The PORTER exits.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  What’s the news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute, new violence erupts; it is a wild time. Conflict is like a horse, fed with too much rich food: it has broken out uncontrollably, and tramples everyone who stands before it.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Noble Earl, I have reliable news from Shrewsbury.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Good news, God willing.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  As good as one could wish for. The King has been wounded and is near death. And, thanks to your son’s luck, Prince Harry has been killed. Douglas killed both Lords Blunt. Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, and Stafford fled the battlefield. And your son captured that hulking Sir John Falstaff, Prince Harry’s fattened pig. Oh, there hasn’t been a battle so well fought or a victory so well won since the days of Julius Caesar! It brings honor to our times.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  How do you know all this? Did you see the battlefield? Did you come from Shrewsbury?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  I talked with someone, my lord, who was coming from there. He was a gentleman, with good breeding and a good reputation. He swore that all this was the truth.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Here comes my servant, Travers. I sent him last Tuesday to find out what was happening.

  TRAVERS enters.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Sir, I passed him on my way here. He doesn’t know anything more than what I told him.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Now Travers, what good news do you have?

  TRAVERS

  Sir, Lord Bardolph told me happy news and I turned around, to come back here. But he had a faster horse, so he passed me and got here first. Another man came after him, riding hard. He was nearly exhausted from going so fast, and he stopped to give his bleeding horse a break. He asked me for directions to Chester, and I demanded to hear news from Shrewsbury. He said that the rebels had been beaten, and that Harry Percy’s spur was cold. Then he took off on his horse, leaned forward in his saddle, and jammed his heels into the animal’s side so hard that they almost disappeared. He rode so fast he seemed to be devouring the highway. He didn’t stay around to answer any of my questions.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  What? Say that again: he said that Harry Percy’s spur was cold? Hotspur is now “Coldspur?” That the rebels had bad luck?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  My lord, I’ll tell you what—if your son hasn’t won, on my honor, I’ll exchange all my land for a lace to tie stockings with; don’t even say such a thing.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  But why would that gentleman who rode past Travers describe such examples of loss?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Who, him? He was some insignificant nobody who stole the horse he was riding and, I bet my life, was just talking nonsense. Look, here comes another messenger.

  MORTON enters.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Yes. And the look on his face is like the title page of a book: it hints at the tragic story within. His brow is lined with furrows, like a beach after a wild flood. Morton, did you come from Shrewsbury?

  MORTON

  I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord. Death was there, frightening our side with his ugliest mask.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  How are my son and my brother? You’re trembling, and the paleness of your face is more likely to convey your news than your tongue. This is like that old story about the burning of Troy. A man like you—faint, lifeless, dull, deadly-looking, sad—woke King Priam in the dead of night to tell him that half the city of Troy had been burned down. But Priam saw the fire before this man could speak, and I can see my Percy’s death before you report it. You’re going to tell me, “Your son did such-and-such; your brother did this; the noble Douglas fought like so.” You’ll stuff my greedy ears with stories of their bold deeds. But in the end, you’ll stop my ears forever with a sigh that blows away all your words of praise. You will end your story by saying, “Your brother, your son, everyone–dead.”

  MORTON

  Douglas is alive, and so is your brother, for now. But as for your son, my lord—

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Why, he is dead. My suspicion is so quick to speak! When a man fears something, and doesn’t want to know the truth, he can still tell when that thing has happened; by instinct, he can read it in another man’s eyes. But speak, Morton. Tell me, who am an earl, that I have no talent for prophecy. I’ll take it as a pleasant insult, and I’ll pay you richly for doing me that wrong.

  MORTON

  You are too great a man to be slandered by me. Your instinct is correct; your fears are true.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  But despite all this, don’t say that Percy’s dead. I can see a strange sort of confession in your eyes. You shake your head; you’re afraid to tell the truth, or you think it would be sinful. If he’s been killed, say so. The man who reports a death doesn’t offend with that report. To lie about the dead is a sin, but it is no sin to say that a dead man is not alive. It’s a losing situation, being the first man to bring unwelcome news. That man’s voice sounds forever like a sad bell, and it will always be remembered for tolling the death of a friend.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  My lord, I cannot believe your son is dead.

  MORTON

  I’m sorry that I must force you to believe this, when I wish to God that I hadn’t seen it myself. But I saw him, in his bloody state, with my own eyes. He was barely able to fight back, exhausted and out of breath. Harry Monmouth’s swift fury beat the unflinching Percy down to the ground, and once he was there, Percy never rose again. To be brief, Percy’s spirit inspired the entire army, down to the dullest peasant. When the news got out that he had been killed, it took the fire and courage away from even the bravest soldiers. Percy’s metal steeled the whole army; when they learned that he had been blunted, they bent and warped like dull, heavy lead.

  And just as a heavy object gains momentum once it’s pushed into motion, our army, made heavy by Hotspur’s death, suddenly started moving fast—faster than arrows flying toward a target—but they flew toward safety, not toward the battle. Soon, Worcester, that furious Scotsman, was captured. The warlike Douglas, who killed three enemies disguised as King Henry, began to lose courage: he ran away as well, lending his authority to the shameful retreat. But running in fear, he stumbled and was captured.

