit:Before, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn;But now, I do respect thee as my Soule
King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point,With lustier maintenance then I did looke forOf such an vngrowne Warriour
Prin. O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all.Enter.
Enter Dowglas.
Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads:I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thoseThat weare those colours on them. What art thouThat counterfeit'st the person of a King?King. The King himselfe: who Dowglas grieues at hartSo many of his shadowes thou hast met,And not the very King. I haue two BoyesSeeke Percy and thy selfe about the Field:But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,I will assay thee: so defend thy selfe
Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit:And yet infaith thou bear'st thee like a King:But mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be,And thus I win thee.
They fight, the K[ing]. being in danger, Enter Prince.
Prin. Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art likeNeuer to hold it vp againe: the SpiritsOf valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;it is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,Who neuer promiseth, but he meanes to pay.
They Fight, Dowglas flyeth.
Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?Sir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,And so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight
King. Stay, and breath awhile.Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,And shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my lifeIn this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee
Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,That euer said I hearkned to your death.If it were so, I might haue let aloneThe insulting hand of Dowglas ouer you,Which would haue bene as speedy in your end,As all the poysonous Potions in the world,And sau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne
K. Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gausey.
Exit
Enter Hotspur.
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth
Prin. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name
Hot. My name is Harrie Percie
Prin. Why then I see a very valiant rebel of that name.I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy,To share with me in glory any more:Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere,Nor can one England brooke a double reigne,Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales
Hot. Nor shall it Harry, for the houre is comeTo end the one of vs; and would to heauen,Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine
Prin. Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee,And all the budding Honors on thy Crest,Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head
Hot. I can no longer brooke thy Vanities.
Fight.
Enter Falstaffe.
Fal. Well said Hal, to it Hal. Nay you shall finde noBoyes play heere, I can tell you.Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaffe, who fals down as if hewere dead.The Prince killeth Percie.
Hot. Oh Harry, thou hast rob'd me of my youth:I better brooke the losse of brittle life,Then those proud Titles thou hast wonne of me,They wound my thoghts worse, then the sword my flesh:But thought's the slaue of Life, and Life, Times foole;And Time, that takes suruey of all the world,Must haue a stop. O, I could Prophesie,But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art dustAnd food for-Prin. For Wormes, braue Percy. Farewell great heart:Ill-weau'd Ambition, how much art thou shrunke?When that this bodie did containe a spirit,A Kingdome for it was too small a bound:But now two paces of the vilest EarthIs roome enough. This Earth that beares the dead,Beares not aliue so stout a Gentleman.If thou wer't sensible of curtesie,I should not make so great a shew of Zeale.But let my fauours hide thy mangled face,And euen in thy behalfe, Ile thanke my selfeFor doing these fayre Rites of Tendernesse.Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heauen,Thy ignomy sleepe with thee in the graue,But not remembred in thy Epitaph.What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this fleshKeepe in a little life? Poore Iacke, farewell:I could haue better spar'd a better man.O, I should haue a heauy misse of thee,If I were much in loue with Vanity.Death hath not strucke so fat a Deere to day,Though many dearer in this bloody Fray:Imbowell'd will I see thee by and by,Till then, in blood, by Noble Percie lye.Enter.
Falstaffe riseth vp.
Falst. Imbowell'd? If thou imbowell mee to day, Ile giue you leaue to powder me, and eat me too to morow. 'Twas time to counterfet, or that hotte Termagant Scot, had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I am no counterfeit; to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for hee is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: But to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liueth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeede. The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in the which better part, I haue saued my life. I am affraide of this Gun-powder Percy though he be dead. How if hee should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid hee would proue the better counterfeit: therefore Ile make him sure: yea, and Ile sweare I kill'd him. Why may not hee rise as well as I: Nothing confutes me but eyes, and no-bodie sees me. Therefore sirra, with a new wound in your thigh come you along me.
Takes Hotspurre on his backe.
Enter Prince and Iohn of Lancaster.
