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

What is that word, honour? air. A trim reckoning!—Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth be hear it? no. Is it insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon:—and so ends my catechism.

[Exit.]

 

Scene II. The Rebel Camp.

[Enter Worcester and Vernon.]

WOR. O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, The liberal-kind offer of the King.

VER. ‘Twere best he did.

WOR. Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be, The King should keep his word in loving us; He will suspect us still, and find a time To punish this offence in other faults: Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d, and lock’d up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. Look how we can, or sad or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks; And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherish’d, still the nearer death. My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot: It hath th’ excuse of youth and heat of blood, And an adopted name of privilege,— A hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen: All his offences live upon my head And on his father’s: we did train him on; And, his corruption being ta’en from us, We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, In any case, the offer of the King.

VER. Deliver what you will, I’ll say ‘tis so. Here comes your cousin.

[Enter Hotspur and Douglas; Officers and Soldiers behind.]

HOT. My uncle is return’d: deliver up My Lord of Westmoreland.—Uncle, what news?

WOR. The King will bid you battle presently.

DOUG. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.

HOT. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

DOUG. Marry, I shall, and very willingly.

[Exit.]

WOR. There is no seeming mercy in the King.

HOT. Did you beg any? God forbid!

WOR. I told him gently of our grievances, Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, By new-forswearing that he is forsworn: He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge With haughty arms this hateful name in us.

[Re-enter Douglas.]

DOUG. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown A brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth, And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it; Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.

WOR. The Prince of Wales stepp’d forth before the King, And, nephew, challenged you to single fight.

HOT. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads; And that no man might draw short breath to-day But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How show’d his tasking? seem’d it in contempt?

VER. No, by my soul: I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man; Trimm’d up your praises with a princely tongue; Spoke your deservings like a chronicle; Making you ever better than his praise, By still dispraising praise valued with you; And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital of himself; And chid his truant youth with such a grace, As if he master’d there a double spirit, Of teaching and of learning instantly. There did he pause: but let me tell the world, If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe so sweet a hope, So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

HOT. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured Upon his follies: never did I hear Of any prince so wild o’ liberty. But be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier’s arm, That he shall shrink under my courtesy.— Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends, Better consider what you have to do Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

[Enter a Messenger.]

MESS. My lord, here are letters for you.

HOT. I cannot read them now.— O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial’s point, Still ending at th’ arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; If die, brave death, when princes die with us! Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just.

[Enter another Messenger.]

MESS. My lord, prepare: the King comes on apace.

HOT. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profess not talking; only this, Let each man do his best: and here draw I A sword, whose temper I intend to stain With the best blood that I can meet withal In the adventure of this perilous day. Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on. Sound all the lofty instruments of war, And by that music let us all embrace; For, Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall A second time do such a courtesy.

[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.]

 

Scene III. Plain between the Camps.

[Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.]

BLUNT. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek Upon my head?

DOUG. Know, then, my name is Douglas, And I do haunt thee in the battle thus Because some tell me that thou art a king.

BLUNT. They tell thee true.

DOUG. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry, This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee, Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

BLUNT. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford’s death.

[They fight, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur.]

HOT. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumphed o’er a Scot.

DOUG. All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King.

HOT. Where?

DOUG. Here.

HOT. This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well: A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; Semblably furnish’d like the King himself.

DOUG. A fool go with thy soul, where’re it goes! A borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear: Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

HOT. The King hath many marching in his coats.

DOUG. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; I’ll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece, Until I meet the King.

HOT. Up, and away! Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

[Exeunt.]

[Alarums. Enter Falstaff.]

FAL. Though I could ‘scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here’s no scoring but upon the pate.—Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: there’s honour for you! here’s no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered: there’s not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town’s end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

[Enter Prince Henry.]

PRINCE. What, stand’st thou idle here? lend me thy sword: Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I pr’ythee, Lend me thy sword.

FAL. O Hal, I pr’ythee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.

PRINCE. He is indeed; and living to kill thee. I pr’ythee, lend me thy sword.

FAL. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

PRINCE. Give it me: what, is it in the case?

FAL. Ay, Hal. ‘Tis hot, ‘tis hot: there’s that will sack a city.

[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.]

What, is’t a time to jest and dally now?

[Throws it at him, and exit.]

FAL. Well, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s an end.

[Exit.]

 

Scene IV. Another Part of the Field.

[Alarums. Excursions. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, and Westmoreland.]

KING. I pr’ythee, Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much.— Lord John of Lancaster, go you unto him.

LAN. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.

PRINCE. I do beseech your Majesty, make up, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

KING. I will do so.— My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.

WEST. Come, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent.

PRINCE. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: And God forbid, a shallow scratch should drive The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, Where stain’d nobility lies trodden on, And rebels’ arms triumph in massacres!

LAN. We breathe too long:—come, cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies; for God’s sake, come.

[Exeunt Lancaster and Westmoreland.]

PRINCE. By Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster; I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: Before, I loved thee as a brother, John; But now I do respect thee as my soul.

KING. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior.

PRINCE. O, this boy Lends mettle to us all!

[Exit.]

[Alarums. Enter Douglas.]

DOUG. Another king! they grow like Hydra’s heads: I am the Douglas, fatal to all those

That wear those colours on them.—What art thou, That counterfeit’st the person of a king?

KING. The King himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very King. I have two boys Seek Percy and thyself about the field: But, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily, I will assay thee; so, defend thyself.

DOUG. I fear thou art another counterfeit; And yet, in faith, thou bear’st thee like a king: But mine I’m sure thou art, whoe’er thou be, And thus I win thee.

[They fight; the King being in danger, re-enter Prince Henry.]

PRINCE. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again! the spirits Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms: It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee; Who never promiseth but he means to pay.—

[They fight: Douglas flies.]

Cheerly, my lord: how fares your Grace? Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, And so hath Clifton: I’ll to Clifton straight.

KING. Stay, and breathe awhile: Thou hast redeem’d thy lost opinion; And show’d thou makest some tender of my life, In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

PRINCE. O God, they did me too much injury That ever said I hearken’d for your death! If it were so, I might have let alone Th’ insulting hand of Douglas over you, Which would have been as speedy in your end As all the poisonous potions in the world, And saved the treacherous labour of your son.

KING. Make up to Clifton: I’ll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.

[Exit.]

[Enter Hotspur.]

HOT. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

PRINCE. Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name.

HOT. My name is Harry