Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth/Act 4 Scene 1
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings,Westmerland, Coleuile.
Bish. What is this Forrest call'd?
Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forrest, and't shall please your Grace.
Bish. Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth,To know the numbers of our Enemies.
Hast. Wee haue sent forth alreadie.
Bish. 'Tis well done.My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires)I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'dNew-dated Letters from Northumberland:Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus.Here doth hee wish his Person, with such PowersAs might hold sortance with his Qualitie,The which hee could not leuie: whereuponHee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes,To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers,That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard,And fearefull meeting of their Opposite.
Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground,And dash themselues to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.
Hast. Now? what newes?
Mess. West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile,In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie:And by the ground they hide, I iudge their numberVpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand.
Mow. The iust proportion that we gaue them out.Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field.
Enter Westmerland.
Bish. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here?
Mow. I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland.
West. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall,The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster.
Bish. Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace:What doth concerne your comming?
West. Then (my Lord)Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresseThe substance of my Speech. If that RebellionCame like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs,Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage,And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie:I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare,In his true, natiue, and most proper shape,You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords)Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly formeOf base, and bloodie Insurrection,With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop,Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd,Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd,Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd,Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence,The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace.Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe,Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace,Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre?Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood,Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuineTo a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre.
Bish. Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands.Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd,And with our surfetting, and wanton howres,Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer,And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease,Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland)I take not on me here as a Physician,Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace,Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men:But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre,To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse,And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stopOur very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely.I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd,What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences.Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne,And are enforc'd from our most quiet there,By the rough Torrent of Occasion,And haue the summarie of all our Griefes(When time shall serue) to shew in Articles;Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King,And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience:When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes,Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person,Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong.The dangers of the dayes but newly gone,Whose memorie is written on the EarthWith yet appearing blood; and the examplesOf euery Minutes instance (present now)Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes:Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it,But to establish here a Peace indeede,Concurring both in Name and Qualitie.
West. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd?Wherein haue you beene galled by the King?What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you,That you should seale this lawlesse bloody BookeOf forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine?
Bish. My Brother generall, the Commonwealth, I make my Quarrell, in particular.
West. There is no neede of any such redresse:Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mow. Why not to him in part, and to vs all,That feele the bruizes of the dayes before,And suffer the Condition of these TimesTo lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors?
West. O my good Lord Mowbray,Construe the Times to their Necessities,And you shall say (indeede) it is the Time,And not the King, that doth you iniuries.Yet for your part, it not appeares to me,Either from the King, or in the present Time,That you should haue an ynch of any groundTo build a Griefe on: were you not restor'dTo all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories,Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers?
Mow. What thing, in Honor, had my Father lost,That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me?The King that lou'd him, as the State stood then,Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to banish him:And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and heeBeing mounted, and both rowsed in their Seates,Their neighing Coursers daring of the Spurre,Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe,Their eyes of fire, sparkling through sights of Steele,And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together:Then, then, when there was nothing could haue stay'dMy Father from the Breast of Bullingbrooke;O, when the King did throw his Warder downe,(His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw)Then threw hee downe himselfe, and all their Liues,That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword,Haue since mis-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke.
West. You speak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what.The Earle of Hereford was reputed thenIn England the most valiant Gentleman.Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue smil'd?But if your Father had beene Victor there,Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry.For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.But this is meere digression from my purpose.Here come I from our Princely Generall,To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,That hee will giue you Audience: and whereinIt shall appeare, that your demands are iust,You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,That might so much as thinke you Enemies.
Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue.
West. Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it so:This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,Vpon mine Honor, all too confidentTo giue admittance to a thought of feare.Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours,Our Men more perfect in the vse of Armes,Our Armor 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.
Mow. Well, by my will, wee shall admit no Parley.
West. That argues but the shame of your offence:A rotten Case abides no handling.
Hast. Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commission,In very ample vertue of his Father,To heare, and absolutely to determineOf what Conditions wee shall stand vpon?
West. That is intended in the Generals Name:I muse you make so slight a Question.
Bish. Then take (my Lord of Westmerland) this Schedule,For this containes our generall Grieuances:Each seuerall Article herein redress'd,All members of our Cause, both here, and hence,That are insinewed to this Action,Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,And present execution of our wills,To vs, and to our purposes confin'd,Wee come within our awfull Banks againe,And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace.
West. This will I shew the Generall. Please you Lords,In sight of both our Battailes, wee may meeteAt either end in peace: which Heauen so frame,Or to the place of difference call the Swords,Which must decide it.
Bish. My Lord, wee will doe so.
Mow. There is a thing within my Bosome tells me,That no Conditions of our Peace can stand.
Hast. Feare you not, that if wee can make our PeaceVpon such large termes, and so absolute,As our Conditions shall consist vpon,Our Peace shall stand as firme as Rockie Mountaines.
Mow. I, but our valuation shall be such,That euery slight, and false-deriued Cause,Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reason,Shall, to the King, taste of this Action:That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue,Wee shall be winnowed with so rough a winde,That euen our Corne shall seeme as light as Chaffe,And good from bad finde no partition.
Bish. No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearieOf daintie, and such picking Grieuances:For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death,Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life.And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane,And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie,That may repeat, and Historie his losse,To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes,Hee cannot so precisely weede this Land,As his mis-doubts present occasion:His foes are so en-rooted with his friends,That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie,Hee doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend.So that this Land, like an offensiue wife,That hath enrag'd him on, to offer strokes,As he is striking, holds his Infant vp,And hangs resolu'd Correction in the Arme,That was vprear'd to execution.
Hast. Besides, the King hath wasted all his Rods,On late Offenders, that he now doth lackeThe very Instruments of Chasticement:So that his power, like to a Fanglesse LionMay offer, but not hold.
Bish. 'Tis very true:And therefore be assur'd (my good Lord Marshal)If we do now make our attonement well,Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited)Grow stronger, for the breaking.
Mow. Be it so:Heere is return'd my Lord of Westmerland.
Enter Westmerland.
West. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your LordshipTo meet his Grace, iust distance 'tweene our Armies?
Mow. Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name then forward.
Bish. Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come.
Enter Prince Iohn.
Iohn. You are wel encountred here (my cosin Mowbray)Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop,And so to you Lord Hastings, and to all.My Lord of Yorke, it better shew'd with you,When that your Flocke (assembled by the Bell)Encircled you, to heare with reuerenceYour exposition on the holy Text,Then now to see you heere an Iron manChearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme,Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death:That man that sits within a Monarches heart,And ripens in the Sunne-shine of his fauor,Would hee abuse the Countenance of the King,Alack, what Mischiefes might hee set abroach,In shadow of such Greatnesse? With you, Lord Bishop,It is euen so. Who hath not heard it spoken,How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen?To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament;To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it selfe:The very Opener, and Intelligencer,Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen;And our dull workings. O, who shall beleeue,But you mis-vse the reuerence of your Place,Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen,As a false Fauorite doth his Princes Name,In deedes dis-honorable? You haue taken vp, Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen,The Subiects of Heauens Substitute, my Father,And both against the Peace of Heauen, and him,Haue here vp-swarmed them.
Bish. Good my Lord of Lancaster,I am not here against your Fathers Peace:But (as I told my Lord of Westmerland)The Time (mis-order'd) doth in common senceCrowd vs, and crush vs, to this monstrous Forme,To hold our safetie vp. I sent your GraceThe parcels, and particulars of our Griefe,The which hath been with scorne shou'd from the Court:Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne,Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleepe,With graunt of our most iust and right desires;And true Obedience, of this Madnesse cur'd,Stoope tamely to the foot of Maiestie.
Mow. If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes,To the last man.
Hast. And though wee here fall downe,Wee haue Supplyes, to second our Attempt:If they mis-carry, theirs shall second them.And so, successe of Mischiefe shall be borne,And Heire from Heire shall hold this Quarrell vp,Whiles England shall haue generation.
Iohn. You are too shallow (Hastings)Much too shallow,To sound the bottome of the after-Times.
West. Pleaseth your Grace, to answere them directly,How farre-forth you doe like their Articles.
Iohn. I like them all, and doe allow them well:And sweare here, by the honor of my blood,My Fathers purposes haue beene mistooke,And some, about him, haue too lauishlyWrested his meaning, and Authoritie.My Lord, these Griefes shall be with speed redrest:Vpon my Life, they shall. If this may please you,Discharge your Powers vnto their seuerall Counties,As wee will ours: and here, betweene the Armies,Let's drinke together friendly, and embrace,That all their eyes may beare those Tokens home,Of our restored Loue, and Amitie.
Bish. I take your Princely word, for these redresses.
Iohn. I giue it you, and will maintaine my word:And thereupon I drinke vnto your Grace.
Hast. Goe Captaine, and deliuer to the ArmieThis newes of Peace: let them haue pay, and part:I know, it will well please them.Exit.High thee Captaine.
Bish. To you, my Noble Lord of Westmerland.
West. I pledge your Grace:And if you knew what paines I haue bestow'd,To breede this present Peace,You would drinke freely: but my loue to ye,Shall shew it selfe more openly hereafter.
Bish. I doe not doubt you.
West. I am glad of it.Health to my Lord, and gentle Cousin Mowbray.
Mow. You wish me health in very happy season,For I am, on the sodaine, something ill.
Bish. Against ill Chances, men are euer merry,But heauinesse fore-runnes the good euent.
West. Therefore be merry (Cooze) since sodaine sorrowSerues to say thus: some good thing comes to morrow.
Bish. Beleeue me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mow. So much the worse, if your owne Rule be true.
Iohn. The word of Peace is render'd: hearke how they showt.
Mow. This had been chearefull, after Victorie.
Bish. A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest:For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,And neither partie looser.
Iohn. Goe (my Lord)And let our Army be discharged too:And good my Lord (so please you) let our TrainesExit.March by vs, that wee may peruse the menWee should haue coap'd withall.
Bish. Goe, good Lord Hastings:Exit.And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
Iohn. I trust (Lords) wee shall lye to night together.Enter Westmerland.Now Cousin, wherefore stands our Army still?
West. The Leaders hauing charge from you to stand,Will not goe off, vntill they heare you speake.
Iohn. They know their duties.
Enter Hastings.
Hast. Our Army is dispers'd:Like youthfull Steeres, vnyoak'd, they tooke their courseEast, West, North, South: or like a Schoole, broke vp,Each hurryes towards his home, and sporting place.
West. Good tidings (my Lord Hastings) for the which,I doe arrest thee (Traytor) of high Treason:And you Lord Arch-bishop, and you Lord Mowbray,Of Capitall Treason, I attach you both.
Mow. Is this proceeding iust, and honorable?
West. Is your Assembly so?
Bish. Will you thus breake your faith?
Iohn. I pawn'd thee none:I promis'd you redresse of these same GrieuancesWhereof you did complaine; which, by mine Honor,I will performe, with a most Christian care.But for you (Rebels) looke to taste the dueMeet for Rebellion, and such Acts as yours.Most shallowly did you these Armes commence,Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.Strike vp our Drummes, pursue the scatter'd stray,Heauen, and not wee, haue safely fought to day.Some guard these Traitors to the Block of Death,Exeunt.Treasons true Bed, and yeelder vp of breath.
Enter Falstaffe and Colleuile.
Falst. What's your Name, Sir? of what Condition areyou? and of what place, I pray?
Col. I am a Knight, Sir:And my Name is Colleuile of the Dale.
Falst. Well then, Colleuile is your Name, a Knight isyour Degree, and your Place, the Dale. Colleuile shallstill be your Name, a Traytor your Degree, and the Dungeon your Place, a place deepe enough: so shall you bestill Colleuile of the Dale.
Col. Are not you Sir Iohn Falstaffe?
Falst. As good a man as he sir, who ere I am: doe yeeyeelde sir, or shall I sweate for you? if I doe sweate, theyare the drops of thy Louers, and they weep for thy death,therefore rowze vp Feare and Trembling, and do obseruance to my mercy.
Col. I thinke you are Sir Iohn Falstaffe, & in that thoughtyeeld me.
Fal. I haue a whole Schoole of tongues in this belly ofmine, and not a Tongue of them all, speakes anie otherword but my name: and I had but a belly of any indifferencie, I were simply the most actiue fellow in Europe:my wombe, my wombe, my wombe vndoes mee. Heerecomes our Generall.
Enter Prince Iohn, and Westmerland.
Iohn. The heat is past, follow no farther now:Call in the Powers, good Cousin Westmerland.Now Falstaffe, where haue you beene all this while?When euery thing is ended, then you come.These tardie Tricks of yours will (on my life)One time, or other, breake some Gallowes back.
Falst. I would bee sorry (my Lord) but it should beethus: I neuer knew yet, but rebuke and checke was thereward of Valour. Doe you thinke me a Swallow, an Arrow, or a Bullet? Haue I, in my poore and olde Motion,the expedition of Thought? I haue speeded hither withthe very extremest ynch of possibilitie. I haue fowndrednine score and odde Postes: and heere (trauell-taintedas I am) haue, in my pure and immaculate Valour, takenSir Iohn Colleuile of the Dale, a most furious Knight, andvalorous Enemie: But what of that? hee saw mee, andyeelded: that I may iustly say with the hooke-nos'dfellow of Rome, I came, saw, and ouer-came.