Prin. Come Brother Iohn, full brauely hast thou fleshtthy Maiden sword
Iohn. But soft, who haue we heere?Did you not tell me this Fat man was dead?Prin. I did, I saw him dead,Breathlesse, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue?Or is it fantasie that playes vpon our eye-sight?I prethee speake, we will not trust our eyesWithout our eares. Thou art not what thou seem'st
Fal. No, that's certaine: I am not a double man: but if I be not Iacke Falstaffe, then am I a Iacke: There is Percy, if your Father will do me any Honor, so: if not, let him kill the next Percie himselfe. I looke to be either Earle or Duke, I can assure you
Prin. Why, Percy I kill'd my selfe, and saw thee dead
Fal. Did'st thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is giuen to Lying? I graunt you I was downe, and out of breath, and so was he, but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long houre by Shrewsburie clocke. If I may bee beleeued, so: if not, let them that should reward Valour, beare the sinne vpon their owne heads. Ile take't on my death I gaue him this wound in the Thigh: if the man were aliue, and would deny it, I would make him eate a peece of my sword
Iohn. This is the strangest Tale that e're I heard
Prin. This is the strangest Fellow, Brother Iohn.Come bring your luggage Nobly on your backe:For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,Ile gil'd it with the happiest tearmes I haue.
A Retreat is sounded.
The Trumpets sound Retreat, the day is ours:Come Brother, let's to the highest of the field,To see what Friends are liuing, who are dead.
Exeunt.
Fal. Ile follow as they say, for Reward. Hee that rewards me, heauen reward him. If I do grow great again, Ile grow lesse? For Ile purge, and leaue Sacke, and liue cleanly, as a Nobleman should do.
Exit
Scaena Quarta.
The Trumpets sound.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle ofWestmerland, with Worcester & Vernon Prisoners.
King. Thus euer did Rebellion finde Rebuke.Ill-spirited Worcester, did we not send Grace,Pardon, and tearmes of Loue to all of you?And would'st thou turne our offers contrary?Misuse the tenor of thy Kinsmans trust?Three Knights vpon our party slaine to day,A Noble Earle, and many a creature else,Had beene aliue this houre,If like a Christian thou had'st truly borneBetwixt our Armies, true Intelligence
Wor. What I haue done, my safety vrg'd me to,And I embrace this fortune patiently,Since not to be auoyded, it fals on mee
King. Beare Worcester to death, and Vernon too:Other offenders we will pause vpon.
Exit Worcester and Vernon.
How goes the Field?Prin. The Noble Scot Lord Dowglas, when hee sawThe fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,The Noble Percy slaine, and all his men,Vpon the foot of feare, fled with the rest;And falling from a hill, he was so bruiz'dThat the pursuers tooke him. At my TentThe Dowglas is, and I beseech your Grace,I may dispose of him
King. With all my heart
Prin. Then Brother Iohn of Lancaster,To you this honourable bounty shall belong:Go to the Dowglas, and deliuer himVp to his pleasure, ransomlesse and free:His Valour shewne vpon our Crests to day,Hath taught vs how to cherish such high deeds,Euen in the bosome of our Aduersaries
King. Then this remaines: that we diuide our Power.You Sonne Iohn, and my Cousin WestmerlandTowards Yorke shall bend you, with your deerest speedTo meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroope,Who (as we heare) are busily in Armes.My Selfe, and you Sonne Harry will towards Wales,To fight with Glendower, and the Earle of March.Rebellion in this Land shall lose his way,Meeting the Checke of such another day:And since this Businesse so faire is done,Let vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne.
Exeunt.
FINIS. The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and DeathofHENRY Sirnamed HOT-SPVRRE.
The Second Part of Henry the Fourth
Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Rumour.
Open your Eares: For which of you will stopThe vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor speakes?I, from the Orient, to the drooping West(Making the winde my Post-horse) still vnfoldThe Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride,The which, in euery Language, I pronounce,Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports:I speake of Peace, while couert Enmitie(Vnder the smile of Safety) wounds the World:And who but Rumour, who but onely IMake fearfull Musters, and prepar'd Defence,Whil'st the bigge yeare, swolne with some other griefes,Is thought with childe, by the sterne Tyrant, Warre,And no such matter? Rumour, is a PipeBlowne by Surmises, Ielousies, Coniectures;And of so easie, and so plaine a stop,That the blunt Monster, with vncounted heads,The still discordant, wauering Multitude,Can play vpon it. But what neede I thusMy well-knowne Body to AnathomizeAmong my houshold? Why is Rumour heere?I run before King Harries victory,Who in a bloodie field by ShrewsburieHath beaten downe yong Hotspurre, and his Troopes,Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion,Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane ITo speake so true at first? My Office isTo noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fellVnder the Wrath of Noble Hotspurres Sword:And that the King, before the Dowglas RageStoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.This haue I rumour'd through the peasant-Townes,Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie,And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone,Where Hotspurres Father, old Northumberland,Lyes crafty sicke. The Postes come tyring on,And not a man of them brings other newesThen they haue learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues,They bring smooth-Comforts-false, worse then True-wrongs.Enter.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter.
