There is not such a word
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
Shakespeare
Say, what thing?
what thing?
Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.
Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it!
I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hood aside,
thou art a knave to call me so.
Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
otherwise.
Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
Fal. What beast? Why, an otter.
Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?
Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to
have her.
Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows
where to have me, thou knave, thou!
Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most
grossly.
Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you ought
him a thousand pound.
Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth a million;
thou owest me thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel
you.
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?
Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper.
Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now?
Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but as
thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's
whelp.
Prince. And why not as the lion?
Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think
I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my
girdle break.
Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees!
But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in
this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts and midriff.
Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou
whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anything in
thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses,
and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded-
if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these, I
am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket
up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency
Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of
villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and
therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd my pocket?
Prince. It appears so by the story.
Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy
husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt
find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.
-Still? - Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess. ] Now, Hal, to the
news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered?
Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.
The money is paid back again.
Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour.
Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.
Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it
with unwash'd hands too.
Bard. Do, my lord.
Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can
steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty or
thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I
praise them.
Prince. Bardolph!
Bard. My lord?
Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,
To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
[Exit Bardolph. ]
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
[Exit Poins. ]
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall
At two o'clock in the afternoon.
There shalt thou know thy charge. and there receive
Money and order for their furniture.
The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either they or we must lower lie. [Exit. ]
Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come.
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
Exit.
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ACT IV. Scene I.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth
In this fine age were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Douglas have
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By God, I cannot flatter, I defy
The tongues of soothers! but a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Doug. Thou art the king of honour.
No man so potent breathes upon the ground
But I will beard him.
Enter one with letters.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. -
What letters hast thou there? - I can but thank you.
Messenger. These letters come from your father.
Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?
Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.
Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick
In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along?
Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.
Wor. I prithee 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 lifeblood of our enterprise.
'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; no did he think it 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 possess'd
Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.
And yet, in faith, it is 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 man
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.
Doug. Faith, and so we should;
Where now remains a sweet reversion.
We 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 mere 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 the off'ring 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's draws a curtain
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.
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 a kingdom, with his help
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.
Doug. 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 Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.
Hot. No harm. What more?
Ver. And further, I have learn'd
The King himself in person is set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside
And bid it pass?
Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms;
All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
Bated 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 cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat
As if an angel dropp'd 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 smoky 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 taste my horse,
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.
that Glendower were come!
Ver. There is more news.
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
Doug. 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 powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily.
Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.
Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear
Of death or death's hand for this one half-year.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
A public 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 Co'fil'
to-night.
Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?
Fal. Lay out, lay out.
Bald. This bottle makes an angel.
Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,
take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto
meet me at town's end.
Bard. I Will, Captain. Farewell. Exit.
Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet. I
have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in exchange of
a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I
press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me
out contracted bachelors, 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 caliver worse than
a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such
toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than
pins' heads, and they have bought out their 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 discarded unjust
serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revolted tapsters,
and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a long
peace; ten times more dishonourable 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 that I had a
hundred and fifty tattered 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
press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. 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 thrown over the shoulders like a
herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose innkeeper
of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on
every hedge.
Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.
Prince. 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 Westmoreland, 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.
Prince. 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.
Prince. 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 surd they never learn'd that of me.
Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the
ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the
field.
Exit.
Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?
West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
[Exit. ]
Fal. Well,
To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. Exit.
Scene III.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon.
Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.
Wor. It may not be.
Doug. You give him then advantage.
Ver. Not a whit.
Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply?
Ver. So do we.
Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful.
Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.
Ver. Do not, my lord.
Doug. You do not counsel well.
You speak it out of fear and cold heart.
Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas. 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 this day lives.
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle
Which of us fears.
Doug. Yea, or to-night.
Ver. Content.
Hot. To-night, say I.
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 the half of himself.
Hot. So are the horses of the enemy,
In general journey-bated and brought low.
The better part of ours are full of rest.
Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours.
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
The trumpet sounds a parley.
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 even 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 God 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 duteous 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 yourself and these
Herein misled 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 myself
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 outlaw sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the shore;
And when he heard him swear and vow to God
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery and beg his peace,
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him assistance, and performed it too.
Now, when the lords and barons of the realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
The more and less came in with cap and knee;
Met him on boroughs, cities, villages,
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
Give him their heirs as pages, followed him
Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
He presently, as greatness knows itself,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;
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 favourites that the absent King
In deputation left behind him here
When he was personal in the Irish war.
But. Tut! I came not to hear this.
Hot. Then to the point.
In short time after lie 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, suff'red his kinsman March
(Who is, if every owner were well placid,
Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales,
There without ransom to lie forfeited;
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories,
Sought to entrap me by intelligence;
Rated mine uncle from the Council board;
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
Broke an 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, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.
Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?
Hot. Not so, Sir Walter.
Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.
Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it!
I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hood aside,
thou art a knave to call me so.
Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
otherwise.
Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
Fal. What beast? Why, an otter.
Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?
Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to
have her.
Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows
where to have me, thou knave, thou!
Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most
grossly.
Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you ought
him a thousand pound.
Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth a million;
thou owest me thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel
you.
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?
Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper.
Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now?
Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but as
thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's
whelp.
Prince. And why not as the lion?
Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think
I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my
girdle break.
Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees!
But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in
this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts and midriff.
Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou
whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anything in
thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses,
and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded-
if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these, I
am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket
up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency
Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of
villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and
therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd my pocket?
Prince. It appears so by the story.
Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy
husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt
find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.
-Still? - Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess. ] Now, Hal, to the
news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered?
Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.
The money is paid back again.
Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour.
Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.
Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it
with unwash'd hands too.
Bard. Do, my lord.
Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can
steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty or
thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I
praise them.
Prince. Bardolph!
Bard. My lord?
Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,
To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
[Exit Bardolph. ]
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
[Exit Poins. ]
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall
At two o'clock in the afternoon.
There shalt thou know thy charge. and there receive
Money and order for their furniture.
The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either they or we must lower lie. [Exit. ]
Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come.
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
Exit.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>
ACT IV. Scene I.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth
In this fine age were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Douglas have
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By God, I cannot flatter, I defy
The tongues of soothers! but a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Doug. Thou art the king of honour.
No man so potent breathes upon the ground
But I will beard him.
Enter one with letters.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. -
What letters hast thou there? - I can but thank you.
Messenger. These letters come from your father.
Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?
Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.
Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick
In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along?
Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.
Wor. I prithee 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 lifeblood of our enterprise.
'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; no did he think it 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 possess'd
Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.
And yet, in faith, it is 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 man
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.
Doug. Faith, and so we should;
Where now remains a sweet reversion.
We 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 mere 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 the off'ring 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's draws a curtain
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.
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 a kingdom, with his help
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.
Doug. 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 Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.
Hot. No harm. What more?
Ver. And further, I have learn'd
The King himself in person is set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside
And bid it pass?
Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms;
All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
Bated 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 cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat
As if an angel dropp'd 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 smoky 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 taste my horse,
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.
that Glendower were come!
Ver. There is more news.
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
Doug. 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 powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily.
Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.
Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear
Of death or death's hand for this one half-year.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
A public 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 Co'fil'
to-night.
Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?
Fal. Lay out, lay out.
Bald. This bottle makes an angel.
Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,
take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto
meet me at town's end.
Bard. I Will, Captain. Farewell. Exit.
Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet. I
have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in exchange of
a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I
press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me
out contracted bachelors, 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 caliver worse than
a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such
toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than
pins' heads, and they have bought out their 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 discarded unjust
serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revolted tapsters,
and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a long
peace; ten times more dishonourable 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 that I had a
hundred and fifty tattered 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
press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. 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 thrown over the shoulders like a
herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose innkeeper
of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on
every hedge.
Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.
Prince. 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 Westmoreland, 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.
Prince. 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.
Prince. 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 surd they never learn'd that of me.
Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the
ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the
field.
Exit.
Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?
West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
[Exit. ]
Fal. Well,
To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. Exit.
Scene III.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon.
Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.
Wor. It may not be.
Doug. You give him then advantage.
Ver. Not a whit.
Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply?
Ver. So do we.
Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful.
Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.
Ver. Do not, my lord.
Doug. You do not counsel well.
You speak it out of fear and cold heart.
Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas. 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 this day lives.
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle
Which of us fears.
Doug. Yea, or to-night.
Ver. Content.
Hot. To-night, say I.
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 the half of himself.
Hot. So are the horses of the enemy,
In general journey-bated and brought low.
The better part of ours are full of rest.
Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours.
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
The trumpet sounds a parley.
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 even 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 God 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 duteous 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 yourself and these
Herein misled 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 myself
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 outlaw sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the shore;
And when he heard him swear and vow to God
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery and beg his peace,
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him assistance, and performed it too.
Now, when the lords and barons of the realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
The more and less came in with cap and knee;
Met him on boroughs, cities, villages,
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
Give him their heirs as pages, followed him
Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
He presently, as greatness knows itself,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;
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 favourites that the absent King
In deputation left behind him here
When he was personal in the Irish war.
But. Tut! I came not to hear this.
Hot. Then to the point.
In short time after lie 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, suff'red his kinsman March
(Who is, if every owner were well placid,
Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales,
There without ransom to lie forfeited;
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories,
Sought to entrap me by intelligence;
Rated mine uncle from the Council board;
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
Broke an 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, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.
Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?
Hot. Not so, Sir Walter.
