The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. |
| |
Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON. |
| Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. |
| Wor. It may not be. |
| Doug. You give him then advantage. |
| Ver. Not a whit. |
| Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? |
| Ver. So do we. |
| Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. |
| Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd: stir not tonight. |
| Doug. You do not counsel well: |
| You speak it out of fear and cold heart. |
| Ver Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,— |
| And I dare well maintain it with my life,— |
| If well-respected honour bid me on, |
| I hold as little counsel with weak fear |
| As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives: |
| Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle |
| Which of us fears. |
| Doug. Yea, or to-night. |
| Ver. Content. |
| Hot. To-night, say I. |
| Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, |
| Being men of such great leading as you are, |
| That you foresee not what impediments |
| Drag back our expedition: certain horse |
| Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: |
| Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; |
| And now their pride and mettle is asleep, |
| Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, |
| That not a horse is half the half of himself. |
| Hot. So are the horses of the enemy |
| In general, journey-bated and brought low: |
| The better part of ours are full of rest. |
| Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: |
| For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. [The trumpet sounds a parley. |
| |
Enter SIR WALTER BLUNT. |
| Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, |
| If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. |
| Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God |
| You were of our determination! |
| Some of us love you well; and even those some |
| Envy your great deservings and good name, |
| Because you are not of our quality, |
| But stand against us like an enemy. |
| Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, |
| So long as out of limit and true rule |
| You stand against anointed majesty. |
| But, to my charge. The king hath sent to know |
| The nature of your griefs, and whereupon |
| You 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 innocency and terms of zeal, |
| My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd, |
| Swore him assistance and perform'd it too. |
| Now when the lords and barons of the realm |
| Perceiv'd 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, |
| Gave 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 Ravenspurgh; |
| 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 depos'd the king; |
| Soon after that, depriv'd 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 plac'd, |
| Indeed his king—to be engag'd in Wales, |
| There without ransom to lie forfeited; |
| Disgrac'd 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 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. |
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