Henry IV, Pt. 2
Act 1, Scene 1
Warkworth. Before Northumberland’s castle.
- Enter the Lord Bardolph at one door.
Lord Bardolph2 - 4
- Who keeps the gate here ho?
- Enter Porter.
- Where is the Earl?
- What shall I say you are?
Lord Bardolph6 - 7
- Tell thou the Earl
- That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Porter8 - 10
- His lordship is walk’d forth into the orchard.
- Please it your honor knock but at the gate,
- And he himself will answer.
- Enter Henry Percy, the Earl Northumberland, in a night-cap
- and supporting himself with a staff.
- Here comes the Earl.
- Exit Porter.
Earl of Northumberland15 - 19
- What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now
- Should be the father of some stratagem.
- The times are wild, contention, like a horse
- Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
- And bears down all before him.
Lord Bardolph20 - 21
- Noble Earl,
- I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
Earl of Northumberland22
- Good, and God will!
Lord Bardolph23 - 33
- As good as heart can wish:
- The King is almost wounded to the death,
- And in the fortune of my lord your son,
- Prince Harry slain outright, and both the Blunts
- Kill’d by the hand of Douglas, young Prince John
- And Westmorland and Stafford fled the field,
- And Harry Monmouth’s brawn, the hulk Sir John,
- Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day!
- So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
- Came not till now to dignify the times,
- Since Caesar’s fortunes.
Earl of Northumberland34 - 35
- How is this deriv’d?
- Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?
Lord Bardolph36 - 38
- I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
- A gentleman well bred and of good name,
- That freely rend’red me these news for true.
Earl of Northumberland39 - 40
- Here comes my servant Travers, who I sent
- On Tuesday last to listen after news.
- Enter Travers.
Lord Bardolph42 - 44
- My lord, I overrode him on the way,
- And he is furnish’d with no certainties
- More than he haply may retail from me.
Earl of Northumberland45
- Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
Travers46 - 60
- My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn’d me back
- With joyful tidings, and being better hors’d,
- Outrode me. After him came spurring hard
- A gentleman, almost forespent with speed,
- That stopp’d by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
- He ask’d the way to Chester, and of him
- I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
- He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
- And that young Harry Percy’s spur was cold.
- With that he gave his able horse the head,
- And bending forward struck his armed heels
- Against the panting sides of his poor jade
- Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
- He seem’d in running to devour the way,
- Staying no longer question.
Earl of Northumberland61 - 64
- Ha? Again.
- Said he young Harry Percy’s spur was cold?
- Of Hotspur, Coldspur? That rebellion
- Had met ill luck?
Lord Bardolph65 - 68
- My lord, I’ll tell you what:
- If my young lord your son have not the day,
- Upon mine honor, for a silken point
- I’ll give my barony. Never talk of it.
Earl of Northumberland69 - 70
- Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
- Give then such instances of loss?
Lord Bardolph71 - 74
- Who, he?
- He was some hilding fellow that had stol’n
- The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
- Spoke at a venter. Look, here comes more news.
- Enter Morton.
Earl of Northumberland76 - 80
- Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title-leaf,
- Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.
- So looks the strond whereon the imperious flood
- Hath left a witness’d usurpation.
- Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Morton81 - 83
- I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
- Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
- To fright our party.
Earl of Northumberland84 - 98
- How doth my son and brother?
- Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek
- Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy arrand.
- Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
- So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
- Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night,
- And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
- But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
- And I my Percy’s death ere thou report’st it.
- This thou wouldst say, “Your son did thus and thus;
- Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas”—
- Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds,
- But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
- Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
- Ending with “Brother, son, and all are dead.”
Morton99 - 100
- Douglas is living, and your brother yet,
- But for my lord your son—
Earl of Northumberland101 - 108
- Why, he is dead.
- See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
- He that but fears the thing he would not know
- Hath by instinct knowledge from others’ eyes
- That what he fear’d is chanced. Yet speak, Morton,
- Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
- And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
- And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Morton109 - 110
- You are too great to be by me gainsaid,
- Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
Earl of Northumberland111 - 121
- 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,
- Rememb’red tolling a departing friend.
- I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Morton123 - 153
- I am sorry I should force you to believe
- That which I would to God I had not seen,
- But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
- Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath’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 steeled,
- 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,
- 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
- So soon ta’en prisoner, and that furious Scot,
- The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword
- Had three times slain th’ 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 Westmorland. This is the news at full.
Earl of Northumberland154 - 178
- For this I shall have time enough to mourn;
- In poison there is physic, 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-weak’ned 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,
- Weak’ned 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 coif!
- That 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
- The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring
- To frown upon th’ 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 ling’ring 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!
- This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
Morton180 - 197
- Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honor,
- 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 th’ event of war, my noble lord,
- And summ’d the accompt 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 befall’n?
- Or what doth this bold enterprise bring forth
- More than that being which was like to be?
Lord Bardolph198 - 204
- We all that are engaged to this loss
- Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
- That if we wrought out 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.
Morton205 - 227
- ’Tis more than time, and, my most noble lord,
- I hear for certain and dare speak the truth,
- The gentle Archbishop of York is up
- With well-appointed pow’rs. He is a man
- Who with a double surety binds his followers.
- My lord your son had only but the corpse’,
- 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 Bullingbrook,
- And more and less do flock to follow him.
Earl of Northumberland228 - 233
- I knew of this before, but to speak truth,
- 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.