L.Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere hoa?Where is the Earle?Por. What shall I say you are?Bar. Tell thou the EarleThat the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere
Por. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard,Please it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate,And he himselfe will answer.Enter Northumberland.
L.Bar. Heere comes the Earle
Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'ry minute nowShould be the Father of some Stratagem;The Times are wilde: Contention (like a HorseFull of high Feeding) madly hath broke loose,And beares downe all before him
L.Bar. Noble Earle,I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury
Nor. Good, and heauen will
L.Bar. As good as heart can wish:The King is almost wounded to the death:And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne,Prince Harrie slaine out-right: and both the BluntsKill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince Iohn,And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field.And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn)Is prisoner to your Sonne. O, such a Day,(So fought, so follow'd, and so fairely wonne)Came not, till now, to dignifie the TimesSince Cęsars Fortunes
Nor. How is this deriu'd?Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury?L.Bar. I spake with one (my L[ord].) that came fro[m] thence,A Gentleman well bred, and of good name,That freely render'd me these newes for true
Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I sentOn Tuesday last, to listen after Newes.Enter Trauers.
L.Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way,And he is furnish'd with no certainties,More then he (haply) may retaile from me
Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes fro[m] you?Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Vmfreuill turn'd me backeWith ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd)Out-rod me. After him, came spurring headA Gentleman (almost fore-spent with speed)That stopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horse.He ask'd the way to Chester: And of himI did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury:He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke,And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold.With that he gaue his able Horse the head,And bending forwards strooke his able heelesAgainst the panting sides of his poore IadeVp to the Rowell head, and starting so,He seem'd in running, to deuoure the way,Staying no longer question
North. Ha? Againe:Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold?(Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion,Had met ill lucke?L.Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what,If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day,Vpon mine Honor, for a silken pointIle giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it
Nor. Why should the Gentleman that rode by TrauersGiue then such instances of Losse?L.Bar. Who, he?He was some hielding Fellow, that had stolneThe Horse he rode-on: and vpon my lifeSpeake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes.Enter Morton.
Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title-leafe,Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume:So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious FloodHath left a witnest Vsurpation.Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord)Where hatefull death put on his vgliest MaskeTo fright our party
North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy CheekeIs apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse,So dull, so dead in looke, so woe-be-gone,Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night,And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue:And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'st it.This, thou would'st say: Your Sonne did thus, and thus:Your Brother, thus. So fought the Noble Dowglas,Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds.But in the end (to stop mine Eare indeed)Thou hast a Sigh, to blow away this Praise,Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead
Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet:But for my Lord, your Sonne
North. Why, he is dead.See what a ready tongue Suspition hath:He that but feares the thing, he would not know,Hath by Instinct, knowledge from others Eyes,That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet speake (Morton)Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination Lies,And I will take it, as a sweet Disgrace,And make thee rich, for doing me such wrong
Mor. You are too great, to be (by me) gainsaid:Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine
North. Yet for all this, say not that Percies dead.I see a strange Confession in thine Eye:Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it Feare, or Sinne,To speake a truth. If he be slaine, say so:The Tongue offends not, that reports his death:And he doth sinne that doth belye the dead:Not he, which sayes the dead is not aliue:Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome NewesHath but a loosing Office: and his Tongue,Sounds euer after as a sullen BellRemembred, knolling a departing Friend
L.Bar. I cannot thinke (my Lord) your son is dead
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to beleeueThat, which I would to heauen, I had not seene.But these mine eyes, saw him in bloody state,Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd)To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downeThe neuer-daunted Percie to the earth,From whence (with life) he neuer more sprung vp.In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire,Euen to the dullest Peazant in his Campe)Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate awayFrom the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.For from his Mettle, was his Party steel'd;Which once, in him abated, all the restTurn'd on themselues, like dull and heauy Lead:And as the Thing, that's heauy in it selfe,Vpon enforcement, flyes with greatest speede,So did our Men, heauy in Hotspurres losse,Lend to this weight, such lightnesse with their Feare,That Arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme,Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their safety)Fly from the field. Then was that Noble WorcesterToo soone ta'ne prisoner: and that furious Scot,(The bloody Dowglas) whose well-labouring swordHad three times slaine th' appearance of the King,Gan vaile his stomacke, and did grace the shameOf those that turn'd their backes: and in his flight,Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The summe of all,Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath sent outA speedy power, to encounter you my Lord,Vnder the Conduct of yong LancasterAnd Westmerland. This is the Newes at full
