Dowglas.
Hot-spur.
Well said, my noble Scot; if speaking truth,
In this fine age, were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Dowglas have,
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so gen'ral currant through the World.
By heav'n, I cannot flatter: I defie
The tongues of soothers. But a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than your self.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Dow.
Thou art the King of honour:
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him.
Enter a Messenger.
Hot.
Do, and 'tis well—What letters hast thou there?—
I can but thank you.
Mess.
These come from your father.
Hot.
Letters from him? why comes he not himself?
-- 410 --
Mess.
He cannot come, my lord, he's grievous sick.
Hot.
Heav'ns! how has he the leisure to be fick
In such a justling time? Who leads his Power;
Under whose government come they along?
Mess.
His letters bear his mind, not I his mind.
Wor.
I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?
Mess.
He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth:
And at the time of my departure thence,
He was much fear'd by his physicians.
Wor.
I would, the state of time had first been whole,
Ere he by sickness had been visited;
His health was never better worth than now.
Hot.
Sick now? droop now? this sickness doth infect
The very life-blood of our enterprize;
'Tis catching hither, even to our Camp.
He writes me here, that inward sickness—
And that his friends by deputation
Could not so soon be drawn: nor thought he meet
To lay so dangerous and dear a Trust
On any soul remov'd, but on his own.
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
That with our small conjunction we should on,
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us:
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now;
Because the King is certainly possest
Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
Wor.
Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hot.
A perillous gash, a very limb lopt off:
And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want
Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good,
To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one Cast? to set so rich a Main
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
It were not good; for therein should we read
The very bottom, and the soul of hope,
The very list, the very utmost Bound
Of all our fortunes.
Dow.
Faith, and so we should;
Where now remains a sweet reversion.
-- 411 --
We now may boldly spend, upon the hope
Of what is to come in:
A comfort of retirement lives in this.
Hot.
A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,
If that the Devil and Mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.
Wor.
But yet I would your father had been here:
The quality and hair of our attempt
Brooks no division: it will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and meer dislike
Of our proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.
And think, how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction,
And breed a kind of question in our cause:
For well you know, we of th' offending side
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement;
And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence
The eye of reason may pry in upon us:
This absence of your father draws a curtain,
That shews the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt upon.
Hot.
You strain too far.
I rather of his absence make this use:
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion,
A larger Dare to our great enterprise,
Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,
If we without his help can make a head,
To push against the Kingdom; with his help,
We shall o'erturn it topsie turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.
Dow.
As heart can think; there is not such a word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.
Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
Hot.
My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul!
Ver.
Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord.
The Earl of Westmorland, sev'n thousand strong,
Is marching hither, with Prince John of Lancaster.
Hot.
No harm; what more?
-- 412 --
Ver.
And further, I have learn'd,
The King himself in person hath set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot.
He shall be welcome too: where is his son?
The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daft the world aside
And bid it pass?
Ver.
All furnisht, all in arms,
All plum'd like Estridges, that with the wind
Baited like Eagles, having lately bath'd:
Glittering in golden coats like images,
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the Sun at Midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury;
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an Angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Hot.
No more, no more; worse than the Sun in March,
This praise doth nourish agues; let them come.
They come like Sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoaky war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them.
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,
And yet not ours. Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me, like a thunder-bolt,
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry shall (not horse to horse)
Meet, and ne'er part, till One drop down a coarse.
Oh, that Glendower were come!
Ver.
There is more news:
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his Pow'r this fourteen days.
-- 413 --
Dow.
That's the worst tidings that I hear of, yet.
Wor.
Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
Hot.
What may the King's whole Battle reach unto?
Ver.
To thirty thousand.
Hot.
Forty let it be;
My father and Glendower being both away,
The Pow'r of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily:
Dooms-day is near; die all, die merrily.
Dow.
Talk not of dying, I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to a publick Road, near Coventry.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me
a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march
through: we'll to Sutton-top-hill to night.
Bard.
Will you give me mony, captain?
Fal.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This bottel makes an angel.
Fal.
And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coynage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.
Bard.
I will, captain; farewel.
[Exit.
Fal.
If I be not asham'd of my soldiers, I am a
sowc'd gurnet: I have mis-us'd the King's Press damnably.
I have got, in exchange of an hundred and
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good housholders, yeomens sons; enquire
me out contracted batchelors, such as had been
ask'd twice on the banes: such a commodity of warm
slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil, as a drum; such
as fear the report of a culverin, worse than a struck-fowl,
or a hurt wild duck. I press me none but such
toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger
than pins heads, and they have bought out their
-- 414 --
services: and now my whole Charge consists of ancients,
corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies,
slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth,
where the Glutton's dogs licked his sores; and such
as indeed were never soldiers, but dis-carded unjust
servingmen, younger sons to younger brothers; revolted
tapsters, and ostlers trade-fall'n, the cankers of
a calm world and a long peace; (19) note
ten times more
dishonourably ragged, than an old-fac'd ancient; and
such have I to fill up the rooms of them that have
bought out their services; that you would think, I had
a hundred and fifty tatter'd Prodigals, lately come from
swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad
fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded
all the gibbets, and prest the dead bodies. No
eye hath seen such skare-crows: I'll not march through
Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains
march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on;
for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.
There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; and
the half shirt is two napkins tack'd together, and
-- 415 --
thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without
sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stoll'n from
my Host of St. Albans; or the red-nos'd Inn-keeper of
Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linnen enough
on every hedge.
Enter Prince Henry, and Westmorland.
P. Henry.
How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?
Fal.
What, Hal? How now, mad wag, what a devil
dost thou in Warwickshire? My good lord of Westmorland,
I cry you mercy; I thought, your Honour had
already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there, and you too; but my Powers are there already.
The King, I can tell you, looks for us all;
we must away all to night.
Fal.
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant, as a Cat
to steal cream.
P. Henry.
I think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy theft
hath already made thee butter; but tell me, Jack, whose
fellows are these that come after?
Fal.
Mine, Hal, mine.
P. Henry.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal.
Tut, tut, good enough to toss: food for powder,
food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better;
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West.
Ay, but Sir John, methinks, they are exceeding
poor and bare, too beggarly.
Fal.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they
had that; and for their bareness, I am sure, they never
learn'd that of me.
P. Henry.
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, Sirrah, make haste.
Percy is already in the field.
Fal.
What, is the King encamp'd?
West.
He is, Sir John: I fear, we shall stay too long.
Fal.
Well,
The latter end of a fray, and beginning of a feast,
Fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.
[Exeunt.
-- 416 --
Scene 3
SCENE changes to Shrewsbury.
Enter Hot-spur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.
Hot.
We'll fight with him to night.
Wor.
It may not be.
Dow.
You give him then advantage.
Ver.
Not a whit.
Hot.
Why say you so? looks he not for supply?
Ver.
So do we.
Hot.
He is certain, ours is doubtful.
Wor.
Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to night.
Ver.
Do not, my lord.
Dow.
You do not counsel well;
You speak it out of fear, and from cold heart.
Ver.
Do me no slander, Dowglas: by my life,
And I dare well maintain it with my life,
If well-respected honour bid me on,
I hold as little counsel with weak fear,
As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives.
Let it be seen to morrow in the battel,
Which of us fears.
Dow.
Yea, or to night.
Ver.
Content.
Hot.
To night, say I.
Ver.
Come, come, it may not be: I wonder much,
Being men of such great Leading as you are,
That you foresee not what impediments
Drag back our expedition; certain horse
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up;
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to day,
And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
That not a horse is half half of himself.
Hot.
So are the horses of the enemy,
In gen'ral, journey-bated, and brought low:
The better part of ours are full of Rest.
Wor.
The number of the King's exceedeth ours:
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
[The Trumpet sounds a parley.
-- 417 --
Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt.
I come with gracious Offers from the King,
If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect.
Hot.
Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt: and would to God,
You were of our determination;
Some of us love you well; and ev'n those Some
Envy your great deservings, and good name,
Because you are not of our quality;
But stand against us like an enemy.
Blunt.
And heav'n defend, but still I should stand so,
So long as out of limit, and true rule,
You stand against anointed Majesty.
But, to my Charge—The King hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
Such bold hostility, teaching his dutious Land
Audacious cruelty. If that the King
Have any way your good deserts forgot,
Which he confesseth to be manifold,
He bids you name your griefs: and with all speed
You shall have your desires, with interest:
And pardon absolute for your self, and these,
Herein mis-led by your suggestion.
Hot.
The King is kind: and well we know, the King
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father and my uncle, and my self,
Did give him that same Royalty he wears:
And when he was not six and twenty strong,
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded Out-law, sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the shore:
And when we heard him swear, and vow to God,
He came to be but Duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery and beg his peace,
With tears of innocence and terms of zeal;
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.
Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realm
Perceiv'd, Northumberland did lean to him,
-- 418 --
They, more and less, came in with cap and knee;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages,
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
Gave him their heirs, as pages following him
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, as Greatness knows it self,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg:
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain Edicts, and some strait Decrees,
That lay too heavy on the Common-wealth;
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his Country's wrongs; and by this face,
This seeming brow of justice, did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for:
Proceeded further, cut me off the heads
Of all the Fav'rites that the absent King
In Deputation left behind him here,
When he was personal in the Irish war.
Blunt.
I came not to hear this.
Hot.
Then, to the point.—
In short time after, he depos'd the King,
Soon after That depriv'd him of his life:
And, in the neck of That, task'd the whole State.
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March,
(Who is, if every Owner were right plac'd,
Indeed, his King) to be encag'd in Wales,
There without ransom to lie forfeited:
Disgrac'd me in my happy Victories,
Sought to intrap me by intelligence,
Rated my uncle from the Council-board,
In rage dismiss'd my father from the Court,
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong,
And in conclusion drove us to seek out
This head of safety; and withal to pry
Into his Title too, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.
Blunt.
Shall I return this answer to the King?
-- 419 --
Hot.
Not so, Sir Walter; we'll withdraw a while:
Go to the King, and let there be impawn'd
Some Surety for a safe return again;
And in the morning early shall my uncle
Bring him our purposes: and so farewel.
Blunt.
I would, you would accept of grace and love!
Hot.
It may be, so we shall.
Blunt.
Pray heav'n, you do!
[Exeunt.
Scene 4
SCENE changes to the Archbishop of York's Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of York, and Sir Michell.
York.
Hie, good Sir Michell, bear this sealed brief
With winged haste to the Lord Mareshal;
This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest
To whom they are directed: if you knew
How much they do import, you wou'd make haste.
Sir Mich.
My lord, I guess their tenour.
York.
Like enough.
To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must bide the touch. For, Sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly giv'n to understand,
The King, with mighty and quick-raised Power,
Meets with lord Harry; and I fear, Sir Michell,
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
Whose Pow'r was in the first proportion;
And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
Who with them was a rated sinew too,
And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies;
I fear, the Pow'r of Percy is too weak,
To wage an instant tryal with the King.
Sir Mich.
Why, my good lord, there's Dowglas, and
lord Mortimer.
York.
No, Mortimer is not there.
Sir Mich.
But there is Mordake, Vernon, Harry Percy,
And there's my lord of Worcester, and a head
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
-- 420 --
York.
And so there is: but yet the King hath drawn
The special head of all the Land together:
The Prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Westmorland, and warlike Blunt;
And many more corrivals, and dear men
Of estimation and command in arms.
Sir Mich.
Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd.
York.
I hope no less: yet, needful 'tis to fear.
And to prevent the worst, Sir Michell, speed;
For if lord Percy thrive not, ere the King
Dismiss his Power, he means to visit us;
For he hath heard of our Confederacy,
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him:
Therefore make haste, I must go write again
To other friends; and so farewel, Sir Michell.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
