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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