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And that the king before the Douglas' rage
SCENE 1.-The same.
The Porter before the Gate; Enter LORD BARDOlph. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? Where is
Port. What shall I say you are?
Bard. Tell thou the earl, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard; Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer.
Should be the father of some stratagem:
Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an heaven will! Bard.
As good as heart can wish : The king is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, Came not, till now, to dignify the times, Since Cæsar's fortunes!
Lies crafty-sick the posts come tiring on,
Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
North. How doth my son, and broth r? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. This thou would'st say, - Your son did thus, and thus:
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: But, for my lord your son,
Why, he is dead. See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He, that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies; And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye. Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead; Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departing friend.
Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) Being bruited once, took fire and heat away From the best-temper'd courage in his troops : For from his metal was his party steel'd; Which once in him abated, all the rest Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight, Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster, And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast the event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd the account of chance, before you said,
Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit
Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noblɛ
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,
North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
SCENE II. London. A Street. Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler.
Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?
Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : The brain of us toonsn-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now; but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said master Dumbleton about the satin for my short cloak, and slops?
Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security.
Fal. Let him he damned like the glutton! may his tongue be hotter! - A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon -security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, and an Attendant.
Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the prince for striking him about Bardolph. Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the lord John of Lan
thing good.-Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Atten. Sir John,
Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back again. Atten. Sir John Falstaff!
Atten. You mistake me, sir.
Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so.
Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man.
Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou get'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged: You hunt-counter, hence! avaunt!
Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. Fal. My good lord! - God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say, your lordship was sick: I hope, your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship, to have a reverend care of your health.
Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fai. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wale
Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty: -You would not come when I sent for you.
Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me speak with you.
Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel
Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. Page. You must speak louder, my master is in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. deaf. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any great infamy.
Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel.
Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without weighing and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell: Virtue is of so little regard in these coster-monger times, that true valour is turned bear-herd: Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the capacities of us that are young: you measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too.
of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of
Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince Harry: I hear, you are going with lord John
Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it.
Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; And God
Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, to furnish me forth?
Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exeunt CHIEF JUSTICE and Attendant.
Fal. What money is in my purse?
Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the earl of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin About it; you know where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable: A good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity. [Exit. SCENE III. . York. A Room in the Archbishop's Palace.
Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken? your wind short? you chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fye, fye, fye, sir John!
Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known
Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms;
Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better Upon the power and puissance of the king.
Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince!
Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file
Enter the Archbishop of YORK, the Lords HASTINGS,
Bar 1. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth thus;
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with
Eating the air on promise of supply,
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.
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
Host. O lord, ay: good master Snare. Snare. Here, here.
Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff.
Host Yea, good master Snare; I have entered him and all.
Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.
Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if