King Henry IV, Part 2

ACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree

Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others

 
  ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd
  HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace.
  ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth
    To know the numbers of our enemies.
  HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.
  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done.
    My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
    I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
    New-dated letters from Northumberland;
    Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:
    Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
    As might hold sortance with his quality,
    The which he could not levy; whereupon
    He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
    To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers
    That your attempts may overlive the hazard
    And fearful meeting of their opposite.
  MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
    And dash themselves to pieces.
 

Enter A MESSENGER

 
  HASTINGS. Now, what news?
  MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
    In goodly form comes on the enemy;
    And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
    Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
  MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.
    Let us sway on and face them in the field.
 

Enter WESTMORELAND

 
  ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
  MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.
  WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,
    The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
  ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,
    What doth concern your coming.
  WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,
    Unto your Grace do I in chief address
    The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
    Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
    Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
    And countenanc'd by boys and beggary-
    I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd
    In his true, native, and most proper shape,
    You, reverend father, and these noble lords,
    Had not been here to dress the ugly form
    Of base and bloody insurrection
    With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
    Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd,
    Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
    Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
    Whose white investments figure innocence,
    The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-
    Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself
    Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
    Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war;
    Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
    Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
    To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
  ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.
    Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd
    And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
    Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
    And we must bleed for it; of which disease
    Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.
    But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
    I take not on me here as a physician;
    Nor do I as an enemy to peace
    Troop in the throngs of military men;
    But rather show awhile like fearful war
    To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
    And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop
    Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
    I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
    What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
    And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
    We see which way the stream of time doth run
    And are enforc'd from our most quiet there
    By the rough torrent of occasion;
    And have the summary of all our griefs,
    When time shall serve, to show in articles;
    Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
    And might by no suit gain our audience:
    When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
    We are denied access unto his person,
    Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
    The dangers of the days but newly gone,
    Whose memory is written on the earth
    With yet appearing blood, and the examples
    Of every minute's instance, present now,
    Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;
    Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
    But to establish here a peace indeed,
    Concurring both in name and quality.
  WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied;
    Wherein have you been galled by the King;
    What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you
    That you should seal this lawless bloody book
    Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine,
    And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?
  ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth,
    To brother horn an household cruelty,
    I make my quarrel in particular.
  WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress;
    Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
  MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all
    That feel the bruises of the days before,
    And suffer the condition of these times
    To lay a heavy and unequal hand
    Upon our honours?
  WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray,
    Construe the times to their necessities,
    And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
    And not the King, that doth you injuries.
    Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
    Either from the King or in the present time,
    That you should have an inch of any ground
    To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
    To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories,
    Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's?
  MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost
    That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
    The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
    Was force perforce compell'd to banish him,
    And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
    Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
    Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
    Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
    Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
    And the loud trumpet blowing them together —
    Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
    My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
    O, when the King did throw his warder down —
    His own life hung upon the staff he threw —
    Then threw he down himself, and all their lives
    That by indictment and by dint of sword
    Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
  WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
    The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
    In England the most valiant gentleman.
    Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
    But if your father had been victor there,
    He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
    For all the country, in a general voice,
    Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
    Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
    And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King.
    But this is mere digression from my purpose.
    Here come I from our princely general
    To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace
    That he will give you audience; and wherein
    It shall appear that your demands are just,
    You shall enjoy them, everything set off
    That might so much as think you enemies.
  MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
    And it proceeds from policy, not love.
  WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so.
    This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
    For, lo! within a ken our army lies-
    Upon mine honour, all too confident
    To give admittance to a thought of fear.
    Our battle is more full of names than yours,
    Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
    Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
    Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
    Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd.
  MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.
  WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence:
    A rotten case abides no handling.
  HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission,
    In very ample virtue of his father,
    To hear and absolutely to determine
    Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
  WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name.
    I muse you make so slight a question.
  ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
    For this contains our general grievances.
    Each several article herein redress'd,
    All members of our cause, both here and hence,
    That are insinewed to this action,
    Acquitted by a true substantial form,
    And present execution of our wills
    To us and to our purposes confin'd-
    We come within our awful banks again,
    And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
  WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
    In sight of both our battles we may meet;
    And either end in peace – which God so frame! -
    Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords
    Which must decide it.
  ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND
  MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me
    That no conditions of our peace can stand.
  HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
    Upon such large terms and so absolute
    As our conditions shall consist upon,
    Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
  MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
    That every slight and false-derived cause,
    Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
    Shall to the King taste of this action;
    That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
    We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
    That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
    And good from bad find no partition.
  ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary
    Of dainty and such picking grievances;
    For he hath found to end one doubt by death
    Revives two greater in the heirs of life;
    And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
    And keep no tell-tale to his memory
    That may repeat and history his los
    To new remembrance. For full well he knows
    He cannot so precisely weed this land
    As his misdoubts present occasion:
    His foes are so enrooted with his friends
    That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
    He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
    So that this land, like an offensive wife
    That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
    As he is striking, holds his infant up,
    And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
    That was uprear'd to execution.
  HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
    On late offenders, that he now doth lack
    The very instruments of chastisement;
    So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
    May offer, but not hold.
  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true;
    And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
    If we do now make our atonement well,
    Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
    Grow stronger for the breaking.
  MOWBRAY. Be it so.
    Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.
 

