SCENE I. The same. The Second part of King Henry the Fourth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry IV, part 2  | Act 1, Scene 1 

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 Enter LORD BARDOLPH  LORD BARDOLPH  Who keeps the gate here, ho? 



 The Porter opens the gate  Where is the earl? 

 Porter  What shall I say you are? 

 LORD BARDOLPH  Tell thou the earl 

 That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 

 Porter  His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard; 

 Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 

 And he himself wilt answer. 



 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND  LORD BARDOLPH  Here comes the earl. 



 Exit Porter  NORTHUMBERLAND  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 BARDOLPH  Noble earl, 

 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Good, an God will! 

 LORD BARDOLPH  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 Westmoreland 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 follow'd and so fairly won, 

 Came not till now to dignify the times, 

 Since Caesar's fortunes! 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  How is this derived? 

 Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 

 LORD BARDOLPH  I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence, 

 A gentleman well bred and of good name, 

 That freely render'd me these news for true. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent 

 On Tuesday last to listen after news. 



 Enter TRAVERS  LORD BARDOLPH  My lord, I over-rode him on the way; 

 And he is furnish'd with no certainties 

 More than he haply may retail from me. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? 

 TRAVERS  My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 

 With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, 

 Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 

 A gentleman, almost forspent 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. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Ha! Again: 

 Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 

 Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion 

 Had met ill luck? 

 LORD BARDOLPH  My lord, I'll tell you what; 

 If my young lord your son have not the day, 

 Upon mine honour, for a silken point 

 I'll give my barony: never talk of it. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers 

 Give then such instances of loss? 

 LORD BARDOLPH  Who, he? 

 He was some hilding fellow that had stolen 

 The horse he rode on, and, upon my life, 

 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 



 Enter MORTON  NORTHUMBERLAND  Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 

 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: 

 So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood 

 Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 

 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 

 MORTON  I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 

 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask 

 To fright our party. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  How doth my son and brother? 

 Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek 

 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 

 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.' 

 MORTON  Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; 

 But, for my lord your son-- 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  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. 

 MORTON  You are too great to be by me gainsaid: 

 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. 

 I see a strange confession in thine eye: 

 Thou shakest 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 tolling a departing friend. 

 LORD BARDOLPH  I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 

 MORTON  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, 

 Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 

 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 steel'd; 

 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 the 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. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  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-weaken'd 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, 

 Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged 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 

 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring 

 To frown upon the enraged Northumberland! 

 Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand 

 Keep the wild flood confined! 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! 

 TRAVERS  This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. 

 LORD BARDOLPH  Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. 

 MORTON  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 advised his flesh was capable 

 Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit 

 Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged: 

 Yet did you say 'Go forth;' and none of this, 

 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 

 The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen, 

 Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, 

 More than that being which was like to be? 

 LORD BARDOLPH  We all that are engaged to this loss 

 Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas 

 That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one; 

 And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed 

 Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd; 

 And since we are o'erset, venture again. 

 Come, we will all put forth, body and goods. 

 MORTON  '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 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: 

 Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts, 

 He's followed both with body and with mind; 

 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 

 Of fair King Richard, scraped 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. 

 NORTHUMBERLAND  I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, 

 This present grief had wiped 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. 



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