The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. |
| |
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 cherished, still the nearer death. |
| My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, |
| It hath the 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, and 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 now 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 engag'd, did bear it; |
| Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. |
| Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king, |
| And, nephew, challeng'd 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 urg'd 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 valu'd 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 misconstru'd in his wantonness. |
| Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured |
| On his follies: never did I hear |
| Of any prince so wild a libertine. |
| 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 the 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. |
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