The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 140

Arch. Like enough you do.

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The King with mighty and quick-raised power Meets with Lord Harry; and I fear, Sir Michael, What with the sickness of Northumberland, Whose power was in the first proportion, And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence, Who with them was a rated sinew too And comes not in, overrul'd by prophecies- I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the King.

Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.

Arch. No, Mortimer is not there.

Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head Of gallant warriors, n.o.ble gentlemen.

Arch. And so there is; but yet the King hath drawn The special head of all the land together- The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, The n.o.ble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt, And many moe corrivals and dear men Of estimation and command in arms.

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd.

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed.

For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, For he hath heard of our confederacy, And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him.

Therefore make haste. I must go write again To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.

Exeunt.

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ACT V. Scene I.

The King's camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, Falstaff.

King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon busky hill! The day looks pale At his distemp'rature.

Prince. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a bl.u.s.t'ring day.

King. Theft with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester [and Vernon].

How, now, my Lord of Worcester? 'Tis not well That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust And made us doff our easy robes of peace To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.

This is not well, my lord; this is not well.

What say you to it? Will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient orb again Where you did give a fair and natural light, And be no more an exhal'd meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times?

Wor. Hear me, my liege.

For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours; for I do protest I have not sought the day of this dislike.

King. You have not sought it! How comes it then, Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prince. Peace, chewet, peace!

Wor. It pleas'd your Majesty to turn your looks Of favour from myself and all our house; And yet I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends.

For you my staff of office did I break In Richard's time, and posted day and night To meet you on the way and kiss your hand When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.

It was myself, my brother, and his son That brought you home and boldly did outdare The dangers of the time. You swore to us, And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state, Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster.

To this we swore our aid. But in short s.p.a.ce It it rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head, And such a flood of greatness fell on you- What with our help, what with the absent King, What with the injuries of a wanton time, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious winds that held the King So long in his unlucky Irish wars That all in England did repute him dead- And from this swarm of fair advantages You took occasion to be quickly woo'd To gripe the general sway into your hand; Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And, being fed by us, you us'd us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow- did oppress our nest; Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk That even our love thirst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforc'd for safety sake to fly Out of your sight and raise this present head; Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forg'd against yourself By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise.

King. These things, indeed, you have articulate, Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches, To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour that may please the eye Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, Which gape and rub the elbow at the news Of hurlyburly innovation.

And never yet did insurrection want Such water colours to impaint his cause, Nor moody beggars, starving for a time Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.

Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes, This present enterprise set off his head, I do not think a braver gentleman, More active-valiant or more valiant-young, More daring or more bold, is now alive To grace this latter age with n.o.ble deeds.

For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry; And so I hear he doth account me too.

Yet this before my father's Majesty- I am content that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation, And will to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight.

King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit considerations infinite Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no!

We love our people well; even those we love That are misled upon your cousin's part; And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his.

So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do. But if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So be gone.

We will not now be troubled with reply.

We offer fair; take it advisedly.

Exit Worcester [with Vernon]

Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life.

The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms.

King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them, And G.o.d befriend us as our cause is just!

Exeunt. Manent Prince, Falstaff.

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so!

'Tis a point of friendship.

Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship.

Say thy prayers, and farewell.

Fal. I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.

Prince. Why, thou owest G.o.d a death.

Exit.

Fal. 'Tis not due yet. I would be loath to pay him before his day.

What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; honour p.r.i.c.ks me on. Yea, but how if honour p.r.i.c.k me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be bear it? No. 'Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon- and so ends my catechism.

Exit.

Scene II.

The rebel camp.

Enter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon.

Wor. O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, The liberal and kind offer of the King.

Ver. 'Twere best he did.

Wor. Then are we all undone.

It is not possible, it cannot be The King should keep his word in loving us.

He will suspect us still and find a time To punish this offence in other faults.

Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; For treason is but trusted like the fox Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.

Look how we can, or sad or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks, And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.

My nephew's trespa.s.s may be well forgot; It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, And an adopted name of privilege- A hare-brained Hotspur govern'd by a spleen.

All his offences live upon my head And on his father's. We did train him on; And, his corruption being taken from us, We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.

Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, In any case, the offer of the King.

Enter Hotspur [and Douglas].

Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.

Here comes your cousin.

Hot. My uncle is return'd.

Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.

Uncle, what news?

Wor. The King will bid you battle presently.

Doug. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

Exit.

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King.

Hot. Did you beg any, G.o.d forbid!