ACT ISCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.Enter theKing, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorelandwith others.KING.So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,And breathe short-winded accents of new broilsTo be commenced in strands afar remote.No more the thirsty entrance of this soilShall daub her lips with her own children’s blood,No more shall trenching war channel her fields,Nor bruise her flow’rets with the armed hoofsOf hostile paces: those opposed eyes,Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,All of one nature, of one substance bred,Did lately meet in the intestine shockAnd furious close of civil butchery,Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,March all one way, and be no more opposedAgainst acquaintance, kindred, and allies.The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,As far as to the sepulchre of Christ—Whose soldier now, under whose blessed crossWe are impressed and engaged to fight—Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ wombTo chase these pagans in those holy fieldsOver whose acres walked those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nailedFor our advantage on the bitter cross.But this our purpose now is twelve month old,And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go;Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hearOf you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,What yesternight our Council did decreeIn forwarding this dear expedience.WESTMORELAND.My liege, this haste was hot in question,And many limits of the charge set downBut yesternight, when all athwart there cameA post from Wales loaden with heavy news,Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wild Glendower,Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,A thousand of his people butchered,Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,Such beastly shameless transformation,By those Welshwomen done, as may not beWithout much shame retold or spoken of.KING.It seems then that the tidings of this broilBrake off our business for the Holy Land.WESTMORELAND.This, matched with other did, my gracious lord,For more uneven and unwelcome newsCame from the North, and thus it did import:On Holy-rood day the gallant Hotspur there,Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,That ever-valiant and approved Scot,At Holmedon met, where they did spendA sad and bloody hour;As by discharge of their artillery,And shape of likelihood, the news was told;For he that brought them, in the very heatAnd pride of their contention did take horse,Uncertain of the issue any way.KING.Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,Stained with the variation of each soilBetwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter seeOn Holmedon’s plains; of prisoners Hotspur tookMordake, Earl of Fife and eldest sonTo beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.And is not this an honourable spoil,A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?WESTMORELAND.In faith, it is a conquest for a prince to boast of.KING.Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sinIn envy that my Lord NorthumberlandShould be the father to so blest a son,A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue,Amongst a grove the very straightest plant,Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride;Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,See riot and dishonour stain the browOf my young Harry. O, that it could be provedThat some night-tripping fairy had exchangedIn cradle-clothes our children where they lay,And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet!Then would I have his Harry, and he mine:But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,Of this young Percy’s pride? The prisoners,Which he in this adventure hath surprisedTo his own use he keeps, and sends me wordI shall have none but Mordake, Earl of Fife.WESTMORELAND.This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester,Malevolent to you in all aspects,Which makes him prune himself, and bristle upThe crest of youth against your dignity.KING.But I have sent for him to answer this;And for this cause awhile we must neglectOur holy purpose to Jerusalem.Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council weWill hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:But come yourself with speed to us again,For more is to be said and to be doneThan out of anger can be uttered.WESTMORELAND.I will, my liege.[Exeunt.]SCENE II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s.EnterPrince HenryandSir John Falstaff.FALSTAFF.Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?PRINCE.Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.FALSTAFF.Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phœbus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none—PRINCE.What, none?FALSTAFF.No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.PRINCE.Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.FALSTAFF.Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.PRINCE.Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swearing “Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in”; now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.FALSTAFF.By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?PRINCE.As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?FALSTAFF.How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?PRINCE.Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?FALSTAFF.Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.PRINCE.Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?FALSTAFF.No, I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.PRINCE.Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would not, I have used my credit.FALSTAFF.Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent—But I prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father Antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.PRINCE.No, thou shalt.FALSTAFF.Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.PRINCE.Thou judgest false already, I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.FALSTAFF.Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.PRINCE.For obtaining of suits?FALSTAFF.Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. ’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.PRINCE.Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.FALSTAFF.Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.PRINCE.What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?FALSTAFF.Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.PRINCE.Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.FALSTAFF.O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over. By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain. I’ll be damned for never a king’s son in Christendom.PRINCE.Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?FALSTAFF.Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one. An I do not, call me villain and baffle me.PRINCE.I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.FALSTAFF.Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal, ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.EnterPoins.Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried “Stand!” to a true man.PRINCE.Good morrow, Ned.POINS.Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s leg?PRINCE.Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due.POINS.Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.PRINCE.Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.POINS.But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at Gad’s Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visards for you all; you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.FALSTAFF.Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for going.POINS.You will, chops?FALSTAFF.Hal, wilt thou make one?PRINCE.Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.FALSTAFF.There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam’st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.PRINCE.Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.FALSTAFF.Why, that’s well said.PRINCE.Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.FALSTAFF.By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.PRINCE.I care not.POINS.Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.FALSTAFF.Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief, for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell, you shall find me in Eastcheap.PRINCE.Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer![ExitFalstaff.]POINS.Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid. Yourself and I will not be there. And when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.PRINCE.But how shall we part with them in setting forth?POINS.Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but we’ll set upon them.PRINCE.Yea, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.POINS.Tut, our horses they shall not see, I’ll tie them in the wood; our visards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.PRINCE.Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.POINS.Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lives the jest.PRINCE.Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me tomorrow night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell.POINS.Farewell, my lord.[Exit.]PRINCE.I know you all, and will awhile upholdThe unyok’d humour of your idleness.Yet herein will I imitate the sun,Who doth permit the base contagious cloudsTo smother up his beauty from the world,That, when he please again to be himself,Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,By breaking through the foul and ugly mistsOf vapours that did seem to strangle him.If all the year were playing holidays,To sport would be as tedious as to work;But, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come,And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.So when this loose behaviour I throw off,And pay the debt I never promised,By how much better than my word I am,By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault,Shall show more goodly and attract more eyesThan that which hath no foil to set it off.I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill,Redeeming time, when men think least I will.[Exit.]SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace.EnterKing Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Bluntand others.KING.My blood hath been too cold and temperate,Unapt to stir at these indignities,And you have found me, for accordinglyYou tread upon my patience: but be sureI will from henceforth rather be myself,Mighty and to be fear’d, than my condition,Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,And therefore lost that title of respectWhich the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud.WORCESTER.Our house, my sovereign liege, little deservesThe scourge of greatness to be used on it,And that same greatness too which our own handsHave holp to make so portly.NORTHUMBERLAND.My lord,—KING.Worcester, get thee gone, for I do seeDanger and disobedience in thine eye:O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,And majesty might never yet endureThe moody frontier of a servant brow.You have good leave to leave us. When we needYour use and counsel, we shall send for you.[ExitWorcester.][To Northumberland.]You were about to speak.NORTHUMBERLAND.Yea, my good lord.Those prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded,Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,Were, as he says, not with such strength deniedAs is deliver’d to your Majesty.Either envy, therefore, or misprisionIs guilty of this fault, and not my son.HOTSPUR.My liege, I did deny no prisoners.But I remember, when the fight was done,When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress’d,Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap’dShow’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.He was perfumed like a milliner,And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he heldA pouncet-box, which ever and anonHe gave his nose, and took’t away again,Who therewith angry, when it next came there,Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk’d.And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,To bring a slovenly unhandsome corseBetwixt the wind and his nobility.With many holiday and lady termsHe question’d me, amongst the rest demandedMy prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf.I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,Out of my grief and my impatienceTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,Answer’d neglectingly, I know not what,He should, or he should not; for he made me madTo see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet,And talk so like a waiting-gentlewomanOf guns and drums and wounds, God save the mark!And telling me the sovereignest thing on EarthWas parmacety for an inward bruise,And that it was great pity, so it was,This villainous saltpetre should be digg’dOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’dSo cowardly, and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,I answered indirectly, as I said,And I beseech you, let not his reportCome current for an accusationBetwixt my love and your high Majesty.BLUNT.The circumstance consider’d, good my lord,Whatever Harry Percy then had saidTo such a person, and in such a place,At such a time, with all the rest retold,May reasonably die, and never riseTo do him wrong, or any way impeachWhat then he said, so he unsay it now.KING.Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,But with proviso and exception,That we at our own charge shall ransom straightHis brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer,Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’dThe lives of those that he did lead to fightAgainst that great magician, damn’d Glendower,Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of MarchHath lately married. Shall our coffers thenBe emptied to redeem a traitor home?Shall we buy treason and indent with fearsWhen they have lost and forfeited themselves?No, on the barren mountains let him starve;For I shall never hold that man my friendWhose tongue shall ask me for one penny costTo ransom home revolted Mortimer.HOTSPUR.Revolted Mortimer!He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,But by the chance of war. To prove that trueNeeds no more but one tongue for all those wounds,Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank,In single opposition hand to hand,He did confound the best part of an hourIn changing hardiment with great Glendower.Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood,Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,And hid his crisp head in the hollow bankBlood-stained with these valiant combatants.Never did bare and rotten policyColour her working with such deadly wounds,Nor never could the noble MortimerReceive so many, and all willingly.Then let not him be slander’d with revolt.KING.Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him,He never did encounter with Glendower.I tell thee, he durst as well have met the devil aloneAs Owen Glendower for an enemy.Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforthLet me not hear you speak of Mortimer.Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,Or you shall hear in such a kind from meAs will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland,We license your departure with your son.—Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it.[ExitKing Henry, Bluntand train.]HOTSPUR.An if the devil come and roar for them,I will not send them. I will after straightAnd tell him so, for I will ease my heart,Albeit I make a hazard of my head.NORTHUMBERLAND.What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.Here comes your uncle.EnterWorcester.HOTSPUR.Speak of Mortimer?Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soulWant mercy if I do not join with him.Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins,And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,But I will lift the down-trod MortimerAs high in the air as this unthankful King,As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.NORTHUMBERLAND.[To Worcester.]Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.WORCESTER.Who struck this heat up after I was gone?HOTSPUR.He will forsooth have all my prisoners,And when I urged the ransom once againOf my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale,And on my face he turn’d an eye of death,Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.WORCESTER.I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim’dBy Richard that dead is, the next of blood?NORTHUMBERLAND.He was; I heard the proclamation.And then it was when the unhappy King—Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forthUpon his Irish expedition;From whence he, intercepted, did returnTo be deposed, and shortly murdered.WORCESTER.And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouthLive scandalized and foully spoken of.HOTSPUR.But soft, I pray you, did King Richard thenProclaim my brother Edmund MortimerHeir to the crown?NORTHUMBERLAND.He did; myself did hear it.HOTSPUR.Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King,That wish’d him on the barren mountains starve.But shall it be that you that set the crownUpon the head of this forgetful man,And for his sake wear the detested blotOf murderous subornation—shall it be,That you a world of curses undergo,Being the agents, or base second means,The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?O, pardon me, that I descend so low,To show the line and the predicamentWherein you range under this subtle King.Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,Or fill up chronicles in time to come,That men of your nobility and powerDid gage them both in an unjust behalf(As both of you, God pardon it, have done)To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?And shall it in more shame be further spoken,That you are fool’d, discarded, and shook offBy him for whom these shames ye underwent?No, yet time serves wherein you may redeemYour banish’d honours, and restore yourselvesInto the good thoughts of the world again:Revenge the jeering and disdain’d contemptOf this proud King, who studies day and nightTo answer all the debt he owes to youEven with the bloody payment of your deaths.Therefore, I say—WORCESTER.Peace, cousin, say no more.And now I will unclasp a secret book,And to your quick-conceiving discontentsI’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,As full of peril and adventurous spiritAs to o’er-walk a current roaring loudOn the unsteadfast footing of a spear.HOTSPUR.If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim!Send danger from the east unto the west,So honour cross it from the north to south,And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirsTo rouse a lion than to start a hare!NORTHUMBERLAND.Imagination of some great exploitDrives him beyond the bounds of patience.HOTSPUR.By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leapTo pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,Or dive into the bottom of the deep,Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,So he that doth redeem her thence might wearWithout corrival all her dignities.But out upon this half-faced fellowship!WORCESTER.He apprehends a world of figures here,But not the form of what he should attend.—Good cousin, give me audience for a while.HOTSPUR.I cry you mercy.WORCESTER.Those same noble ScotsThat are your prisoners—HOTSPUR.I’ll keep them all;By God, he shall not have a Scot of them,No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.I’ll keep them, by this hand!WORCESTER.You start away,And lend no ear unto my purposes:Those prisoners you shall keep—HOTSPUR.Nay, I will: that’s flat.He said he would not ransom Mortimer,Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,But I will find him when he lies asleep,And in his ear I’ll holla “Mortimer!”Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speakNothing but “Mortimer”, and give it him,To keep his anger still in motion.WORCESTER.Hear you, cousin, a word.HOTSPUR.All studies here I solemnly defy,Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,But that I think his father loves him not,And would be glad he met with some mischance—I would have him poison’d with a pot of ale.WORCESTER.Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to youWhen you are better temper’d to attend.NORTHUMBERLAND.Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient foolArt thou to break into this woman’s mood,Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!HOTSPUR.Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods,Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hearOf this vile politician, Bolingbroke.In Richard’s time—what do you call the place?A plague upon’t! It is in Gloucestershire.’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept,His uncle York, where I first bow’d my kneeUnto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.NORTHUMBERLAND.At Berkeley castle.HOTSPUR.You say true.Why, what a candy deal of courtesyThis fawning greyhound then did proffer me!“Look, when his infant fortune came to age,”And, “Gentle Harry Percy,” and “kind cousin.”O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done.WORCESTER.Nay, if you have not, to it again,We will stay your leisure.HOTSPUR.I have done, i’faith.WORCESTER.Then once more to your Scottish prisoners;Deliver them up without their ransom straight,And make the Douglas’ son your only meanFor powers in Scotland, which, for divers reasonsWhich I shall send you written, be assuredWill easily be granted.—[To Northumberland.] You, my lord,Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d,Shall secretly into the bosom creepOf that same noble prelate well beloved,The Archbishop.HOTSPUR.Of York, is it not?WORCESTER.True, who bears hardHis brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.I speak not this in estimation,As what I think might be, but what I knowIs ruminated, plotted, and set down,And only stays but to behold the faceOf that occasion that shall bring it on.HOTSPUR.I smell it. Upon my life it will do well.NORTHUMBERLAND.Before the game is afoot thou still let’st slip.HOTSPUR.Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;And then the power of Scotland and of YorkTo join with Mortimer, ha?WORCESTER.And so they shall.HOTSPUR.In faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d.WORCESTER.And ’tis no little reason bids us speed,To save our heads by raising of a head;For, bear ourselves as even as we can,The King will always think him in our debt,And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,Till he hath found a time to pay us home:And see already how he doth beginTo make us strangers to his looks of love.HOTSPUR.He does, he does, we’ll be revenged on him.WORCESTER.Cousin, farewell. No further go in thisThan I by letters shall direct your course.When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once,As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,Which now we hold at much uncertainty.NORTHUMBERLAND.Farewell, good brother; we shall thrive, I trust.HOTSPUR.Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short,Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport![Exeunt.]
Enter theKing, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorelandwith others.
KING.So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,And breathe short-winded accents of new broilsTo be commenced in strands afar remote.No more the thirsty entrance of this soilShall daub her lips with her own children’s blood,No more shall trenching war channel her fields,Nor bruise her flow’rets with the armed hoofsOf hostile paces: those opposed eyes,Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,All of one nature, of one substance bred,Did lately meet in the intestine shockAnd furious close of civil butchery,Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,March all one way, and be no more opposedAgainst acquaintance, kindred, and allies.The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,As far as to the sepulchre of Christ—Whose soldier now, under whose blessed crossWe are impressed and engaged to fight—Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ wombTo chase these pagans in those holy fieldsOver whose acres walked those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nailedFor our advantage on the bitter cross.But this our purpose now is twelve month old,And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go;Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hearOf you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,What yesternight our Council did decreeIn forwarding this dear expedience.
WESTMORELAND.My liege, this haste was hot in question,And many limits of the charge set downBut yesternight, when all athwart there cameA post from Wales loaden with heavy news,Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wild Glendower,Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,A thousand of his people butchered,Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,Such beastly shameless transformation,By those Welshwomen done, as may not beWithout much shame retold or spoken of.
KING.It seems then that the tidings of this broilBrake off our business for the Holy Land.
WESTMORELAND.This, matched with other did, my gracious lord,For more uneven and unwelcome newsCame from the North, and thus it did import:On Holy-rood day the gallant Hotspur there,Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,That ever-valiant and approved Scot,At Holmedon met, where they did spendA sad and bloody hour;As by discharge of their artillery,And shape of likelihood, the news was told;For he that brought them, in the very heatAnd pride of their contention did take horse,Uncertain of the issue any way.
KING.Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,Stained with the variation of each soilBetwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter seeOn Holmedon’s plains; of prisoners Hotspur tookMordake, Earl of Fife and eldest sonTo beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.And is not this an honourable spoil,A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?
WESTMORELAND.In faith, it is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
KING.Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sinIn envy that my Lord NorthumberlandShould be the father to so blest a son,A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue,Amongst a grove the very straightest plant,Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride;Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,See riot and dishonour stain the browOf my young Harry. O, that it could be provedThat some night-tripping fairy had exchangedIn cradle-clothes our children where they lay,And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet!Then would I have his Harry, and he mine:But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,Of this young Percy’s pride? The prisoners,Which he in this adventure hath surprisedTo his own use he keeps, and sends me wordI shall have none but Mordake, Earl of Fife.
WESTMORELAND.This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester,Malevolent to you in all aspects,Which makes him prune himself, and bristle upThe crest of youth against your dignity.
KING.But I have sent for him to answer this;And for this cause awhile we must neglectOur holy purpose to Jerusalem.Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council weWill hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:But come yourself with speed to us again,For more is to be said and to be doneThan out of anger can be uttered.
WESTMORELAND.I will, my liege.
[Exeunt.]
EnterPrince HenryandSir John Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
PRINCE.Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
FALSTAFF.Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phœbus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none—
PRINCE.What, none?
FALSTAFF.No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
PRINCE.Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
FALSTAFF.Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
PRINCE.Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swearing “Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in”; now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
FALSTAFF.By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
PRINCE.As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?
FALSTAFF.How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?
PRINCE.Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?
FALSTAFF.Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
PRINCE.Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
FALSTAFF.No, I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
PRINCE.Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would not, I have used my credit.
FALSTAFF.Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent—But I prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father Antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
PRINCE.No, thou shalt.
FALSTAFF.Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.
PRINCE.Thou judgest false already, I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.
FALSTAFF.Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.
PRINCE.For obtaining of suits?
FALSTAFF.Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. ’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.
PRINCE.Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.
FALSTAFF.Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
PRINCE.What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?
FALSTAFF.Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.
PRINCE.Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.
FALSTAFF.O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over. By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain. I’ll be damned for never a king’s son in Christendom.
PRINCE.Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
FALSTAFF.Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one. An I do not, call me villain and baffle me.
PRINCE.I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.
FALSTAFF.Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal, ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.
EnterPoins.
Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried “Stand!” to a true man.
PRINCE.Good morrow, Ned.
POINS.Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s leg?
PRINCE.Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due.
POINS.Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.
PRINCE.Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.
POINS.But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at Gad’s Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visards for you all; you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.
FALSTAFF.Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for going.
POINS.You will, chops?
FALSTAFF.Hal, wilt thou make one?
PRINCE.Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
FALSTAFF.There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam’st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.
PRINCE.Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.
FALSTAFF.Why, that’s well said.
PRINCE.Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.
FALSTAFF.By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
PRINCE.I care not.
POINS.Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.
FALSTAFF.Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief, for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell, you shall find me in Eastcheap.
PRINCE.Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer!
[ExitFalstaff.]
POINS.Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid. Yourself and I will not be there. And when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.
PRINCE.But how shall we part with them in setting forth?
POINS.Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but we’ll set upon them.
PRINCE.Yea, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
POINS.Tut, our horses they shall not see, I’ll tie them in the wood; our visards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
PRINCE.Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
POINS.Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lives the jest.
PRINCE.Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me tomorrow night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell.
POINS.Farewell, my lord.
[Exit.]
PRINCE.I know you all, and will awhile upholdThe unyok’d humour of your idleness.Yet herein will I imitate the sun,Who doth permit the base contagious cloudsTo smother up his beauty from the world,That, when he please again to be himself,Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,By breaking through the foul and ugly mistsOf vapours that did seem to strangle him.If all the year were playing holidays,To sport would be as tedious as to work;But, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come,And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.So when this loose behaviour I throw off,And pay the debt I never promised,By how much better than my word I am,By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault,Shall show more goodly and attract more eyesThan that which hath no foil to set it off.I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill,Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
[Exit.]
EnterKing Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Bluntand others.
KING.My blood hath been too cold and temperate,Unapt to stir at these indignities,And you have found me, for accordinglyYou tread upon my patience: but be sureI will from henceforth rather be myself,Mighty and to be fear’d, than my condition,Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,And therefore lost that title of respectWhich the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud.
WORCESTER.Our house, my sovereign liege, little deservesThe scourge of greatness to be used on it,And that same greatness too which our own handsHave holp to make so portly.
NORTHUMBERLAND.My lord,—
KING.Worcester, get thee gone, for I do seeDanger and disobedience in thine eye:O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,And majesty might never yet endureThe moody frontier of a servant brow.You have good leave to leave us. When we needYour use and counsel, we shall send for you.
[ExitWorcester.]
[To Northumberland.]
You were about to speak.
NORTHUMBERLAND.Yea, my good lord.Those prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded,Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,Were, as he says, not with such strength deniedAs is deliver’d to your Majesty.Either envy, therefore, or misprisionIs guilty of this fault, and not my son.
HOTSPUR.My liege, I did deny no prisoners.But I remember, when the fight was done,When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress’d,Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap’dShow’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.He was perfumed like a milliner,And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he heldA pouncet-box, which ever and anonHe gave his nose, and took’t away again,Who therewith angry, when it next came there,Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk’d.And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,To bring a slovenly unhandsome corseBetwixt the wind and his nobility.With many holiday and lady termsHe question’d me, amongst the rest demandedMy prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf.I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,Out of my grief and my impatienceTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,Answer’d neglectingly, I know not what,He should, or he should not; for he made me madTo see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet,And talk so like a waiting-gentlewomanOf guns and drums and wounds, God save the mark!And telling me the sovereignest thing on EarthWas parmacety for an inward bruise,And that it was great pity, so it was,This villainous saltpetre should be digg’dOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’dSo cowardly, and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,I answered indirectly, as I said,And I beseech you, let not his reportCome current for an accusationBetwixt my love and your high Majesty.
BLUNT.The circumstance consider’d, good my lord,Whatever Harry Percy then had saidTo such a person, and in such a place,At such a time, with all the rest retold,May reasonably die, and never riseTo do him wrong, or any way impeachWhat then he said, so he unsay it now.
KING.Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,But with proviso and exception,That we at our own charge shall ransom straightHis brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer,Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’dThe lives of those that he did lead to fightAgainst that great magician, damn’d Glendower,Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of MarchHath lately married. Shall our coffers thenBe emptied to redeem a traitor home?Shall we buy treason and indent with fearsWhen they have lost and forfeited themselves?No, on the barren mountains let him starve;For I shall never hold that man my friendWhose tongue shall ask me for one penny costTo ransom home revolted Mortimer.
HOTSPUR.Revolted Mortimer!He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,But by the chance of war. To prove that trueNeeds no more but one tongue for all those wounds,Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank,In single opposition hand to hand,He did confound the best part of an hourIn changing hardiment with great Glendower.Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood,Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,And hid his crisp head in the hollow bankBlood-stained with these valiant combatants.Never did bare and rotten policyColour her working with such deadly wounds,Nor never could the noble MortimerReceive so many, and all willingly.Then let not him be slander’d with revolt.
KING.Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him,He never did encounter with Glendower.I tell thee, he durst as well have met the devil aloneAs Owen Glendower for an enemy.Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforthLet me not hear you speak of Mortimer.Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,Or you shall hear in such a kind from meAs will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland,We license your departure with your son.—Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it.
[ExitKing Henry, Bluntand train.]
HOTSPUR.An if the devil come and roar for them,I will not send them. I will after straightAnd tell him so, for I will ease my heart,Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
NORTHUMBERLAND.What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.Here comes your uncle.
EnterWorcester.
HOTSPUR.Speak of Mortimer?Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soulWant mercy if I do not join with him.Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins,And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,But I will lift the down-trod MortimerAs high in the air as this unthankful King,As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.
NORTHUMBERLAND.[To Worcester.]Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.
WORCESTER.Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
HOTSPUR.He will forsooth have all my prisoners,And when I urged the ransom once againOf my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale,And on my face he turn’d an eye of death,Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
WORCESTER.I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim’dBy Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
NORTHUMBERLAND.He was; I heard the proclamation.And then it was when the unhappy King—Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forthUpon his Irish expedition;From whence he, intercepted, did returnTo be deposed, and shortly murdered.
WORCESTER.And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouthLive scandalized and foully spoken of.
HOTSPUR.But soft, I pray you, did King Richard thenProclaim my brother Edmund MortimerHeir to the crown?
NORTHUMBERLAND.He did; myself did hear it.
HOTSPUR.Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King,That wish’d him on the barren mountains starve.But shall it be that you that set the crownUpon the head of this forgetful man,And for his sake wear the detested blotOf murderous subornation—shall it be,That you a world of curses undergo,Being the agents, or base second means,The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?O, pardon me, that I descend so low,To show the line and the predicamentWherein you range under this subtle King.Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,Or fill up chronicles in time to come,That men of your nobility and powerDid gage them both in an unjust behalf(As both of you, God pardon it, have done)To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?And shall it in more shame be further spoken,That you are fool’d, discarded, and shook offBy him for whom these shames ye underwent?No, yet time serves wherein you may redeemYour banish’d honours, and restore yourselvesInto the good thoughts of the world again:Revenge the jeering and disdain’d contemptOf this proud King, who studies day and nightTo answer all the debt he owes to youEven with the bloody payment of your deaths.Therefore, I say—
WORCESTER.Peace, cousin, say no more.And now I will unclasp a secret book,And to your quick-conceiving discontentsI’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,As full of peril and adventurous spiritAs to o’er-walk a current roaring loudOn the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
HOTSPUR.If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim!Send danger from the east unto the west,So honour cross it from the north to south,And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirsTo rouse a lion than to start a hare!
NORTHUMBERLAND.Imagination of some great exploitDrives him beyond the bounds of patience.
HOTSPUR.By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leapTo pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,Or dive into the bottom of the deep,Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,So he that doth redeem her thence might wearWithout corrival all her dignities.But out upon this half-faced fellowship!
WORCESTER.He apprehends a world of figures here,But not the form of what he should attend.—Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
HOTSPUR.I cry you mercy.
WORCESTER.Those same noble ScotsThat are your prisoners—
HOTSPUR.I’ll keep them all;By God, he shall not have a Scot of them,No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.I’ll keep them, by this hand!
WORCESTER.You start away,And lend no ear unto my purposes:Those prisoners you shall keep—
HOTSPUR.Nay, I will: that’s flat.He said he would not ransom Mortimer,Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,But I will find him when he lies asleep,And in his ear I’ll holla “Mortimer!”Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speakNothing but “Mortimer”, and give it him,To keep his anger still in motion.
WORCESTER.Hear you, cousin, a word.
HOTSPUR.All studies here I solemnly defy,Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,But that I think his father loves him not,And would be glad he met with some mischance—I would have him poison’d with a pot of ale.
WORCESTER.Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to youWhen you are better temper’d to attend.
NORTHUMBERLAND.Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient foolArt thou to break into this woman’s mood,Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!
HOTSPUR.Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods,Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hearOf this vile politician, Bolingbroke.In Richard’s time—what do you call the place?A plague upon’t! It is in Gloucestershire.’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept,His uncle York, where I first bow’d my kneeUnto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.
NORTHUMBERLAND.At Berkeley castle.
HOTSPUR.You say true.Why, what a candy deal of courtesyThis fawning greyhound then did proffer me!“Look, when his infant fortune came to age,”And, “Gentle Harry Percy,” and “kind cousin.”O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done.
WORCESTER.Nay, if you have not, to it again,We will stay your leisure.
HOTSPUR.I have done, i’faith.
WORCESTER.Then once more to your Scottish prisoners;Deliver them up without their ransom straight,And make the Douglas’ son your only meanFor powers in Scotland, which, for divers reasonsWhich I shall send you written, be assuredWill easily be granted.—[To Northumberland.] You, my lord,Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d,Shall secretly into the bosom creepOf that same noble prelate well beloved,The Archbishop.
HOTSPUR.Of York, is it not?
WORCESTER.True, who bears hardHis brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.I speak not this in estimation,As what I think might be, but what I knowIs ruminated, plotted, and set down,And only stays but to behold the faceOf that occasion that shall bring it on.
HOTSPUR.I smell it. Upon my life it will do well.
NORTHUMBERLAND.Before the game is afoot thou still let’st slip.
HOTSPUR.Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;And then the power of Scotland and of YorkTo join with Mortimer, ha?
WORCESTER.And so they shall.
HOTSPUR.In faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d.
WORCESTER.And ’tis no little reason bids us speed,To save our heads by raising of a head;For, bear ourselves as even as we can,The King will always think him in our debt,And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,Till he hath found a time to pay us home:And see already how he doth beginTo make us strangers to his looks of love.
HOTSPUR.He does, he does, we’ll be revenged on him.
WORCESTER.Cousin, farewell. No further go in thisThan I by letters shall direct your course.When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once,As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
NORTHUMBERLAND.Farewell, good brother; we shall thrive, I trust.
HOTSPUR.Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short,Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!
[Exeunt.]