SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY
NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs;
Put not you on the visage of the times
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more.
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
And but my going nothing can redeem it.
LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs that practis'd not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those who could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse
To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him—O wondrous him!
O miracle of men!—him did you leave—
Second to none, unseconded by you—
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage, to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible. So you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others than with him! Let them alone.
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go and meet with danger there,
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland
Till that the nobles and the armed commons
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son;
He was so suff'red; so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.
NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.
I will resolve for Scotland. There am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt
SCENE IV. London. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap
Enter FRANCIS and another DRAWER
FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns?
Thou
knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.
SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say'st true. The Prince once set a
dish
of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more
Sir
Johns; and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my
leave
of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It ang'red
him
to the heart; but he hath forgot that.
FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou
canst
find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear
some
music.
Enter third DRAWER
THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp'd is too hot;
they'll come in straight.
FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon;
and
they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John
must
not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.
THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an
excellent stratagem.
SECOND DRAWER. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
Exeunt second and third DRAWERS
Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET
HOSTESS. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an
excellent
good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as
heart
would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as
any
rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too
much
canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it
perfumes
the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now?
DOLL. Better than I was—hem.
HOSTESS. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.
Lo, here comes Sir John.
Enter FALSTAFF
FALSTAFF. [Singing] 'When Arthur first in court'—Empty the
Jordan. [Exit FRANCIS]—[Singing] 'And was a worthy king'—
How
now, Mistress Doll!
HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.
FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they
are
sick.
DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort
you
give me?
FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.
DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them
not.
FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to
make
the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you;
grant
that, my poor virtue, grant that.
DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.
FALSTAFF. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve
bravely
is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with
his
pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon
the
charg'd chambers bravely—
DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!
HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
meet
but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as
rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with
another's
confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that
must be
you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier
vessel.
DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head?
There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him;
you
have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll
be
friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and
whether
I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares.
Re-enter FRANCIS
FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you.
DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it
is
the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.
HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith!
I
must live among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in
good
name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes
no
swaggerers here; I have not liv'd all this while to have
swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you.
FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess?
HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no
swaggerers here.
FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient.
HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me; and your ancient
swagg'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick,
the
debuty, t' other day; and, as he said to me—'twas no longer
ago
than Wednesday last, i' good faith!—'Neighbour Quickly,'
says
he—Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then—'Neighbour
Quickly,'
says he 'receive those that are civil, for' said he 'you are
in
an ill name.' Now 'a said so, I can tell whereupon. 'For'
says he
'you are an honest woman and well thought on, therefore take
heed
what guests you receive. Receive' says he 'no swaggering
companions.' There comes none here. You would bless you to
hear
what he said. No, I'll no swagg'rers.
FALSTAFF. He's no swagg'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith;
you
may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He'll not
swagger
with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of
resistance. Call him up, drawer.
Exit FRANCIS
HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
house,
nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I
am
the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I
shake;
look you, I warrant you.
DOLL. So you do, hostess.
HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen
leaf. I
cannot abide swagg'rers.
Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE
PISTOL. God save you, Sir John!
FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you
with
a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess.
PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.
FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend
her.
HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink
no
more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.
PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.
DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
rogue, away! I am meat for your master.
PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.
DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By
this
wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
the
saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you
basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?
God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!
PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for
this.
FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here.
Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.
DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
ashamed
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For
tearing
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as
odious
as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before
it
was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.
BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient.
FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.
PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could
tear
her; I'll be reveng'd of her.
PAGE. Pray thee go down.
PISTOL. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd lake, by
this
hand, to th' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile
also.
Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors!
Have
we not Hiren here?
HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
faith; I
beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses,
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a day,
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?
HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words.
BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl
anon.
PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not
Hiren
here?
HOSTESS. O' my word, Captain, there's none such here. What the
good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be
quiet.
PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give's some sack.
'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.'
Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire.
Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
[Laying down his sword]
Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings?
FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet.
PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the
seven
stars.
DOLL. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure
such a
fustian rascal.
PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags?
FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling.
Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing
here.
BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs.
PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue?
[Snatching up his sword]
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!
HOSTESS. Here's goodly stuff toward!
FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy.
DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs.
[Drawing and driving PISTOL out]
HOSTESS. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house
afore
I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant
now.
Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked
weapons.
Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH
DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you
whoreson little valiant villain, you!
HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? Methought 'a made a
shrewd
thrust at your belly.
Re-enter BARDOLPH
FALSTAFF. Have you turn'd him out a doors?
BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir,
i'
th' shoulder.
FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me!
DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson
chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous
as
Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better
than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain!
FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.
DOLL. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll
canvass
thee between a pair of sheets.
Enter musicians
PAGE. The music is come, sir.
FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A
rascal
bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver.
DOLL. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou
whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou
leave
fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up
thine
old body for heaven?
Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers
FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head;
do
not bid me remember mine end.
DOLL. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of?
FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a
good
pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well.
DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit.
FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick
as
Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in
a
mallet.
DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then?
FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a
plays at
quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off
candles'
ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys,
and
jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
wears
his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and
breeds
no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other
gambol
faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for
the
which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such
another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between
their
avoirdupois.
PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?
POINS. Let's beat him before his whore.
PRINCE. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd
like a parrot.
POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years
outlive
performance?
FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll.
PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says
th'
almanac to that?
POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not
lisping
to his master's old tables, his note-book, his
counsel-keeper.
FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses.
DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.
FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old.
DOLL. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of
them all.
FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive
money a
Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A
grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone.
DOLL. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so.
Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return.
Well,
hearken a' th' end.
FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis.
PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing]
FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not
Poins
his brother?
PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost
thou
lead!
FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a
drawer.
PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.
HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome
to
London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu,
are
you come from Wales?
FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
[Leaning his band upon DOLL]
DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.
POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn
all
to a merriment, if you take not the heat.
PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak
of
me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!
HOSTESS. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by
my
troth.
FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me?
PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by
Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on
purpose to
try my patience.
FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within
hearing.
PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and
then I know how to handle you.
FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse.
PRINCE. Not to dispraise me, and call me pander, and
bread-chipper, and I know not what!
FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal.
POINS. No abuse!
FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I
disprais'd him before the wicked—that the wicked might not
fall
in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a
careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give
me
thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith,
boys,
none.
PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
not
make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us?
Is
she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is
thy
boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in
his
nose, of the wicked?
POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable;
and
his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing
but
roast malt-worms. For the boy—there is a good angel about
him;
but the devil outbids him too.
PRINCE. For the women?
FALSTAFF. For one of them—she's in hell already, and burns
poor
souls. For th' other—I owe her money; and whether she be
damn'd
for that, I know not.
HOSTESS. No, I warrant you.
FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for
that.
Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering
flesh
to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which
I
think thou wilt howl.
HOSTESS. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two
in a
whole Lent?
PRINCE. You, gentlewoman—
DOLL. What says your Grace?
FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
[Knocking within]
HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th' door there,
Francis.
Enter PETO
PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news?
PETO. The King your father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and as I came along
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south,
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.
Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH
FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we
must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking within] More knocking at the door!
Re-enter BARDOLPH
How now! What's the matter?
BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently;
A dozen captains stay at door for you.
FALSTAFF. [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.—Farewell,
hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of
merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the
man of
action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent
away post, I will see you again ere I go.
DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst!
Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell.
Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH
HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these
twenty-nine
years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted
man—well, fare thee well.
BARDOLPH. [ Within] Mistress Tearsheet!
HOSTESS. What's the matter?
BARDOLPH. [ Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.
HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come. [To BARDOLPH] She
comes blubber'd.—Yea, will you come, Doll? Exeunt
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ACT III. SCENE I. Westminster. The palace
Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page
KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters
And well consider of them. Make good speed. Exit page
How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,
That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Enter WARWICK and Surrey
WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty!
KING. Is it good morrow, lords?
WARWICK. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.
KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?
WARWICK. We have, my liege.
KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.
WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered;
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine.
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea; and other times to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
Would shut the book and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years gone
Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by—
[To WARWICK] You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember—
When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears,
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?
'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'—
Though then, God knows, I had no such intent
But that necessity so bow'd the state
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss—
'The time shall come'—thus did he follow it—
'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption' so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition
And the division of our amity.
WARWICK. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the natures of the times deceas'd;
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, who in their seeds
And weak beginning lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And, by the necessary form of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guess
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root upon
Unless on you.
KING. Are these things then necessities?
Then let us meet them like necessities;
And that same word even now cries out on us.
They say the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord.
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad
Unto your sickness.
KING. I will take your counsel.
And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. Exeunt
SCENE II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW'S house
Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULLCALF, and servants behind
SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir;
give me
your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth
my
good cousin Silence?
SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your
fairest
daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?
SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!
SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is
become
a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not?
SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost.
SHALLOW. 'A must, then, to the Inns o' Court shortly. I was
once of
Clement's Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow
yet.
SILENCE. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.
SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call'd anything; and I would have
done
anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little
John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and
Francis
Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man—you had not four
such
swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say
to
you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of
them
all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John,
boy,
and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about
soldiers?
SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break
Scoggin's head at the court gate, when 'a was a crack not
thus
high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson
Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the
mad
days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old
acquaintance are dead!
SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin.
SHALLOW. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as
the
Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good
yoke
of bullocks at Stamford fair?
SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there.
SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living
yet?
SILENCE. Dead, sir.
SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! 'A shot a
fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much
money on
his head. Dead! 'A would have clapp'd i' th' clout at twelve
score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and
fourteen
and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to
see.
How a score of ewes now?
SILENCE. Thereafter as they be—a score of good ewes may be
worth
ten pounds.
SHALLOW. And is old Double dead?
Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him
SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think.
SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen.
BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?
SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this
county,
and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your
good
pleasure with me?
BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
John Falstaff—a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most
gallant
leader.
SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword
man.
How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife
doth?
BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than
with a
wife.
SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said
indeed
too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it.
Good
phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.
'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good
phrase.
BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you
it?
By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the
word
with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of
exceeding
good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man
is, as
they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a
may be
thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.
Enter FALSTAFF
SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give
me
your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my
troth,
you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good
Sir
John.
FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert
Shallow.
Master Surecard, as I think?
SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission
with
me.
FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of
the
peace.
SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome.
FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you
provided me
here half a dozen sufficient men?
SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?
FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you.
SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll?
Let
me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,—so, so—yea,
marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them
do
so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
MOULDY. Here, an't please you.
SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young,
strong, and of good friends.
FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy?
MOULDY. Yea, an't please you.
FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.
SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir
John; very well said.
FALSTAFF. Prick him.
MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let
me
alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her
husbandry
and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are
other men fitter to go out than I.
FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is
time
you were spent.
MOULDY. Spent!
SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you
are?
For th' other, Sir John—let me see. Simon Shadow!
FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like
to be
a cold soldier.
SHALLOW. Where's Shadow?
SHADOW. Here, sir.
FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou?
SHADOW. My mother's son, sir.
FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's
shadow.
So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is
often
so indeed; but much of the father's substance!
SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John?
FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have
a
number of shadows fill up the muster-book.
SHALLOW. Thomas Wart!
FALSTAFF. Where's he?
WART. Here, sir.
FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart?
WART. Yea, sir.
FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart.
SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John?
FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon
his
back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no
more.
SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I
commend
you well. Francis Feeble!
FEEBLE. Here, sir.
FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble?
FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir.
SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir?
FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha'
prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's
battle as
thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous
Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most
magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor—well, Master
Shallow, deep, Master Shallow.
FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir.
FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst
mend
him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private
soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that
suffice, most forcible Feeble.
FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir.
FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green!
FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
BULLCALF. Here, sir.
FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf
till
he roar again.
BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain-
FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?
BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.
FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou?
BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught
with
ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir.
FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will
have
away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends
shall
ring for thee. Is here all?
SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must
have
but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to
dinner.
FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry
dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in
the
windmill in Saint George's Field?
FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that.
SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?
FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. She never could away with me.
FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not
abide
Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was
then
a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?
FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;
certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork,
before I came to Clement's Inn.
SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago.
SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that
this
knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?
FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith,
Sir
John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to
dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have
seen!
Come, come.
Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES
BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and
here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In
very
truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for
mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with
my
friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.
BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's
sake,
stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when
I
am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall
have
forty, sir.
BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe
God
a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so;
an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and,
let
it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for
the
next.
BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow.
FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind.
Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES
FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have?
SHALLOW. Four of which you please.
BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free
Mouldy
and Bullcalf.
FALSTAFF. Go to; well.
SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have?
FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me.
SHALLOW. Marry, then—Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.
FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home
till
you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you
come
unto it. I will none of you.
SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are
your
likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best.
FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a
man?
Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big
assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow.
Here's
Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge
you
and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer,
come
off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's
bucket.
And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow—give me this man. He
presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great
aim
level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat—how
swiftly
will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the
spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into
Wart's hand, Bardolph.
BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse—thus, thus, thus.
FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So—very well. Go to;
very
good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old,
chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good
scab.
Hold, there's a tester for thee.
SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right.
I
remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn—I
was
then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show—there was a little quiver
fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would
about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah,
tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again
would
'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a
fellow.
FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep
you!
Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you
well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile
to-night.
Bardolph, give the soldiers coats.
SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your
affairs;
God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our
old
acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the
court.
FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would.
SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.
FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt JUSTICES]
On,
Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF] As I
return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom
of
justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to
this
vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing
but
prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he
hath
done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer
paid
to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at
Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a
cheese-paring.
When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd
radish,
with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was
so
forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were
invisible. 'A
was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and
the
whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of
the
fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes
that
he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies
or
his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a
squire,
and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been
sworn
brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once
in
the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among
the
marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his
own
name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into
an
eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him,
a
court—and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be
acquainted
with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him
a
philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait
for
the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may
snap
at him. Let time shape, and there an end. Exit
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ACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree
Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others
ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd
HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace.
ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth
To know the numbers of our enemies.
HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.
ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland;
Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance with his quality,
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers
That your attempts may overlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of their opposite.
MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
And dash themselves to pieces.
Enter A MESSENGER
HASTINGS. Now, what news?
MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy;
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.
Let us sway on and face them in the field.
Enter WESTMORELAND
ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.
WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,
The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,
What doth concern your coming.
WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,
Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary-
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and these noble lords,
Had not been here to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-
Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war;
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.
Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a physician;
Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men;
But rather show awhile like fearful war
To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run
And are enforc'd from our most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion;
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to show in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience:
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
We are denied access unto his person,
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet appearing blood, and the examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;
Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.
WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied;
Wherein have you been galled by the King;
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine,
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?
ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother horn an household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.
WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress;
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all
That feel the bruises of the days before,
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?
WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Either from the King or in the present time,
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories,
Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's?
MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost
That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
Was force perforce compell'd to banish him,
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together—
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the King did throw his warder down—
His own life hung upon the staff he threw—
Then threw he down himself, and all their lives
That by indictment and by dint of sword
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely general
To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them, everything set off
That might so much as think you enemies.
MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so.
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
For, lo! within a ken our army lies-
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd.
MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.
WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.
HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name.
I muse you make so slight a question.
ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances.
Each several article herein redress'd,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form,
And present execution of our wills
To us and to our purposes confin'd-
We come within our awful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
In sight of both our battles we may meet;
And either end in peace—which God so frame!-
Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords
Which must decide it.
ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND
MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.
ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances;
For he hath found to end one doubt by death
Revives two greater in the heirs of life;
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
And keep no tell-tale to his memory
That may repeat and history his los
To new remembrance. For full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this land
As his misdoubts present occasion:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.
HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement;
So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.
ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true;
And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
MOWBRAY. Be it so.
Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.
Re-enter WESTMORELAND
WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your
lordship
To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies?
MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.
ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come.
Exeunt
SCENE II. Another part of the forest
Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the
ARCHBISHOP,
HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of
LANCASTER,
WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others
PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray.
Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
How deep you were within the books of God?
To us the speaker in His parliament,
To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself,
The very opener and intelligencer
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the reverence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of His substitute, my father,
And both against the peace of heaven and him
Have here up-swarm'd them.
ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace;
But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,
The time misord'red doth, in common sense,
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form
To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,
Whereon this hydra son of war is born;
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
With grant of our most just and right desires;
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.
HASTINGS. And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt.
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
And so success of mischief shall be born,
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
Whiles England shall have generation.
PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly
How far forth you do like their articles.
PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well;
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
Of our restored love and amity.
ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses.
PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.
I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain.
Exit Officer
ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.
WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains
I have bestow'd to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you.
WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it.
Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.
ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry;
But heaviness foreruns the good event.
WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.'
ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
[Shouts within]
PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they
shout!
MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory.
ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither party loser.
PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too.
Exit WESTMORELAND
And, good my lord, so please you let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.
ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
Exit HASTINGS
PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.
Re-enter WESTMORELAND
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties.
Re-enter HASTINGS
HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already.
Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.
WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.
MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so?
ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith?
PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none:
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
I will perform with a most Christian care.
But for you, rebels—look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray.
God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt