The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  A gentleman almost forspent with speed,

  That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse.

  He asked the way to Chester, and of him

  I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.

  He told me that rebellion had ill 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 seemed in running to devour the way,

  Staying no longer question.

  NORTHUMBERLAND Ha? Again:

  Said he young Harry Percy’s spur was cold?

  Of Hotspur, ‘Coldspur’ ? that rebellion

  Had met ill luck?

  LORD BARDOLPH 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Why should the gentleman that rode by Travers

  Give then such instances of loss?

  LORD BARDOLPH Who, he?

  He was some hilding fellow that had stol’n

  The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,

  Spoke at a venture.

  Enter Morton

  Look, here comes more news.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  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

  Hath left a witnessed usurpation.

  Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

  MORTON

  I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,

  Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask

  To fright our party.

  NORTHUMBERLAND How doth my son and brother?

  Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek

  Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.

  Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

  So dull, so dead in look, so woebegone,

  Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night,

  And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;

  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 thus,

  Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas’,

  Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;

  But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,

  Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,

  Ending with ‘Brother, son, and all are dead.’

  MORTON

  Douglas is living, and your brother yet;

  But for my lord your son—

  NORTHUMBERLAND 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 feared 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.

  MORTON

  You are too great to be by me gainsaid,

  Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Yet for all this, say not that Percy’s dead.

  I see a strange confession in thine eye—

  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

  Remembered knolling a departing friend.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

  MORTON (to Northumberland)

  I am sorry I should force you to believe

  That which I would to God I had not seen;

  But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

  Rend‘ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,

  To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down

  The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

  From whence with life he never more 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-tempered courage in his troops;

  For from his metal was his party steeled,

  Which once in him abated, all the rest

  Turned 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 this weight 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 Worcester

  Too soon ta’en prisoner; and that furious Scot

  The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword

  Had three times slain th’appearance of the King,

  Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame

  Of those that turned 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 Westmorland. This is the news at full.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  For this I shall have time enough to mourn.

  In poison there is physic; 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-weakened 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,

  Weakened with grief, being now enraged with grief,

  Are thrice themselves.

  ⌈He casts away his crutch⌉

  Hence therefore, thou nice crutch!

  A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

  Must glove this hand.

  ⌈He snatches off his coif⌉

  And hence, thou sickly coif!

  Thou art a guard too wanton for the head

  Which princes fleshed 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 th’enraged Northumberland!

  Let heaven kiss earth ! Now let not nature’s hand

  Keep the wild flood confined! Let order die!

  And let this world no longer be a stage

  To feed contention in a ling’ring 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!

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

  MORTON

  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 th’event of war, my noble lord,

  And summed the account of chance, before you said

  ‘Let us ma
ke head’. It was your presurmise

  That in the dole of blows your son might drop.

  You knew he walked 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 befall’n?

  Or what doth this bold enterprise bring forth,

  More than that being which was like to be?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  We all that are engaged to this loss

  Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas

  That if we wrought out life was ten to one;

  And yet we ventured for the gain proposed,

  Choked the respect of likely peril feared;

  And since we are o’erset, venture again.

  Come, we will all put forth body and goods.

  MORTON

  ‘Tis more than time; and, my most noble lord,

  I hear for certain, and dare 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, constrained,

  As men drink potions, that their weapons only

  Seemed 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.

  Supposed 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, scraped 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  I knew of this before, but, to speak truth,

  This present grief had wiped 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

  1.2 Enter Sir John Falstaff, ⌈followed by⌉ his Page bearing his sword and buckler

  SIR JOHN 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.

  SIR JOHN Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything 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 o‘erwhelmed 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 judgement. 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 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 fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may finish it when he will; ’tis 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 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.

  SIR JOHN 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?

  PAGE He’s gone in Smithfield to buy your worship a horse.

  SIR JOHN 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 his Servant

  PAGE Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the

  Prince for striking him about Bardolph.

  SIR JOHN ⌈moving away⌉ Wait close; I will not see him.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE (to his Servant) What’s he that goes there ?

  SERVANT Falstaff, an’t please your lordship.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE He that was in question for the robbery?

  SERVANT 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.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE What, to York? Call him back again.

  SERVANT Sir John Falstaff!

  SIR JOHN Boy, tell him I am deaf.

  PAGE (to the Servant) You must speak louder; my master is deaf.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE I am sure he is to the hearing of anything good. (To the Servant) Go pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.

  SERVANT Sir John!

  SIR JOHN What, a young knave and begging! Is there not wars? Is there not employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the rebels want 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.

  SERVANT You mistake me, sir.

  SIR JOHN 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.

  SERVANT 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. 88

  SIR JOHN 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!

  SERVANT Sir, my lord would speak with you.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

  SIR JOHN 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, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time in you; and I most humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.

  SIR JOHN An’t please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE I talk not of his majesty. You would not come when I sent for you.

  SIR
JOHN And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you.

  SIR JOHN 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.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.

  SIR JOHN It hath it 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.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE I think you are fallen into the disease, for you hear not what I say to you.

  SIR JOHN 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.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears, and I care not if I do become your physician.

  SIR JOHN 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.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me.

  SIR JOHN As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.

  SIR JOHN He that buckles himself in my belt cannot live in less.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Your means are very slender, and your waste is great.

  SIR JOHN I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater and my waist slenderer.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE You have misled the youthful Prince.

  SIR JOHN The young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE 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 Gads Hill. You may thank th‘unquiet time for your quiet o’erposting that action.

  SIR JOHN My lord—

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE But since all is well, keep it so. Wake not a sleeping wolf.

  SIR JOHN To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox.

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE What! You are as a candle, the better part burnt out.

  SIR JOHN A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow—if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth.