John Falstaff1 note.
K. Hen.
How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill!2 note
the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
P. Hen.
The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes3 note;
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.
-- 381 --
K. Hen.
Then with the losers let it sympathise;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win.—
Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon.
How now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well,
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust;
And made us doff our easy robes4 note
of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel5 note
:
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.
What say you to't? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war?
And move in that obedient orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhal'd meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times?
Wor.
Hear me, my liege:
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life
With quiet hours; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
K. Hen.
You have not sought it! how comes it then?
Fal.
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
-- 382 --
P. Hen.
Peace, chewet, peace6 note
.
Wor.
It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour, from myself, and all our house;
And yet I must remember you, my lord,
We were the first and dearest of your friends.
For you, my staff of office7 note did I break
In Richard's time; and posted day and night
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
When yet you were in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time: You swore to us,
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state;
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space,
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
-- 383 --
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,
What with our help; what with the absent king;
What with the injuries of a wanton time8 note;
The seeming sufferances that you had borne;
And the contrarious winds, that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars,
That all in England did repute him dead:
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
To gripe the general sway into your hand:
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird9 note
,
Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,
That even our love durst not come near your sight,
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head:
Whereby we stand opposed1 note by such means
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself;
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faith and troth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprize.
-- 384 --
K. Hen.
These things, indeed, you have articulated* note 2 note
,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches;
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour3 note
, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents4 note
,
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurlyburly innovation:
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause;
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time5 note
Of pellmell havock and confusion.
P. Hen.
In both our armies, there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes,
-- 385 --
This present enterprize set off his head6 note,
I do not think, a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young7 note
,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;
And so, I hear, he doth account me too:
Yet this before my father's majesty:
I am content, that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation;
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.
K. Hen.
And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
Albeit, considerations infinite
Do make against it: No, good Worcester, no,
We love our people well8 note
; even those we love,
That are misled upon your cousin's part:
And, will they take the offer of our grace,
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his:
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do: But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
-- 386 --
And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
We will not now be troubled with reply:
We offer fair, take it advisedly.
[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon.
P. Hen.
It will not be accepted, on my life:
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
Are confident against the world in arms.
K. Hen.
Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
For, on their answer, will we set on them:
And God befriend us, as our cause is just!
[Exeunt King, Blunt, and Prince John.
Fal.
Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and
bestride me9 note
, so; 'tis a point of friendship.
P. Hen.
Nothing but a colossus can do thee that
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.
Fal.
I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.
P. Hen.
Why, thou owest God a death.
[Exit1 note.
Fal.
'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay
him before his day. What need I be so forward with
him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter;
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour
prick me off when I come on? how then? Can
honour set to a leg2 note
? No. Or an arm? No. Or
-- 387 --
take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour
hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour?
A word. What is in that word, honour? What
is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning!—Who
hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel
it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible
then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with
the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer
it:—therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere
scutcheon3 note, and so ends my catechism.
[Exit.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
