Your fpirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. You, for all this, fay not that Percy's dead. I fee a strange confeffion in thine eye:

Thou fhak'it thy head, and hold'ft it fear, or fin,
To speak a truth: if he be flain, fay fo:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth fin that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which fays the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a lofing office: and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a fullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my Lord, your son is dead.
Mort. I'm forry I fhould force you to believe
That, which I would to heav'n I had not seen.
But thefe mine eyes faw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Monmouth; whofe fwift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence, with life, he never more fprung up.
In few; his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dulleft 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 reft
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing that's heavy in it felf,
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hot-fpur's lofs,
Lend to this weight fuch lightnefs with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our foldiers, aiming at their fafety,
Fly, from the field. Then was 'the noble Worster
Too foon ta'en prifoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whofe well-labouring sword
Had three times flain th' appearance of the King,

3

'Gan

'Gan vail his ftomach and did grace the fhame
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight
Stumbling in fear was took. The fum of all
Is, that the King hath won: and hath fent out
A fpeedy pow'r t' encounter you, my Lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmorland. This is the news at full.

North. For this, I fhall have time enough to mourn. In poifon there is phyfick: and this news,

That would, had I been well, have made me fick.
Being fick, hath in some measure made me well.
And as the wretch whofe feaver-weaken'd joints
Like ftrengthless hinges buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice crutch,
A fcaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

Muft glove this hand. And hence, thou fickly quoif,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes flefh'd with conqueft aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach

The 'rugged'ft hour that time and fpight dare bring,
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heav'n kifs 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 ling'ring act:
But let one fpirit of the firft-born Cain

Reign in all bofoms, that, each heart being fet
On bloody courfes, the rude fcene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Bard. This ftrained paffion doth you wrong, my Lord;
Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
Mort. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health, the which if you give o'er
To stormy paffion, muft perforce decay.

4 raggel't... old edit. Theob, emend.

You

You caft th' event of war, my noble Lord,
And fumm'd the account of chance, before you faid
Let us make head: it was your presurmife,
That in the dole of blows, your fon 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 fears; and that his forward fpirit
Would lift him where moft trade of danger rang'd:
Yet did you fay, Go forth. And none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The ftiff-born action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than that being, which was like to be?

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this lofs,
Knew that we ventur'd on fuch dang'rous feas,
That if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd,
Choak'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And fince we are o'er-fet, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.
Mort. 'Tis more than time; and, my most noble Lord,
I hear for certain, and do fpeak the truth:
The gentle Arch-bifhop of York is up
With well appointed powers: he is a man
Who with a double furety binds his followers.
My Lord, your fon, had only but the corps,
But fhadows, and the fhews of men to fight.
For that fame word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their fouls;
And they did fight with queafiness, constrain'd
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our fide: but for their fpirits and fouls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns infurrection to religion;

Suppos'd fincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind:

And

And doth enlarge his rifing with the blood
Of fair King Richard, fcrap'd from Pomfret ftones
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his caufe;
Tells them, he doth beftride a bleeding land
Gafping for life, under great Bolingbroke:
And more, and lefs, 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 counfel every man

The apteft way for fafety and revenge:

Get pofts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never fo few, nor never yet more need.

[Exeunt.

Enter Sir John Falftaff, with bis Page bearing his fword and buckler.

Fal. Irrah, you giant, what fays the doctor to my water?

Sirrah,
Page. He faid, Sir, the water it felf was a good

healthy water. But for the party that own'd it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all forts 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 my felf, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a fow, that hath overwhelm'd all her litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my fervice for any other reason than to fet me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whorfon mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with an 'aglet 'till now: but I will fet you neither in gold nor filver, but in vile apparel, and fend

you

you back again to your mafter, for a jewel: The Juvenil, the Prince your mafter! whose chin is not yet fledg'd; Í will fooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek: yet he will not ftick to fay, his face is a face-royal. Heav'n may finish it when it will, it is not a hair amifs yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber fhall never earn fixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever fince his father was a batchelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almoft out of mine, I can affure him. What faid Mr. Dombledon about the fatten for my fhort cloak and flops?

Page. He faid, Sir, you should procure him better affurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours, he lik'd not the security.

Fal. Let him be damn'd like the glutton, may his tongue be hotter! a whorfon Achitophel, a rafcally yeaforfooth-knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon fecurity! the whorfon fmooth-pates do now wear nothing but high fhoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they muft ftand upon fecurity: I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to ftop it with fecurity. I looked he should have fent me two and twenty yards of fatten, as I am a true knight, and he fends me fecurity. Well, he may fleep in fecurity, for he hath the horn of abundance. And the lightnefs of his wife fhines through it, and yet cannot he fee, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ?

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a

horfe.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horfe in Smithfield. If I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.

SCENE