WARKWORTH.

INDUCTION.

Enemies to the King.

TRAVERS and MORTON, Domestics of Northum

berland.

FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Page. POINS and PETO, Attendants on Prince

Henry.

SHALLOW and SILENCE, Country Justices. DAVY, Servant to Shallow.

MOULDY, SHADOW, WART,

BULL-CALF, Recruits.

FEEBLE, and

FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's-Officers. RUMOUR.

A Porter.

A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue.

LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. LADY PERCY,

HOSTESS QUICKLY, DOLL.

Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Drawers, Grooms, &c.

BEFORE NORTHUMBERLAND'S
CASTLE.

Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues. Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will stop

The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks;
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride;
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence;
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures;
And of so easy and so plain a stop,
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory,
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
Hath beaten down young Hotspur,and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad,-that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword;
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's
tongues

They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
true wrongs.
[Exit.

Enter Northumberland.

L. Bard. Here comes the earl. Nor. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute Should be the father of some stratagem1; [now The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him.

L. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an heaven will! L. Bard. As good as heart can wish:The king is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd bythe hand of Douglas:young Prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn,2 the hulk Sir Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, [John, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, Came not till now, to dignify the times, Since Cæsar's fortunes!

North.

How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field, came you from Shrewsbury? L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;

A gentleman well bred, and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
N. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I
On Tuesday last to listen after news. [sent

L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More than he haply may retail from me.
Enter Travers.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?

Tr. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, A gentleman almost forspent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that rebellion had bad 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 seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question.

North. Ha!--Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck!

L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what; If my young lord your son have not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point3 I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

North. Why should the gentleman that rode by Give then such instances of loss? [Travers, L. Bard. Who, he? He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Important event. 2 Boar. 8 Lace-tagged. 4 Cowardly.

Foretells the nature of a tragick volume:
So looks the strond,1 whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask-
To fright our party

North. 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 woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
Andwould have told him, half his Troywasburn'd:
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.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord, your son,-

North.
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 fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Mor-
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.
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:

I

[ton:

see a strange confession in thine eye: Nor. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: 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,

Remember'd knolling a departing friend. [dead. L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is Mor. 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 outbreath'd,

To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat The never daunted Percy to the earth, [down From whence with life he never more sprung up.

In few,3 his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:

Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed;
Lend to this weight such lightness withtheir fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
1 Shore. 2 Return of blows. 8 Short. 4 Reported

Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Flyfrom the field: Thenwas that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach,1 and did grace the shame,
Of those that turn'd 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 Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to

mourn.

In poison there is physick; 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-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with
grief,
[nice crutch;
Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly
Thou art a guard toowanton for the head,[quoif,
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; And approach
Theragged'sthourthat time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering 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,
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from
your honour.

Mor. 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 the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you
said,-

Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
That in the doles of blows your son might drop:
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable [spirits
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward
Would lift him where most trade of danger
rang'd;

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?

L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss, Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;

And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods.
Mor. '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 corps,
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,1 constrain'd,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up,
As fish are in a pond; But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd 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.

N. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. Go in with me; and counsel every man The aptest way for safety, and revenge: [speed; Get posts, and letters, and make friends with Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-LONDON. A STREET. Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his Sword and Buckler.

Fal. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing 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 overwhelmed 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 judgment. Thou mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned3 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; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a faceroyal: nature may finish it when she will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing as if he hadwrit 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 Dumbleton about the satin for my short cloak, and slops?

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him 1 Against their stomachs. 2 Greater.

3 Put in possession of