Imatges de pàgina
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And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit® is too true, your fears too certain. North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's

dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead; Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance,' wearied and out-breath'd, To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) Being bruited once, took fire and heat away From the best-temper'd courage in his troops: For from his metal was his party steeld; Which once in him abated, all the rest Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

* Your spirit - ] The impression upon your mind, by which you conceive the death of your son. -- hold'st it fear, or sin,] Fear for danger,

faint quittance,] Quittance is return.

Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is,-that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.

North. For this I shall have time enough to

mourn.

In poison there is physick; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well :
And as the wretch, whose fever-weakend joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weakend with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice*

crutch; A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly

quoif;
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; And approach

? Gan vail his stomach,] Began to fall his courage, to let his spirits sink under his fortune. From avaller, Fr. to cast down, or to fall down.

buckle -] Bend; yield to pressure. + — nice -] i. e. trifling.

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The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag’d Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead !s
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my

lord.
Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your

honour. Mor. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast the event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd the account of chance, before you

said, Let us make head. It was your presurmise, That, in the dole of blows your son might drop: You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, More likely to fall in, than to get o’er: You were advis'd, his flesh was capable Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit Would lift him where most trade of danger rang’d; Yet did you say, Go forth; and none of this, Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen,

5 And darkness be the burier of the dead!] The conclusion of this noble speech is extremely striking. There is no need to suppose it exactly philosophical; darkness, in poetry, may be absence of eyes, as well as privation of light. Yet we may remark, that by an ancient opinion it has been held, that if the human race, for whom the world was made, were extirpated, the whole system or sublunary nature would cease. Johnson.

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Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be?

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas,
That, if we wrought our life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur’d, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble

lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,–
The gentle archbishop of York is up,
With well-appointed powers; he is a man,
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corps,
But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight:
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Suppos’d sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones:
Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
And more, and less, do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before; but, to speak

truth,

more and less,] More and less mean greater and less.

This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge:
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

London. A Street.

Enter Sir John FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing

his Sword and Buckler. Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to

my water?

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me:? The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but

If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now:: but I

one.

7

8

to gird at me:) i. e. to gibe.

mandrake,] Mandrake is a root supposed to have the shape of a man; it is now counterfeited with the root of briony.

9 I was never manned with an agate till now:] That is, I never before had an agate for my man. Alluding to the little figures cut in agates, and other hard stones, for seals, and therefore he says, I will set you neither in gold nor silver.

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