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King Herry The Fourth.
Trayers and Morton, Domestics of Northumber. Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards
land King Henry V. ;
FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, Pistol, and Page. Thomas, Duke of Clarence;
Poins and Peto, Altendants on Prince Henry. Prince John of Lancaster, aflerwarıls
Shallow and SILENCE, Country Justices.
his Sons. (2 Henry V.) Duke of Bedford ;
Davy, Servant to Shallow. PRINCE HUMPHREY of Gloster, after
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and BULL-CALF, wards (2 Henry V.) Duke of
Fang and SNARE, Sheriff's Officers.
RUMOUR. EARL OF WESTMORELAND;
A Porter. Gower;
of the King's Party,
A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue.
Enemies to the
Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, LORD BARDOLPH;
Messengers, Drawers, Grooms, fc. SIR John COLEVILE;
SCENE, - England.
Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues.
Among my household ? Why is Rumour here? Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will I run before King Harry's victory, stop
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I The acts commeuced on this ball of earth :
To speak so true at first? my office is Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ;
To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell The which in every language I pronounce, Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
And that the king before the Douglas' rage I speak of peace, while covert enmity,
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. Under the smile of safety, wounds the world : This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief, Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
And not a man of them brings other news Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's And of so easy and so plain a stop,
tongues That tie blunt monster with uncounted heads, They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true The stili discordant wavering multitude,
SCENE 1.- Warkworth. Before Northumber- | He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
Ha!- Again. The Porter before the Gate; Enter Lord BARDOLPH.
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? - Where Of Hotspur, coidspur? that rebellion is the earl ?
Had met ill luck! Port. What shall I say you are?
My lord, I'll tell you what; L. Bard.
Tell thou the earl, If my young lord your son have not the day, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him bere. Upon mine honour, for a silken point ? Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or- I'll give my barony: never talk of it. chard ;
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
Give then such instances of loss?
Who, he ? L. Bard.
Here comes the earl.
He was some hilding S fellow, that had stol'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Should be the father of some stratagem':
Enter Morton. The times are wild; contention, like a horse
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him.
Foretells the nature of a tragick volume: L. Bard.
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, The king is almost wounded to the death;
To fright our party. And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
How doth my son, and brother? Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince John, Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: Came not till now, to dignify the times,
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say, Your son did thus, and Saw you the field ? came you from Shrewsbury?
thus; L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;
Your brother, thus ; so fought the noble Douglas; A gentleman well bred, and of good name,
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Ending with brother, son, and all are dead. sent
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet : On Tuesday last to listen after news.
But, for my lord, your son, L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
North. And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! More than he haply may retail from me.
He, that but fears the thing he would not know, Enter TraveRS.
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come
That what he fear’d is chanced. Yet speak, Morton: with you?
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ; Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid : A gentleman almost forspent with speed,
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse : North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I see a strange confession in thine eye: I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold : The tongue offends not, that reports his death : With that he gave his able horse the head,
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead : And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Up to the rowel head; and, starting so,
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue • Important or dreadful event.
? Lace tagged
3 Hilderling, base, cowardly.
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you Remember'd knolling a departing friend.
said, 1.. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That in the dole 9 of blows your son might drop : That which I would to heaven I had not seen : You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, More likely to fall in, than to get o'er : Rend'ring faint quittance 4, wearied and outbreath'd, You were advis'd, his flesh was capable To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirits The never daunted Percy to the earth,
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; From whence with life he never more sprung up.
Yet did you say,
Go forth; and none of this, In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
The stiff-borne action; What hath then befallen, Being bruited 5 once, took fire and heat away Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth, From the best-temper'd courage in his troops : More than that being which was like to be ? For from his metal was his party steel'd;
L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, Which once in him abated, all the rest
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, Turn’d on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed; Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
And since we are o'erset, venture again. Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods. That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
lord, Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester I hear for certain and do speak the truth, Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot, The gentle archbishop of York is up, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword With well-appointed powers ; he is a man, Had three times slain the appearance of the king, Who with a double surety binds his followers. 'Gan vail 6 his stomach, and did grace the shame, My lord your son had only but the corps, Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight, But shadows, and the shows of men to fight: Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all For that same word, rebellion, did divide Is, – that the king hath won; and hath sent out The action of their bodies from their souls : A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord, And they did fight with queasiness !, constrain'd, Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only And Westinoreland: this is the news at full. Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls,
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up, In poison there is physick; and these news, As fish are in a pond; But now the bishop Having been well, that would have made me sick, Turns insurrection to religion : Being sick, have in some measure made me well: Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, He's follow'd both with body and with mind; Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones. Out of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs, Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause ; Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice? Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; crutch ;
And more ?, and less, do flock to follow him. A scały gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
North, I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif$, This present grief had wip'd it from my mind, Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Go in with me ; and counsel every man
The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring, Never so few, and never yet more neede (Exeunt.
SCENE II. - London. A Street.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing To feed contention in a lingering act ;
his Sword and Buckler. But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Fal. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me; And darkness be the burier of the dead! Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my wit is in other men.
I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that
I do here walk before thee, lord.
like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from
If the prince put thee into my service for any your bonour.
other reason than to set me off, why then I have no Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
judgment. I was never manned with an agate 3 till Lean on your health ; the which if you give o'er
now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, To storrny passion, must perforce decay.
but in vile apparel, and send you back again to You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 4 Return of blows.
Against their stomachs. 6 Let fall. 7 Triffing
3 Alluding to little figwes cut in agate.