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 trembl’st; 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 woe-begone,
Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burned.
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 mine 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 thy 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,
Rememb’red knolling a departing friend.
LORD BARDOLPH I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
MORTON 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 out-breathed,
To Henry 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 mettle 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 the 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 this 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
Weakened with grief, being now enraged with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou
Throws down his crutch
nice crutch!
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand. And hence, thou sickly coif!
Throws down his nightcap
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 the 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 make 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 befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be?
LORD BARDOLPH We all that are engagèd to this loss
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
That if we wrought our 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 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 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 Bullingbrook:
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, nor never yet more need.
Exeunt
Act 1 Scene [2]
running scene 2
Location: in London, but unspecified, probably a street
Enter Falstaff and Page
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.
FALSTAFF 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 fledged. I will
sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he
shall get one on his cheek, yet he will not stick to say his face
is a face-royal. Heaven may finish it when he will, it is 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 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 Dombledon 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.
FALSTAFF 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 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 he should have sent me two and twenty yards of
satin, as I am 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 into Smithfield to buy your worship a
horse.
FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul’s, and he’ll buy me a horse in
Smithfield. If I could get me a wife in the stews, I were
manned, horsed, and wived.
Enter Chief Justice and Servant
PAGE Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the
prince for striking him about Bardolph.
FALSTAFF Wait, close. I will not see him.
Tries to sneak away
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE 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!
FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf.
PAGE You must speak louder: my master is deaf.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything
good. Go, pluck him by the elbow, I must speak with him.
SERVANT Sir John!
FALSTAFF What? A young knave, and beg? 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.
FALSTAFF 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.
FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so? I lay aside that which
grows to me? If thou gett’st any leave of me, hang me: if
thou tak’st 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.
FALSTAFF My good lord! Give your lordship good time of the
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,
hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the
saltness of time, and I most humbly beseech your lordship to
have a reverend care of your health.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition
to Shrewsbury.
FALSTAFF If it 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.
FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this
same whoreson apoplexy.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me speak
with you.
FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, a
sleeping of the blood, a whoreson tingling.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.
FALSTAFF 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.
FALSTAFF 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 be your physician.
FALSTAFF 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.
FALSTAFF 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.
FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE Your means is very slender, and your waste
great.
FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise: I would my means were
greater, and my waist slenderer.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE You have misled the youthful prince.
FALSTAFF 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 Gad’s Hill. You may thank the
unquiet time for your quiet o’er-posting that action.
FALSTAFF My lord?
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a
sleeping wolf.
FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE What? You are as a candle, the better part
burnt out.
FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of
wax, my growth would approve the truth.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE There is not a white hair on your face but
should have his effect of gravity.
FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE You follow the young prince up and down,
like his evil angel.
FALSTAFF Not so, my lord, your ill angel is light: but I hope he
that looks upon me will take me without weighing. And yet,
in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is
of so little regard in these costermongers that true valour is
turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his
quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts