| |
The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. | |
| |
Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. | |
| Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth | |
| In this fine age were not thought flattery, | |
| Such attribution should the Douglas have, | 5 |
| As not a soldier of this season’s stamp | |
| Should go so general current through the world. | |
| By God, I cannot flatter; do defy | |
| The tongues of soothers; but a braver place | |
| In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself. | 10 |
| Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. | |
| Doug. Thou art the king of honour: | |
| No man so potent breathes upon the ground | |
| But I will beard him. | |
| Hot. Do so, and ’tis well. | 15 |
| |
Enter a Messenger, with letters. | |
| What letters hast thou there? [To DOUGLAS.] | |
| I can but thank you. | |
| Mess. These letters come from your father. | |
| Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not himself? | 20 |
| Mess. He cannot come, my lord: he’s grievous sick. | |
| Hot. ’Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick | |
| In such a justling time? Who leads his power? | |
| Under whose government come they along? | |
| Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. | 25 |
| Wor. I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? | |
| Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; | |
| And at the time of my departure thence | |
| He was much fear’d by his physicians. | |
| Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole | 30 |
| Ere he by sickness had been visited: | |
| His health was never better worth than now. | |
| Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect | |
| The very life-blood of our enterprise; | |
| ’Tis catching hither, even to our camp. | 35 |
| He writes me here, that inward sickness—— | |
| And that his friends by deputation could not | |
| So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet | |
| To lay so dangerous and dear a trust | |
| On any soul remov’d but on his own. | 40 |
| Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, | |
| That with our small conjunction we should on, | |
| To see how fortune is dispos’d to us; | |
| For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, | |
| Because the king is certainly possess’d | 45 |
| Of all our purposes. What say you to it? | |
| Wor. Your father’s sickness is a maim to us. | |
| Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off: | |
| And yet, in faith, ’tis not; his present want | |
| Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good | 50 |
| To set the exact wealth of all our states | |
| All at one cast? to set so rich a main | |
| On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? | |
| It were not good; for therein should we read | |
| The very bottom and the soul of hope, | 55 |
| The very list, the very utmost bound | |
| Of all our fortunes. | |
| Doug. Faith, and so we should; | |
| Where now remains a sweet reversion: | |
| We may boldly spend upon the hope of what | 60 |
| Is to come in: | |
| A comfort of retirement lives in this. | |
| Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, | |
| If that the devil and mischance look big | |
| Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. | 65 |
| Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here. | |
| The quality and hair of our attempt | |
| Brooks no division. It will be thought | |
| By some, that know not why he is away, | |
| That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike | 70 |
| Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence. | |
| And think how such an apprehension | |
| May turn the tide of fearful faction | |
| And breed a kind of question in our cause; | |
| For well you know we of the offering side | 75 |
| Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, | |
| And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence | |
| The eye of reason may pry in upon us: | |
| This absence of your father’s draws a curtain, | |
| That shows the ignorant a kind of fear | 80 |
| Before not dreamt of. | |
| Hot. You strain too far. | |
| I rather of his absence make this use: | |
| It lends a lustre and more great opinion, | |
| A larger dare to our great enterprise, | 85 |
| Than if the earl were here; for men must think, | |
| If we without his help, can make a head | |
| To push against the kingdom, with his help | |
| We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down. | |
| Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. | 90 |
| Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word | |
| Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. | |
| |
Enter SIR RICHARD VERNON. | |
| Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. | |
| Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. | 95 |
| The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, | |
| Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John. | |
| Hot. No harm: what more? | |
| Ver. And further, I have learn’d, | |
| The king himself in person is set forth, | 100 |
| Or hitherwards intended speedily, | |
| With strong and mighty preparation. | |
| Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, | |
| The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, | |
| And his comrades, that daff’d the world aside, | 105 |
| And bid it pass? | |
| Ver. All furnish’d, all in arms, | |
| All plum’d like estridges that wing the wind, | |
| Baited like eagles having lately bath’d, | |
| Glittering in golden coats, like images, | 110 |
| As full of spirit as the month of May, | |
| And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer, | |
| Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. | |
| I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, | |
| His cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm’d, | 115 |
| Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury, | |
| And vaulted with such ease into his seat, | |
| As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, | |
| To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus | |
| And witch the world with noble horsemanship. | 120 |
| Hot. No more, no more: worse than the sun in March | |
| This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; | |
| They come like sacrifices in their trim, | |
| And to the fire-ey’d maid of smoky war | |
| All hot and bleeding will we offer them: | 125 |
| The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit | |
| Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire | |
| To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh | |
| And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, | |
| Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt | 130 |
| Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales: | |
| Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, | |
| Meet and ne’er part till one drop down a corse. | |
| O! that Glendower were come. | |
| Ver. There is more news: | 135 |
| I learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along, | |
| He cannot draw his power these fourteen days. | |
| Doug. That’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet. | |
| Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. | |
| Hot. What may the king’s whole battle reach unto? | 140 |
| Ver. To thirty thousand. | |
| Hot. Forty let it be: | |
| My father and Glendower being both away, | |
| The powers of us may serve so great a day. | |
| Come, let us take a muster speedily: | 145 |
| Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. | |
| Doug. Talk not of dying: I am out of fear | |
| Of death or death’s hand for this one half year. [Exeunt. | |
| |
