SCENE III.
The archbishop of York's palace.
Enter the archbishop of York, lord Hastings, Thomas Mowbray (earl marshal) and lord Bardolph.
York.
Thus have you heard our cause, and know our means;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:—
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb.
I well allow the occasion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied,
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.
Hast.
Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
Bard.
The question then, lord Hastings, standeth thus;—
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Hast.
With him, we may.
Bard.
Ay, marry, there's the point;
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not 2 notestep too far
'Till we had his assistance by the hand:
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted.
York.
'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed,
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
-- 466 --
Bard.
It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller3 note than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination,
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And, winking, leap'd into destruction.
Hast.
But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt,
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.
Bard.
4 note
Yes, in this present quality of war,
Indeed of instant action9Q0729: A cause on foot
-- 467 --
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair,
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection:
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices; or, at least,5 note desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down,
And set another up) should we survey
The plot of situation, and the model;
Consent upon a sure foundation;
Question surveyors; know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or else,
We fortify in paper, and in figures,
Using the names of men instead of men:
Like one, that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds,
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast.
Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth)
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The very utmost man of expectation;
I think, we are a body strong enough,
-- 468 --
Even as we are, to equal with the king.
Bard.
What! is the king but five and twenty thousand?
Hast.
To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads: one power against the French,6 note
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us: So is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
York.
That he should draw his several strengths together,
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast.
7 noteIf he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
Bard.
Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither?
Hast.
The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland:
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth:
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
York.
8 noteLet us on;
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
-- 469 --
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:—
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many! with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolinbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimm'd up in thine own desires,9Q0730
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times?
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, give us that king again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
Mowb.
Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
Hast.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