Iohn. It was more of his Courtesie, then your deseruing.
Falst. I know not: heere hee is, and heere I yeeldhim: and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd, withthe rest of this dayes deedes; or I sweare, I will haue itin a particular Ballad, with mine owne Picture on the topof it (Colleuile kissing my foot:) To the which course, ifI be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pencesto me; and I, in the cleare Skie of Fame, o're-shine youas much as the Full Moone doth the Cynders of the Element (which shew like Pinnes-heads to her) beleeue notthe Word of the Noble: therefore let mee haue right,and let desert mount.
Iohn. Thine's too heauie to mount.
Falst. Let it shine then.
Iohn. Thine's too thick to shine.
Falst. Let it doe something (my good Lord) that maydoe me good, and call it what you will.
Iohn. Is thy Name Colleuile?
Col. It is (my Lord.)
Iohn. A famous Rebell art thou, Colleuile.
Falst. And a famous true Subiect tooke him.
Col. I am (my Lord) but as my Betters are,That led me hither: had they beene rul'd by me,You should haue wonne them dearer then you haue.
Falst. I know not how they sold themselues, but thoulike a kinde fellow, gau'st thy selfe away; and I thankethee, for thee.
Enter Westmerland.
Iohn. Haue you left pursuit?
West. Retreat is made, and Execution stay'd.
Iohn. Send Colleuile, with his Confederates,To Yorke, to present Execution.Blunt, leade him hence, and see you guard him sure. Exit with Colleuile. And now dispatch we toward the Court (my Lords)I heare the King, my Father, is sore sicke.Our Newes shall goe before vs, to his Maiestie,Which (Cousin) you shall beare, to comfort him:And wee with sober speede will follow you.
Falst. My Lord, I beseech you, giue me leaue to goethrough Gloucestershire: and when you come to Court,stand my good Lord, 'pray, in your good report.
Iohn. Fare you well, Falstaffe: I, in my condition,Exit.Shall better speake of you, then you deserue.
Falst. I would you had but the wit: 'twere betterthen your Dukedome. Good faith, this same young sober-bloodedBoy doth not loue me, nor a man cannotmake him laugh: but that's no maruaile, hee drinkes noWine. There's neuer any of these demure Boyes cometo any proofe: for thinne Drinke doth so ouer-cooletheir blood, and making many Fish-Meales, that theyfall into a kinde of Male Greene-sicknesse: and then,when they marry, they get Wenches. They are generallyFooles, and Cowards; which some of vs should be too,but for inflamation. A good Sherris-Sack hath a two-foldoperation in it: it ascends me into the Braine, dryesme there all the foolish, and dull, and cruddie Vapours,which enuiron it: makes it apprehensiue, quicke, forgetiue, full of nimble, fierie, and delectable shapes; whichdeliuer'd o're to the Voyce, the Tongue, which is theBirth, becomes excellent Wit. The second propertie ofyour excellent Sherris, is, the warming of the Blood:which before (cold, and setled) left the Liuer white, andpale; which is the Badge of Pusillanimitie, and Cowardize: but the Sherris warmes it, and makes it coursefrom the inwards, to the parts extremes: it illuminateththe Face, which (as a Beacon) giues warning to all therest of this little Kingdome (Man) to Arme: and thenthe Vitall Commoners, and in-land pettie Spirits, musterme all to their Captaine, the Heart; who great, and pufftvp with his Retinue, doth any Deed of Courage: and thisValour comes of Sherris. So, that skill in the Weaponis nothing, without Sack (for that sets it a-worke:) andLearning, a meere Hoord of Gold, kept by a Deuill, tillSack commences it, and sets it in act, and vse. Hereofcomes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold bloodhee did naturally inherite of his Father, hee hath, likeleane, stirrill, and bare Land, manured, husbanded, andtyll'd, with excellent endeauour of drinking good, andgood store of fertile Sherris, that hee is become very hot,and valiant. If I had a thousand Sonnes, the first PrincipleI would teach them, should be to forsweare thinne Potations, and to addict themselues to Sack. Enter Bardolph.How now Bardolph?
Bard. The Armie is discharged all, and gone.
Falst. Let them goe: Ile through Gloucestershire,and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire: Ihaue him alreadie tempering betweene my finger and myExeunt.thombe, and shortly will I seale with him. Come away.