READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I, scene iii |
|
Act I, Scene iii:
The Same. A Room in the Palace.
The Same. A Room in the Palace.
| [Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir WalterBlunt, and others.] |
| KING.: |
| My blood hath been too cold and temperate, |
| Unapt to stir at these indignities, |
| And you have found me; for, accordingly, |
| You tread upon my patience: but be sure |
| I will from henceforth rather be myself, |
| Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition, |
| Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, |
| And therefore lost that title of respect |
| Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. |
| WOR.: |
| Our House, my sovereign liege, little deserves |
| The scourge of greatness to be used on it; |
| And that same greatness too which our own hands |
| Have holp to make so portly. |
| NORTH.: |
| My good lord,— |
| KING.: |
| Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see |
| Danger and disobedience in thine eye: |
| O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, |
| And majesty might never yet endure |
| The moody frontier of a servant brow. |
| You have good leave to leave us: when we need |
| Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. |
| [Exit Worcester.] |
| [To Northumberland.] |
| You were about to speak.: |
| NORTH.: |
| Yea, my good lord. |
| Those prisoners in your Highness' name demanded, |
| Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, |
| Were, as he says, not with such strength denied |
| As is deliver'd to your Majesty: |
| Either envy, therefore, or misprision |
| Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. |
| HOT.: |
| My liege, I did deny no prisoners. |
| But, I remember, when the fight was done, |
| When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, |
| Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, |
| Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, |
| Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd |
| Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home: |
| He was perfumed like a milliner; |
| And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held |
| A pouncet-box, which ever and anon |
| He gave his nose, and took't away again; |
| Who therewith angry, when it next came there, |
| Took it in snuff: and still he smiled and talk'd; |
| And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, |
| He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, |
| To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse |
| Betwixt the wind and his nobility. |
| With many holiday and lady terms |
| He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded |
| My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf. |
| I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, |
| Out of my grief and my impatience |
| To be so pester'd with a popinjay, |
| Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,— |
| He should, or he should not; for't made me mad |
| To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, |
| And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman |
| Of guns and drums and wounds,—God save the mark!— |
| And telling me the sovereign'st thing on Earth |
| Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; |
| And that it was great pity, so it was, |
| This villainous salt-petre should be digg'd |
| Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, |
| Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd |
| So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, |
| He would himself have been a soldier. |
| This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, |
| I answered indirectly, as I said; |
| And I beseech you, let not his report |
| Come current for an accusation |
| Betwixt my love and your high Majesty. |
| BLUNT.: |
| The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, |
| Whatever Harry Percy then had said |
| To such a person, and in such a place, |
| At such a time, with all the rest re-told, |
| May reasonably die, and never rise |
| To do him wrong, or any way impeach |
| What then he said, so he unsay it now. |
| KING.: |
| Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, |
| But with proviso and exception, |
| That we at our own charge shall ransom straight |
| His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; |
| Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd |
| The lives of those that he did lead to fight |
| Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower, |
| Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March |
| Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, |
| Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? |
| Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears |
| When they have lost and forfeited themselves? |
| No, on the barren mountains let him starve; |
| For I shall never hold that man my friend |
| Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost |
| To ransom home revolted Mortimer. |
| HOT.: |
| Revolted Mortimer! |
| He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, |
| But by the chance of war: to prove that true |
| Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, |
| Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, |
| When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, |
| In single opposition, hand to hand, |
| He did confound the best part of an hour |
| In changing hardiment with great Glendower. |
| Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink, |
| Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; |
| Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, |
| Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, |
| And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank |
| Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. |
| Never did base and rotten policy |
| Colour her working with such deadly wounds; |
| Nor never could the noble Mortimer |
| Receive so many, and all willingly: |
| Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. |
| KING.: |
| Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him; |
| He never did encounter with Glendower: |
| I tell thee, |
| He durst as well have met the Devil alone |
| As Owen Glendower for an enemy. |
| Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth |
| Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: |
| Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, |
| Or you shall hear in such a kind from me |
| As will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland, |
| We license your departure with your son.— |
| Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. |
| [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train.] |
| HOT.: |
| An if the Devil come and roar for them, |
| I will not send them: I will after straight, |
| And tell him so; for I will else my heart, |
| Although it be with hazard of my head. |
| NORTH.: |
| What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile: |
| Here comes your uncle. |
| [Re-enter Worcester.] |
| HOT.: |
| Speak of Mortimer! |
| Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul |
| Want mercy, if I do not join with him: |
| Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins, |
| And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust, |
| But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer |
| As high i' the air as this unthankful King, |
| As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. |
| NORTH.: |
| [To Worcester.] |
| Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. |
| WOR.: |
| Who struck this heat up after I was gone? |
| HOT.: |
| He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; |
| And when I urged the ransom once again |
| Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale, |
| And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, |
| Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. |
| WOR.: |
| I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim'd |
| By Richard that dead is the next of blood? |
| NORTH.: |
| He was; I heard the proclamation: |
| And then it was when the unhappy King— |
| Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth |
| Upon his Irish expedition; |
| From whence he intercepted did return |
| To be deposed, and shortly murdered. |
| WOR.: |
| And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth |
| Live scandalized and foully spoken of. |
| HOT.: |
| But, soft! I pray you; did King Richard then |
| Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer |
| Heir to the crown? |
| NORTH.: |
| He did; myself did hear it. |
| HOT.: |
| Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King, |
| That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. |
| But shall it be, that you, that set the crown |
| Upon the head of this forgetful man, |
| And for his sake wear the detested blot |
| Of murderous subornation,—shall it be, |
| That you a world of curses undergo, |
| Being the agents, or base second means, |
| The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?— |
| O, pardon me, that I descend so low, |
| To show the line and the predicament |
| Wherein you range under this subtle King;— |
| Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, |
| Or fill up chronicles in time to come, |
| That men of your nobility and power |
| Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,— |
| As both of you, God pardon it! have done,— |
| To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, |
| And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? |
| And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, |
| That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off |
| By him for whom these shames ye underwent? |
| No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem |
| Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves |
| Into the good thoughts of the world again; |
| Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt |
| Of this proud King, who studies day and night |
| To answer all the debt he owes to you |
| Even with the bloody payment of your deaths: |
| Therefore, I say,— |
| WOR.: |
| Peace, cousin, say no more: |
| And now I will unclasp a secret book, |
| And to your quick-conceiving discontent |
| I'll read you matter deep and dangerous; |
| As full of peril and adventurous spirit |
| As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud |
| On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. |
| HOT.: |
| If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim! |
| Send danger from the east unto the west, |
| So honour cross it from the north to south, |
| And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs |
| To rouse a lion than to start a hare! |
| NORTH.: |
| Imagination of some great exploit |
| Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. |
| HOT.: |
| By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, |
| To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced Moon; |
| Or dive into the bottom of the deep, |
| Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, |
| And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; |
| So he that doth redeem her thence might wear |
| Without corrival all her dignities: |
| But out upon this half-faced fellowship! |
| WOR.: |
| He apprehends a world of figures here, |
| But not the form of what he should attend.— |
| Good cousin, give me audience for a while. |
| HOT.: |
| I cry you mercy. |
| WOR.: |
| Those same noble Scots |
| That are your prisoners,— |
| HOT.: |
| I'll keep them all; |
| By God, he shall not have a Scot of them; |
| No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: |
| I'll keep them, by this hand. |
| WOR.: |
| You start away, |
| And lend no ear unto my purposes. |
| Those prisoners you shall keep;— |
| HOT.: |
| Nay, I will; that's flat. |
| He said he would not ransom Mortimer; |
| Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; |
| But I will find him when he lies asleep, |
| And in his ear I'll holla Mortimer! |
| Nay, |
| I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak |
| Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, |
| To keep his anger still in motion. |
| WOR.: |
| Hear you, cousin; a word. |
| HOT.: |
| All studies here I solemnly defy, |
| Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: |
| And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, |
| But that I think his father loves him not, |
| And would be glad he met with some mischance, |
| I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. |
| WOR.: |
| Farewell, kinsman: I will talk to you |
| When you are better temper'd to attend. |
| NORTH.: |
| Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool |
| Art thou, to break into this woman's mood, |
| Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! |
| HOT.: |
| Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with rods, |
| Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear |
| Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. |
| In Richard's time,—what do you call the place?— |
| A plague upon't!—it is in Gioucestershire;— |
| 'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept, |
| His uncle York;—where I first bow'd my knee |
| Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke;— |
| When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. |
| NORTH.: |
| At Berkeley-castle. |
| HOT.: |
| You say true:— |
| Why, what a candy deal of courtesy |
| This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! |
| Look, when his infant fortune came to age, |
| And, Gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin,— |
| O, the Devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!— |
| Good uncle, tell your tale; for I have done. |
| WOR.: |
| Nay, if you have not, to't again; |
| We'll stay your leisure. |
| HOT.: |
| I have done, i'faith. |
| WOR.: |
| Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. |
| Deliver them up without their ransom straight, |
| And make the Douglas' son your only mean |
| For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons |
| Which I shall send you written, be assured, |
| Will easily be granted.— |
| [To Northumberland.] You, my lord, |
| Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, |
| Shall secretly into the bosom creep |
| Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, |
| Th' Archbishop. |
| HOT.: |
| Of York, is't not? |
| WOR.: |
| True; who bears hard |
| His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. |
| I speak not this in estimation, |
| As what I think might be, but what I know |
| Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, |
| And only stays but to behold the face |
| Of that occasion that shall bring it on. |
| HOT.: |
| I smell't: upon my life, it will do well. |
| NORTH.: |
| Before the game's a-foot, thou still lett'st slip. |
| HOT.: |
| Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:— |
| And then the power of Scotland and of York |
| To join with Mortimer, ha? |
| WOR.: |
| And so they shall. |
| HOT.: |
| In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. |
| WOR.: |
| And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, |
| To save our heads by raising of a head; |
| For, bear ourselves as even as we can, |
| The King will always think him in our debt, |
| And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, |
| Till he hath found a time to pay us home: |
| And see already how he doth begin |
| To make us strangers to his looks of love. |
| HOT.: |
| He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him. |
| WOR.: |
| Cousin, farewell: no further go in this |
| Than I by letters shall direct your course. |
| When time is ripe,—which will be suddenly,— |
| I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; |
| Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, |
| As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, |
| To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, |
| Which now we hold at much uncertainty. |
| NORTH.: |
| Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. |
| HOT.: |
| Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short, |
| Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! |
| [Exeunt.] |
|
|
||||
|
