King Henry IV, Part 1 - William Shakespeare (sad books to read .TXT) 📗

conjure from the breast of civil peace Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land Audacious cruelty. If that the King Have any way your good deserts forgot, Which he confesseth to be manifold, He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed You shall have your desires with interest, And pardon absolute for yourself and these Herein misled by your suggestion.

HOT. The King is kind; and well we know the King Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. My father and my uncle and myself Did give him that same royalty he wears; And—when he was not six-and-twenty strong, Sick in the world’s regard, wretched and low, A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home— My father gave him welcome to the shore: And—when he heard him swear and vow to God, He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, To sue his livery and beg his peace, With tears of innocence and terms of zeal— My father, in kind heart and pity moved, Swore him assistance, and performed it too. Now, when the lords and barons of the realm Perceived Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less came in with cap and knee; Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths, Give him their heirs as pages, follow’d him Even at the heels in golden multitudes. He presently—as greatness knows itself— Steps me a little higher than his vow Made to my father, while his blood was poor, Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg; And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform Some certain edicts and some strait decrees That lie too heavy on the commonwealth; Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep Over his country’s wrongs; and, by this face, This seeming brow of justice, did he win The hearts of all that he did angle for: Proceeded further; cut me off the heads Of all the favourites, that the absent King In deputation left behind him here When he was personal in the Irish war.

BLUNT. Tut, I came not to hear this.

HOT. Then to the point: In short time after, he deposed the King; Soon after that, deprived him of his life; And, in the neck of that, task’d the whole State: To make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March (Who is, if every owner were well placed, Indeed his king) to be engaged in Wales, There without ransom to lie forfeited; Disgraced me in my happy victories, Sought to entrap me by intelligence; Rated my uncle from the Council-board; In rage dismiss’d my father from the Court; Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong; And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out This head of safety; and withal to pry Into his title, the which now we find Too indirect for long continuance.

 

BLUNT. Shall I return this answer to the King?

HOT. Not so, Sir Walter: we’ll withdraw awhile. Go to the King; and let there be impawn’d Some surety for a safe return again, And in the morning early shall my uncle Bring him our purposes: and so, farewell.

BLUNT. I would you would accept of grace and love.

HOT. And may be so we shall.

BLUNT. Pray God you do.

[Exeunt.]

 

Scene IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace.

[Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.]

ARCH. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief With winged haste to the Lord Marshal; This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest To whom they are directed. If you knew How much they do import, you would make haste.

SIR M. My good lord, I guess their tenour.

ARCH. Like enough you do. To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The King, with mighty and quick-raised power, Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael, What with the sickness of Northumberland, Whose power was in the first proportion, And what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence, Who with them was a rated sinew too, And comes not in, o’er-rul’d by prophecies,— I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the King.

SIR M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; There’s Douglas and Lord Mortimer.

ARCH. No, Mortimer’s not there.

SIR M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, And there’s my Lord of Worcester; and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.

ARCH. And so there is: but yet the King hath drawn The special head of all the land together; The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; And many more corrivals and dear men Of estimation and command in arms.

SIR M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.

ARCH. I hope no less, yet needful ‘tis to fear; And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed: For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, For he hath heard of our confederacy; And ‘tis but wisdom to make strong against him: Therefore make haste. I must go write again To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael.

[Exeunt.]

 

ACT V.

Scene I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury.

[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff.]

KING. How bloodily the Sun begins to peer Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale At his distemperature.

PRINCE. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

KING. Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win.—

[The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester and Vernon.]

How, now, my Lord of Worcester! ‘tis not well That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet. You have deceived our trust; And made us doff our easy robes of peace, To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: This is not well, my lord, this is not well. What say you to’t? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient orb again Where you did give a fair and natural light; And be no more an exhaled meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times?

WOR. Hear me, my liege: For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours; for I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike.

KING. You have not sought it! why, how comes it, then?

FAL. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

PRINCE. Peace, chewet, peace!

WOR. It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks Of favour from myself and all our House; And yet I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you my staff of office did I break In Richard’s time; and posted day and night To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother, and his son, That brought you home, and boldly did outdare The dangers of the time. You swore to us,— And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,— That you did nothing purpose ‘gainst the state; Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: To this we swore our aid. But in short space It rain’d down fortune showering on your head; And such a flood of greatness fell on you,— What with our help, what with the absent King, What with the injuries of a wanton time, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious winds that held the King So long in his unlucky Irish wars That all in England did repute him dead,— And, from this swarm of fair advantages, You took occasion to be quickly woo’d To gripe the general sway into your hand; Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And, being fed by us, you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo-bird, Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, That even our love thirst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforced, for safety-sake, to fly Out of your sight, and raise this present head: Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forged against yourself, By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise.

KING. These things, indeed, you have articulate, Proclaim’d at market-crosses, read in churches, To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour that may please the eye Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, Which gape and rub the elbow at the news Of hurlyburly innovation: And never yet did insurrection want Such water-colours to impaint his cause; Nor moody beggars, starving for a time Of pellmell havoc and confusion.

PRINCE. In both our armies there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, This present enterprise set off his head, I do not think a braver gentleman, More active-valiant or more valiant-young, More daring or more bold, is now alive To grace this latter age with noble deeds. For my part,—I may speak it to my shame,— I have a truant been to chivalry; And so I hear he doth account me too: Yet this before my father’s Majesty,— I am content that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation, And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight.

KING. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit considerations infinite Do make against it.—No, good Worcester, no; We love our people well; even those we love That are misled upon your cousin’s part; And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man Shall be my friend again, and I’ll be his: So tell your cousin, and then bring me word What he will do: but, if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So, be gone; We will not now be troubled with reply: We offer fair; take it advisedly.

[Exit Worcester with Vernon.]

PRINCE. It will not be accepted, on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms.

KING. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them: And God befriend us, as our cause is just!

[Exeunt the King, Blunt, and Prince John.]

FAL. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; ‘tis a point of friendship.

PRINCE. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.

FAL. I would it were bedtime, Hal, and all well.

PRINCE. Why, thou owest God a death.

[Exit.]

FAL. ‘Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay Him before His day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, ‘tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honor set-to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? no. What is honour? a word.