1

K. Hen. Then this remains,-that we divide our power.

You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,
Towards York shall bend you, with your dear-
est speed,
[Scroop,

To meet Northumberland and the prelate
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: [Wales,
Myself, and you, son Harry,-will towards
To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,
Meeting the check of such another day:
And since this business so fair is done,
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt

KING HENRY THE FOURth.

HENRY, Prince of Wales, afterwards

King Henry V.;

THOMAS, Duke of Clarence;

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 prepared defence;
Whilst the big ear, swol'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 Shrewsbury, [troops,
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his

Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
To speak so true at first? my office is
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's word,
And that the king before the Douglas' rage,
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tìring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me; from Rumour's
tongues

They bring smooth comforts false, worse than [Exit.

true wrongs.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

Bard.
Here comes the earl.
North. What news, Lord Bardolph? every
minute now

Should be the father of some stratagem;
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.
Burd.

Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an heaven will!
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
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, [John,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not, till now, to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes!

North.

How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? [from thence; Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent

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 retail from me. Enter TRAVERS.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you? [back Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me With joyful tidings; and being better hors'd, Outrode 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.

North.

Ha!--Again, Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Ilad met ill luck!

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;If my young lord your son have not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode Give them such instances of loss? [by Travers, Bard. Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more

news.

Enter MORTON.

North. Yea this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragick volume: So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpation,Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear 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!
He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanc'd. 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
I see a strange confession in thine eye: [dead.
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 departing 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, [down

To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he nevermore sprung up.
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp),
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
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
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
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 thisweight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Wor-

cester

Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas,whose well labouring sword Had three times slain the appearance of theking, '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 at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to
mourn.

In poison there is physick; 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,
[nice crutch:
Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly
quoif;

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.
[your honour,
Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from
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 dote 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 spirit
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 lord,

I hear for certain, aud 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 followed both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret

stones:

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
The aptest way for safety, and revenge:
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 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 anagate 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 the 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 smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon-security. I had as lief they would pat ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two