The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 139

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 d.a.m.nably. 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-b.u.t.ter, 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 b.u.t.ter. 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 sh.o.r.e; And when he heard him swear and vow to G.o.d 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 a.s.sistance, 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 mult.i.tudes.

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 sh.o.r.e 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 t.i.tle, the which we find Too indirect for long continuance.

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?

Hot. Not so, Sir Walter. We'll withdraw awhile.

Go to the King; and let there be imp.a.w.n'd Some surety for a safe return again, And In the morning early shall mine uncle Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love.

Hot. And may be so we shall.

Blunt. Pray G.o.d you do.

Exeunt.

Scene IV.

York. The Archbishop's Palace.

Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.

Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief With winged haste to the Lord Marshal; This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest To whom they are directed. If you knew How much they do import, you would make haste.

Sir M. My good lord, I guess their tenour.