The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
Page 177
The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
ARCHBISHOP
Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,
What doth concern your coming.
WESTMORELAND Then, my lord,
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Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
And countenanc’d by boys and beggary;
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I say, if damn’d commotion so appear’d
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and these noble lords
Had not been here to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
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With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain’d,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch’d,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor’d,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
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The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace
Into the harsh and boist’rous tongue of war;
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
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Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
ARCHBISHOP
Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.
Briefly, to this end: we are all diseas’d,
And with our surfeiting, and wanton hours,
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Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late King Richard being infected died.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a physician,
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Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men,
But rather show awhile like fearful war
To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
And purge th’ obstructions which begin to stop
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Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh’d
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run,
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And are enforc’d from our most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion,
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to show in articles,
Which long ere this we offer’d to the King
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And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wrong’d, and would unfold our griefs,
We are denied access unto his person,
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
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Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood, and the examples
Of every minute’s instance, present now,
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms,
Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
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But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.
WESTMORELAND
Whenever yet was your appeal denied?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
What peer hath been suborn’d to grate on you,
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That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg’d rebellion with a seal divine,
And consecrate commotion’s bitter edge?
ARCHBISHOP My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother born an household cruelty,
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I make my quarrel in particular.
WESTMORELAND There is no need of any such redress,
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
MOWBRAY Why not to him in part, and to us all
That feel the bruises of the days before,
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And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?
WESTMORELAND O, my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
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And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet for your part, it not appears to me
Either from the King or in the present time
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on: were you not restor’d
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To all the Duke of Norfolk’s signories,
Your noble and right well-remember’d father’s?
MOWBRAY What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
That need to be reviv’d and breath’d in me?
The King that lov’d him, as the state stood then,
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Was force perforce compell’d to banish him,
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
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Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together,
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay’d
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the King did throw his warder down,
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His own life hung upon the staff he threw;
Then threw he down himself and all their lives
That by indictment and by dint of sword
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
WESTMORELAND
You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
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The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Who knows on whom Fortune would then have smil’d?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne’er had borne it out of Coventry;
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For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless’d, and grac’d, indeed more than the King.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
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Here come I from our princely general
To know your griefs, to tell you from his Grace
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them, everything set off
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That might so much as think you enemies.
MOWBRAY But he hath forc’d us to compel this offer,
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
WESTMORELAND Mowbray, you overween to take it so.
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
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For lo, within a ken our army lies,
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
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Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then, our offer is compell’d.
MOWBRAY Well, by
my will we shall admit no parley.
WESTMORELAND
That argues but the shame of your offence:
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A rotten case abides no handling.
HASTINGS Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear, and absolutely to determine,
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
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WESTMORELAND
That is intended in the general’s name:
I muse you make so slight a question.
ARCHBISHOP
Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances.
Each several article herein redress’d,
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All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are ensinew’d to this action
Acquitted by a true substantial form
And present execution of our wills –
To us and to our purposes confin’d
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We come within our aweful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
WESTMORELAND
This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
In sight of both our battles we may meet,
And either end in peace – which God so frame! –
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Or to the place of diff ’rence call the swords
Which must decide it.
ARCHBISHOP My lord, we will do so.
Exit Westmoreland.
MOWBRAY There is a thing within my bosom tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
HASTINGS Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
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Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
MOWBRAY Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
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Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action;
That were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow’d with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
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And good from bad find no partition.
ARCHBISHOP
No, no, my lord, note this: the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances;
For he hath found, to end one doubt by death
Revives two greater in the heirs of life:
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And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
And keep no tell-tale to his memory
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance. For full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this land
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As his misdoubts present occasion.
His foes are so enrooted with his friends
That plucking to unfix an enemy
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife
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That hath enrag’d him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv’d correction in the arm
That was uprear’d to execution.
HASTINGS Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
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On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement;
So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.
ARCHBISHOP ’Tis very true:
And therefore be assur’d, my good Lord Marshal,
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If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
MOWBRAY Be it so.
Here is return’d my Lord of Westmoreland.
Enter WESTMORELAND.
WESTMORELAND
The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship
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To meet his Grace just distance ’tween our armies.
MOWBRAY
Your Grace of York, in God’s name then set forward.
YORK Before! and greet his Grace. – My lord, we come.
[They go forward.]
4.2 Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER and his army.
LANCASTER
You are well encounter’d here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, it better show’d with you
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,