Henry, prince of Wales, afterwards
King Henry V.;
Thomas, duke of Clarence;
Travers and Morton, domestics of Northumberland.
Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page.
Poins and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry.
Shallow and Silence, country Justices.
Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards his sons. Davy, servant to Shallow.
(2 Henry V.) duke of Bedford;
Prince Humphrey of Gloster, afterwards
(2 Henry V.) duke of Gloster;
Earl of Warwick;
Earl of Westmoreland;
Gower; Harcourt;
Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.
A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice.
Earl of Northumberland;
Scroop, archbishop of York;
Lord Mowbray; Lord Hastings;
Lord Bardolph; Sir John Coleville;
Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle. Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues.
Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will stop The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks ? I, from the orient to the drooping west, Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold The acts commenced on this ball of earth: Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. I speak of peace, while covert enmity, Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; And of so easy and so plain a stop,
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. But what need I thus My well-known body to anatomize Among my household? Why is Rumour here? I run before king Harry's victory;
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsb Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Quenching the flame of bold rebellion Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I To speak so true at first? my office is To noise abroad, -that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; And that the king before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
(1) Northumberland's castle.
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, re
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, fied 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!
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true.
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 wouldst say, - Your son did thus, and thus;
Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; But in the end, to stop mine car indeed, Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Ending with-brother, son, and all, are dead. Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: But, for my lord your son, North.
Why, he is dead. See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More than he haply may retain from me.
North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you? Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, A gentleman almost forspent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that rebellion had bad luck, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold: With that, he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question.
Ha!--Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck?
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 departed 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 outbreath'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,)
My lord, I'll tell you what; - Being bruited once, took fire and heat away If my young lord your son has not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point2
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
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
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
Give then such instances of loss? Bard.
Who, he? He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
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,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
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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 in full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick, Being sick, have in some measure made me well: And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves; hence therefore, thou nice
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; And more, and less, do flock to follow him. North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. Go in with me; and counsel every man
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif; 2 The aptest way for safety, and revenge:
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. Now bind my brows with iron; and approach The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland! Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die! And let this world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead!
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed; Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. 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 this foolish-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
Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your
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,
other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath o'erwhelmed 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
And summ'd the account of chance, before you worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was
Let us make head. It was your presurmise, That in the dole of blows your son might drop: You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirits Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; Yet did you say, -Go forth; and none of this, Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen, Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, More than that being which was like to be?
Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; And, since we are o'erset, venture again. Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods. Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,-- The gentle archbishop of York is up, With well-appointed powers; he is a man, Who with a double surety binds his followers. My lord your son had only but the corps, But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight: For that same word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from their souls; And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd, As men drink potions; that their weapons only Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls, This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop Turns insurrection to religion:
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, He's follow'd both with body and with mind; And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;
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never manned with an agate1 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 be damned like a 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 sinooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough11 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 & horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife
(9) A root supposed to have the shape of a man. (10) A little figure cut in an agate. (11) In their debt.
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