North. For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes(Hauing beene well) that would haue made me sicke,Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.And as the Wretch, whose Feauer-weakned ioynts,Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fireOut of his keepers armes: Euen so, my Limbes(Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'd with greefe,Are thrice themselues. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,A scalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of SteeleMust gloue this hand. And hence thou sickly Quoife,Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,Which Princes, flesh'd with Conquest, ayme to hit.Now binde my Browes with Iron and approachThe ragged'st houre, that Time and Spight dare bringTo frowne vpon th' enrag'd Northumberland.Let Heauen kisse Earth: now let not Natures handKeepe the wilde Flood confin'd: Let Order dye,And let the world no longer be a stageTo feede Contention in a ling'ring Act:But let one spirit of the First-borne CaineReigne in all bosomes, that each heart being setOn bloody Courses, the rude Scene may end,And darknesse be the burier of the dead
L.Bar. Sweet Earle, diuorce not wisedom from your Honor
Mor. The liues of all your louing ComplicesLeane-on your health, the which if you giue-o'reTo stormy Passion, must perforce decay.You cast th' euent of Warre (my Noble Lord)And summ'd the accompt of Chance, before you saidLet vs make head: It was your presurmize,That in the dole of blowes, your Son might drop.You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edgeMore likely to fall in, then to get o're:You were aduis'd his flesh was capeableOf Wounds, and Scarres; and that his forward SpiritWould lift him, where most trade of danger rang'd,Yet did you say go forth: and none of this(Though strongly apprehended) could restraineThe stiffe-borne Action: What hath then befalne?Or what hath this bold enterprize bring forth,More then that Being, which was like to be?L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this losse,Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous Seas,That if we wrought out life, was ten to one:And yet we ventur'd for the gaine propos'd,Choak'd the respect of likely perill fear'd,And since we are o're-set, venture againe.Come, we will all put forth; Body, and Goods,Mor. 'Tis more then time: And (my most Noble Lord)I heare for certaine, and do speake the truth:The gentle Arch-bishop of Yorke is vpWith well appointed Powres: he is a manWho with a double Surety bindes his Followers.My Lord (your Sonne) had onely but the Corpes,But shadowes, and the shewes of men to fight.For that same word (Rebellion) did diuideThe action of their bodies, from their soules,And they did fight with queasinesse, constrain'dAs men drinke Potions; that their Weapons onlySeem'd on our side: but for their Spirits and Soules,This word (Rebellion) it had froze them vp,As Fish are in a Pond. But now the BishopTurnes Insurrection to Religion,Suppos'd sincere, and holy in his Thoughts:He's follow'd both with Body, and with Minde:And doth enlarge his Rising, with the bloodOf faire King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones,Deriues from heauen, his Quarrell, and his Cause:Tels them, he doth bestride a bleeding Land,Gasping for life, vnder great Bullingbrooke,And more, and lesse, do flocke to follow him
North. I knew of this before. But to speake truth,This present greefe had wip'd it from my minde.Go in with me, and councell euery manThe aptest way for safety, and reuenge:Get Posts, and Letters, and make Friends with speed,Neuer so few, nor neuer yet more need.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Falstaffe, and Page.
Fal. Sirra, you giant, what saies the Doct[or]. to my water?Pag. He said sir, the water it selfe was a good healthywater: but for the party that ow'd it, he might haue morediseases then he knew for
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at mee: the braine of this foolish compounded Clay-man, is not able to inuent any thing that tends to laughter, more then I inuent, or is inuented on me. I am not onely witty in my selfe, but the cause that wit is in other men. I doe heere walke before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd all her Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Seruice for any other reason, then to set mee off, why then I haue no iudgement. Thou horson Mandrake, thou art fitter to be worne in my cap, then to wait at my heeles. I was neuer mann'd with an Agot till now: but I will sette you neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell, and send you backe againe to your Master, for a Iewell. The Iuuenall (the Prince your Master) whose Chin is not yet fledg'd, I will sooner haue a beard grow in the Palme of my hand, then he shall get one on his cheeke: yet he will not sticke to say, his Face is a Face-Royall. Heauen may finish it when he will, it is not a haire amisse yet: he may keepe it still at a Face-Royall, for a Barber shall neuer earne six pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man euer since his Father was a Batchellour. He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said M[aster]. Dombledon, about the Satten for my short Cloake, and Slops? Pag. He said sir, you should procure him better Assurance, then Bardolfe: he wold not take his Bond & yours, he lik'd not the Security