Warkworth. Before the 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? That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, Can play upon it. But what need I thus They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true [Exit. wrongs. ACT I. SCENE I. The same. Enter Lord Bardolph. Upon mine honour, for a silken point I'll give my barony: never talk of it. [Travers North. Why should that gentleman that rode by Give then such instances of loss? L. Bard. Who, he? He was some hilding fellow that had stolen Where is the earl? The horse he rode on, and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? Port. What shall I say you are? Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, Enter Northumberland. L. Bard. Here comes the earl. [Exit Porter. North. What news, Lord Bardolph ? every minute Should be the father of some stratagem: [now The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose And bears down all before him. L. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an God will! L. 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! North. A gentleman well bred and of good name, On Tuesday last to listen after news. Enter Travers. L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnished with no certainties More than he haply may retail from me. North. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, Outrode me. After him came spurring hard A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, That stopped 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. North. Ha! Again: Enter Morton. North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? North. 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 an 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 shakest 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 tolling a departing friend. L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, [lord. Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. 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, 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 advised his flesh was capable Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged: 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? noble [lord, L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas That if we wrought our life 't was ten to one; And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed Choked 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 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 corpse, 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 Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts, North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, SCENE II.- London. A street. Enter 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 invent 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 inset 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, 't is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he 's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God 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 through 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 a' 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 lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ? Paye. 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 Servant. 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? Serv. Falstaff, an 't please your lordship. Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? Serv. 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 Lancaster. Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back again. Serv. Sir John Falstaff! Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page. You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Serv. Sir John! Fal. What! a young knave, and begging! 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. Serv. 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. Serv. 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 gettest any leave of me, hang me: if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Serv. 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 reverent care of your health. Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. Fal. An 't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 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, God mend him! I pray you, 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 think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an 't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal, Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. 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 in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er、 posting that action. Fal. My lord? Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. 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 costermonger 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 do 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. 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? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better companion! Fal. God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! 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 Servant. Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page. Sir? Fal. What money is in my purse? Page. Seven groats and two pence. 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. "T 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. The Archbishop's palace. Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Mob. I well allow the occasion of our arms; Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file [eth thus; L. Bard. The question then, Lord Hastings, standWhether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? Hast. With him, we may. L. Bard. Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. [hope, L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lined himself with Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find out weighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. [thousand? L. Bard. What, is the king but five and twenty Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord BarFor his divisions, as the times do brawl, [dolph. Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. Arch. That he should draw his several strengths And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. [together He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh |