Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle. |
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Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY. |
North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, |
Give even way unto my rough affairs: |
Put not you on the visage of the times, |
And be like them to Percy troublesome. |
Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more: |
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. |
North. Alas! sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; |
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. |
Lady P. O! yet for God's sake, go not to these wars. |
The time was, father, that you broke your word |
When you were more endear'd to it than now; |
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, |
Threw many a northward look to see his father |
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. |
Who then persuaded you to stay at home? |
There were two honours lost, yours and your son's: |
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! |
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun |
In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light |
Did all the chivalry of England move |
To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass |
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: |
He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait; |
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, |
Became the accents of the valiant; |
For those that could speak low and tardily, |
Would turn their own perfection to abuse, |
To seem like him: so that, in speech, in gait, |
In diet, in affections of delight, |
In military rules, humours of blood, |
He was the mark and glass, copy and book, |
That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! |
O miracle of men! him did you leave,— |
Second to none, unseconded by you,— |
To look upon the hideous god of war |
In disadvantage; to abide a field |
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name |
Did seem defensible: so you left him. |
Never, O! never, do his ghost the wrong |
To hold your honour more precise and nice |
With others than with him: let them alone. |
The marshal and the archbishop are strong: |
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, |
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, |
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. |
North. Beshrew your heart, |
Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me |
With new lamenting ancient oversights. |
But I must go and meet with danger there, |
Or it will seek me in another place, |
And find me worse provided. |
Lady N. O! fly to Scotland, |
Till that the nobles and the armed commons |
Have of their puissance made a little taste. |
Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king, |
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, |
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, |
First let them try themselves. So did your son; |
He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; |
And never shall have length of life enough |
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, |
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, |
For recordation to my noble husband. |
North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind |
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, |
That makes a still-stand, running neither way: |
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, |
But many thousand reasons hold me back. |
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, |
Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. |
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