Complete Plays, The (228 page)

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 Of York

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 loss
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 enraged him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up
And hangs resolved 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 Of York

’Tis very true:
And therefore be assured, 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 Of York

Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we come.

Exeunt

S
CENE
II. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FOREST
.

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; afterwards the Archbishop Of York, Hastings, and others: from the other side, Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland; Officers, and others with them

Lancaster

You are well encounter’d 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 abrooch
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 the imagined 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 heaven,
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 Of York

Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father’s peace;
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder’d 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 shoved 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 cured,
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.

Lancaster

You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 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.

Lancaster

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 Of York

I take your princely word for these redresses.

Lancaster

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 well please them. Hie thee, captain.

Exit Officer

Archbishop Of York

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 Of York

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 Of York

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 Of York

Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.

Mowbray

So much the worse, if your own rule be true.

Shouts within

Lancaster

The word of peace is render’d: hark, how they shout!

Mowbray

This had been cheerful after victory.

Archbishop Of York

A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser.

Lancaster

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 coped withal.

Archbishop Of York

Go, good Lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.

Exit Hastings

Lancaster

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.

Lancaster

They know their duties.

Re-enter Hastings

Hastings

My lord, our army is dispersed already;
Like youthful steers unyoked, 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 capitol treason I attach you both.

Mowbray

Is this proceeding just and honourable?

Westmoreland

Is your assembly so?

Archbishop Of York

Will you thus break your faith?

Lancaster

I pawn’d thee none:
I promised 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 scatter’d 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

S
CENE
III. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FOREST
.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Colevile, meeting

Falstaff

What’s your name, sir? of what condition are you, and of what place, I pray?

Colevile

I am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile of the dale.

Falstaff

Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your degree, and your place the dale: Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of the dale.

Colevile

Are not you Sir John Falstaff?

Falstaff

As good a man as he, sir, whoe’er I am. Do ye 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.

Colevile

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 indifference, 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

Lancaster

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 every thing 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 cheque 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 foundered nine score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am, have in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile 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-nosed fellow of Rome, ‘I came, saw, and overcame.’

Lancaster

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 booked 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, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I be enforced, 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.

Lancaster

Thine’s too heavy to mount.

Falstaff

Let it shine, then.

Lancaster

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.

Lancaster

Is thy name Colevile?

Colevile

It is, my lord.

Lancaster

A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

Falstaff

And a famous true subject took him.

Colevile

I am, my lord, but as my betters are
That led me hither: had they been ruled 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

Lancaster

Now, have you left pursuit?

Westmoreland

Retreat is made and execution stay’d.

Lancaster

Send Colevile with his confederates
To York, to present execution:
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.

Exeunt Blunt and others with Colevile

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.