Re-enter WESTMORELAND

 
  WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your
lordship
    To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies?
  MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.
  ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come.
 

Exeunt

SCENE II. Another part of the forest

Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP, HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others

 
  PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray.
    Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
    And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
    My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
    When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
    Encircled you to hear with reverence
    Your exposition on the holy text
    Than now to see you here an iron man,
    Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
    Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
    That man that sits within a monarch's heart
    And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
    Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
    Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
    In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
    It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
    How deep you were within the books of God?
    To us the speaker in His parliament,
    To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself,
    The very opener and intelligencer
    Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
    And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
    But you misuse the reverence of your place,
    Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n
    As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
    In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
    Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
    The subjects of His substitute, my father,
    And both against the peace of heaven and him
    Have here up-swarm'd them.
  ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster,
    I am not here against your father's peace;
    But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,
    The time misord'red doth, in common sense,
    Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form
    To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
    The parcels and particulars of our grief,
    The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,
    Whereon this hydra son of war is born;
    Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
    With grant of our most just and right desires;
    And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
    Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
  MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
    To the last man.
  HASTINGS. And though we here fall down,
    We have supplies to second our attempt.
    If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
    And so success of mischief shall be born,
    And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
    Whiles England shall have generation.
  PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow,
    To sound the bottom of the after-times.
  WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly
    How far forth you do like their articles.
  PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well;
    And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
    My father's purposes have been mistook;
    And some about him have too lavishly
    Wrested his meaning and authority.
    My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
    Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
    Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
    As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
    Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
    That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
    Of our restored love and amity.
  ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses.
  PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word;
    And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
  HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army
    This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.
    I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain.
 

Exit Officer

 
  ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.
  WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains
    I have bestow'd to breed this present peace,
    You would drink freely; but my love to ye
    Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
  ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you.
  WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it.
    Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
  MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season,
    For I am on the sudden something ill.
  ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry;
    But heaviness foreruns the good event.
  WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
    Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.'
  ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
  MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
                                                 [Shouts within]
  PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they
shout!
  MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory.
  ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
    For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
    And neither party loser.
  PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord,
    And let our army be discharged too.
 

Exit WESTMORELAND

 
    And, good my lord, so please you let our trains
    March by us, that we may peruse the men
    We should have cop'd withal.
  ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings,
    And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
 

Exit HASTINGS

 
  PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.
 

Re-enter WESTMORELAND

 
    Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
  WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
    Will not go off until they hear you speak.
  PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties.
 

Re-enter HASTINGS

 
  HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already.
    Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
    East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
    Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.
  WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
    I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
    And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
    Of capital treason I attach you both.
  MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
  WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so?
  ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith?
  PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none:
    I promis'd you redress of these same grievances
    Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
    I will perform with a most Christian care.
    But for you, rebels – look to taste the due
    Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
    Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
    Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
    Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray.
    God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
    Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
    Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt
 

SCENE III. Another part of the forest

Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting

 
  FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and
of
    what place, I pray?
  COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the
Dale.
  FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your
    degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your
    name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place – a
place
    deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale.
  COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
  FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield,
    sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the
drops
    of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse
up
    fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
  COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought
    yield me.
  FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of
mine;
    and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my
name.
    An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the
most
    active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.
    Here comes our general.
 

Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, BLUNT, and others

 
  PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now.
    Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
 

Exit WESTMORELAND

 
    Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
    When everything is ended, then you come.
    These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
    One time or other break some gallows' back.
  FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I
never
    knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do
you
    think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor
and
    old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither
with
    the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine
    score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have,
in
    my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the
    Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of
that?
    He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the
hook-nos'd
    fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame.
  PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
  FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I
    beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this
day's
    deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad
    else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing
my
    foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all
    show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of
fame,
    o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the
    element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the
word
    of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert
mount.
  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount.
  FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then.
  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine.
  FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me
good,
    and call it what you will.
  PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville?
  COLVILLE. It is, my lord.
  PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville.
  FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him.
  COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are
    That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me,
    You should have won them dearer than you have.
  FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a
    kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for
    thee.
 

Re-enter WESTMORELAND

PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit? WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates, To York, to present execution. Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. Exeunt BLUNT and others And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords. I hear the King my father is sore sick. Our news shall go before us to his Majesty, Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him And we with sober speed will follow you. FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition, Shall better speak of you than you deserve. Exeunt all but FALSTAFF FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh – but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before, cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage – and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

Enter BARDOLPH

 
    How now, Bardolph!
  BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone.
  FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there
will
    I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already
    temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I
seal
    with him. Come away. Exeunt