York. A Room in the ARCHBISHOP'S Palace. |
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Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, LORD HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH. |
| Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; |
| And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, |
| Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: |
| And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it? |
| Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms; |
| But gladly would be better satisfied |
| How in our means we should advance ourselves |
| To look with forehead bold and big enough |
| Upon the power and puissance of the king. |
| Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file |
| To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice; |
| And our supplies live largely in the hope |
| Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns |
| With an incensed fire of injuries. |
| L. Bard. The question, then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus: |
| Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand |
| May hold up head without Northumberland. |
| Hast. With him, we may. |
| L. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point: |
| But if without him we be thought too feeble, |
| My judgment is, we should not step too far |
| Till we had his assistance by the hand; |
| For in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, |
| Conjecture, expectation, and surmise |
| Of aids incertain should not be admitted. |
| Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for, indeed |
| It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. |
| L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, |
| Eating the air on promise of supply, |
| Flattering himself with project of a power |
| Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts; |
| And so, with great imagination |
| Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, |
| And winking leap'd into destruction. |
| Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt |
| To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. |
| L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war,— |
| Indeed the instant action,—a cause on foot, |
| Lives so in hope, as in an early spring |
| We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, |
| Hope gives not so much warrant as despair |
| That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, |
| We first survey the plot, then draw the model; |
| And when we see the figure of the house, |
| Then must we rate the cost of the erection; |
| Which if we find outweighs ability, |
| What do we then but draw anew the model |
| In fewer offices, or at last desist |
| To build at all? Much more, in this great work,— |
| Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down |
| And set another up,—should we survey |
| The plot of situation and the model, |
| Consent upon a sure foundation, |
| Question surveyors, know our own estate, |
| How able such a work to undergo, |
| To weigh against his opposite; or else, |
| We fortify in paper, and in figures, |
| Using the names of men instead of men: |
| Like one that draws the model of a house |
| Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, |
| Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost |
| A naked subject to the weeping clouds, |
| And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. |
| Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, |
| Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd |
| The utmost man of expectation; |
| I think we are a body strong enough, |
| Even as we are, to equal with the king. |
| L. Bard. What! is the king but five-and-twenty thousand? |
| Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. |
| For his divisions, as the times do brawl, |
| Are in three heads: one power against the French, |
| And one against Glendower; perforce, a third |
| Must take up us: so is the unfirm king |
| In three divided, and his coffers sound |
| With hollow poverty and emptiness. |
| Arch. That he should draw his several strengths together |
| And come against us in full puissance, |
| Need not be dreaded. |
| Hast. If he should do so, |
| He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh |
| Baying him at the heels: never fear that. |
| L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his forces hither? |
| Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; |
| Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: |
| But who is substituted 'gainst the French |
| I have no certain notice. |
| Arch. Let us on |
| And publish the occasion of our arms. |
| The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; |
| Their over-greedy love hath surfeited. |
| A habitation giddy and unsure |
| Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. |
| O thou fond many! with what loud applause |
| Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke |
| Before he was what thou wouldst have him be: |
| And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, |
| Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him |
| That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. |
| So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge |
| Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard, |
| And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, |
| And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? |
| They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, |
| Are now become enamour'd on his grave: |
| Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, |
| When through proud London he came sighing on |
| After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, |
| Cry'st now, 'O earth! yield us that king again, |
| And take thou this!' O, thoughts of men accurst! |
| Past and to come seem best; things present worst. |
| Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? |
| Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt. |
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