To fright our party.

North. How doth my fon and brother?

"Thou trembleft; and the whitenefs in thy cheek "Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. "Even fuch a man, fo faint, fo fpiritlefs, "So dull, fo dead in look, fo woe-be-gone, "Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, "And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: "But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue; And I my Percy's death ere thou report't it. This thou would't fay: Your fon did thus and thus: Your brother, thus: fo fought the noble Douglas: Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds. But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Thou haft a figh to blow away this praise, Ending with, Brother, fon, and all are dead. hort. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; But for my Lord your fon

North. Why, he is dead.

See what a ready tongue fufpicion hath!

He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other's eyes,

That what he fear'd is chance'd. Yet, Morton, fpeak:
Tell thou thy Earl, his divination lyes;
And I will take it as a fweet difgrace,

And make thee rich for doing me fuch wrong.
Mort. You are too great to be by me gainfaid:
Your fpirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet, for all this, fay not that Percy's dead. I fee a ftrange confeffion in thine eye :

Thou fhak'ft thy head. and hold't it fear *, or fin,
To speak a truth. If he be flain, fay fo:
The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth fin, that doth belye the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a lofing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a fullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my Lord, your fon is dead.
Mort. I'm forry I fhould force you to believe
*Fear, for dan er

That

That which I would to heaven I had not seen.
But these mine eyes faw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Monmouth; whofe fwift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence, with life, he never more fprung up.
In few; his death (whofe fpirit lent a fire
Even to the dulleft peafant 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 feel'd;
Which once in him rebated, all the reft
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 Hot-spur's lofs,
Lend to this weight fuch lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not fwifter toward their aim,
Than did our foldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Wor'fter
Too foon ta'en prifoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring fword
Had three times flain th' appearance of the King,
'Gan vail his ftomach, and did grace the fhame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The fum of all
Is, that the King hath won; and hath fent out
A fpeedy pow'r to encounter you, my Lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Weftmorland. This is the news at full.

North. For this I fhall have time enough to mourn. In poifon there is phyfic: and this news,

That would, had I been well, have made me sick,
Being fick, hath in fome measure made me well.
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like ftrengthlefs hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now inrage'd with grief,
Are thrice themfelves. "Hence therefore, thou nice
A fcaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

[crutch;

Muft glove this hand. And hence, thou fickly quoil,

66

Thou

"Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, "Which princes, fleih'd with conqueft, aim to hit. "Now bind my brows with iron, and approach "The ruggedit hour that time and spight dare bring "To frown upon th' enrage'd Northumberland! "Let heav'n kifs earth! now let not nature's hand

Keep the wild flood confin'd; let order die, "And let this world no longer be a ftage "To feed contention in a lingering act: "But let one fpirit of the first-born Cain

Reign in all bofoms, that each heart being fet "On bloody courfes, the rude fcene may end, "And darkness be the burier of the dead! [Lord! Bard. This trained paffion doth you wrong, my Sweet Earl, divorce not wifdom from your honour. Mort. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er To ftormy paffion, muft perforce decay.

You caft th' event of war, my noble Lord,

And fumm'd th' account of chance, before you faid,
Let us make head: it was your prefurmife,
That, in the dole of blows, your fon 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 flefh was capable

Of wounds and fears; and that his forward fpirit
Would lift him where moft trade of danger range'd:
Yet did you fay, Go forth. And none of this,
Though ftrongly apprehended, could restrain
The fliff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being, which was like to be?

Bard. We all that are engaged to this lofs,
Knew, that we ventur'd on fuch dang'rous feas,
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd,
Chok'd the refpect of likely peril fear'd;
And fince we are o'er-fet, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.
Mort. 'Tis more than time; and, my most noble Lord,
I hear for certain, and do fpeak the truth,
The gentle Archbishop of York is up

With well-appointed powers. He is a man,
Who with a double furety binds his followers.
My Lord, your fon, had only but the corps,
But fhadows, and the fhews of men to fight.
For that fame word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their fouls;
And they did fight with queafinefs, conftrain'd
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our fide: " but for their spirits and fouls,
"This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
"As fifh are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns infurrection to religion;

Suppos'd fincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind:
And doth enlard his rifing with the blood
Of fair King Richard, fcrap'd from Pomfret stones;
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his caufe;
Tells them, he doth beftride a bleeding land
Gafping for life, under great Bolingbroke;
And more, and lefs, do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before: but to speak truth,
This prefent grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me, and counsel every man
The aptest way for fafety and revenge:

Get pofts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never fo few, nor never yet more need.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Changes to a street in London. Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his fword and buckler.

Fal. Sirrah, you, giant! what fays the doctor to my water?

Page. He faid, Sir, the water itself was a good healthy water. But for the party that own'd it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

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

ed

ed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into my fervice for any other reafon than to fet me off, why, then I have no judgment. Thou whorfon mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with an agot till now: but I will fet you neither in gold nor filver, but in vile apparel, and fend you back again to your mafter, for a jewel. The Juvenal, the Prince your master! whose chin is not yet fledg'd; I will fooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; yet he will not stick to say, his face is a faceroyal. Heav'n may finish it when it will, it is not a hair amifs yet; he may keep it ftill as a face-royal, for a barber fhall never earn fixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever fince his father was a batchelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almoft out of mine, I can affure him. What faid Mr. Dombledon, about the fatten for my fhort cloak and flops ?

Page. He faid, Sir, you should procure him better afsurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and your's, he lik'd not the security.

Fal. Let him be damn'd like the glutton, may his tongue be hotter! a whorfon Achitophel, a rafcally ye-forfooth-knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then ftand upon fecurity! the whorfon-fmooth-pates do now wear nothing but high fhoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honeft taking up, then they muft ftand upon fecurity. I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to ftop it with fecurity. I looked he fhould have fent me two and twenty yards of fatten, as I am a true knight, and he fends me fecurity. Well, he may fleep in fecurity, for he hath the horn of abundance. And the lightnefs of his wife fhines through it, and yet cannot he fee, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ?

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horfe.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's*, and he'll buy me a At that time the refort of idle people, cheats, and knights of the poft.

2

horfe