  The bottom line is that King Henry has won. He’s sent a speedy force after you, sir, led by young John of Lancaster and Westmoreland. That is the whole story.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  There will be time to mourn for this. Sometimes poison can be a kind of medicine: this news, which would have made me sick had I been well, has, because I am sick, made me well. A dying man—his joints weakened by fever, dangling like useless hinges and crumpling under the man’s own weight—will sometimes be stuck with a fit of impatience, causing him to burst out of his caretaker’s arms. My limbs are like that now; once weakened by grief, they’re now enraged by grief, and are three times as powerful as they were before. Away from me, you unmanly crutch! Chain mail armor will cover my hands now. Away from me, you invalid’s cap! You are too fanciful a helmet for this head which is now the target of kings, grown arrogant with their victories. Wrap my head in iron, and then attack me with the roughest things that destiny and hatred will dare to bring upon me in my rage. Let the sky come crashing down! Let the ocean overflow the shores! Let law and order die! And let the world no longer be a stage for a long, drawn-out struggle: let the spirit of Cain, who committed the first murder against his brother Abel, live in every heart. If every heart is a murderer’s heart, this violent play will end, and darkness will shroud the corpses.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  This extreme passion is bad for you, sir.

  MORTON

  Gentle Earl, don’t abandon your wisdom. All your allies are depending on you and your well-being. If you allow yourself to indulge in this kind of stormy emotion, your health will deteriorate even further. Before you said, “Let’s raise an army,” you calculated how the war might end, and you thought carefully about the likeliness of a victory. You knew from the beginning that, once the fighting started, your son might die. You knew that he was treading dangerously, as if on the edge of a precipice: you knew he was more likely to fall over than make it across. You were warned that your son was made of flesh and blood, and that it was possible he’d get hurt. You were warned that his temper and hot-headedness would push him into the most dangerous situations. But you still said, “Go forward.” None of this consideration, even though it was clearly understood, could stop the stubborn course of events. So what happened here? What has been the result of this brave undertaking? Only this: precisely what was likely to happen in the first place.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  We all knew that we were venturing into dangerous waters. We knew the odds were ten to one that we would come out alive, and yet we ventured forward anyway. The potential reward of winning outweighed the fear of our probable loss. We lost this time, but let’s try again. Come, we’ll all go for it, body and soul.

  MORTON

  It is the appropriate time. Good sir, I hear for certain, and I tell you truthfully, that the Archbishop of York has raised a powerful army. He motivates his men with both his earthly and his spiritual powers. My lord, your son commanded only his soldiers’ bodies. The word “rebellion” frightened them, separating their bodies from their hearts. It caused them to fight timidly, hesitantly, as though they were taking medicine: their weapons seemed to be on our side, but their spirits and souls were frozen, like fish in an icy pond. But now, the Archbishop turns our rebellion into a religious cause. Everyone believes he’s a righteous and holy man, and they follow him not only in body but also in mind. He enhances his cause by preaching about the blood of good King Richard, which was spilled at Pomfret Castle. The Archbishop claims that he derives his authority from heaven; tells the men that the whole country is bleeding, gasping for life under the terrible leadership of Bolingbroke. And so men from every walk of life flock like sheep to follow him.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  I knew all this, but to tell you the truth, this terrible grief had pushed it out of my thoughts. Come inside; I want to hear everyone’s ideas on the best way to defend ourselves and enact our revenge. Send out messengers and letters, and make new allies quickly. Our numbers have never been smaller, but there’s never been more need for what we have to do.

  They exit.

  ACT 1, SCENE 2

  Original Text

  Enter Sir John FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler

  FALSTAFF

  Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?

  PAGE

  He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water, but, for the party that owed it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

  FALSTAFF

  5

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

  10

  that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now, but

  15

  I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master for a jewel. The juvenal, the Prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledge—I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek, and yet he will not

  20

  stick to say his face is a face royal. God may finish it when He will. ’Tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still at a face royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it, and yet he’ll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he’s

  25

  almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton about the satin for my short cloak and my slops?

  PAGE

  He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours. He liked

  30

  not the security.

  FALSTAFF

  Let him be damned like the glutton! Pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel, a rascally yea-forsooth knave, to bear a gentleman in hand and then stand upon security! The whoreson smoothy-pates do now wear

  35

  nothing but high shoes and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with “security.” I looked he should have sent me two-and-twenty yards of

  40

  satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me “security.” Well, he may sleep in security, for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it, and yet cannot he see though he have his own lantern to light him. Where’s Bardolph?

  PAGE

  45

  He’s gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horse.

  FALSTAFF

  I bought him in Paul’s, and he’ll buy me a horse in Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.

  Enter the Lord CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT

  PAGE

  Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for

  50

  striking him about Bardolph.

  FALSTAFF

  Wait close. I will not see him.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  What’s he that goes there?

  SERVANT

  Falstaff, an ’t please your Lordship.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  He that was in question for the robbery?

  SERVANT

  55

  He, my lord; but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  What, to York? Call him back again.

  SERVANT

  Sir John Falstaff!

  FALSTAFF

  60

  Boy, tell him I am deaf.

  PAGE

  You must speak louder. My master is deaf.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.—Go pluck him by the elbow. I must speak with him.

  SERVANT

  Sir John!

  FALSTAFF

  65

  What, a young knave and begging? Is there not wars? Is there not employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can

  70

  tell how to make it.

  SERVANT

  You mistake me, sir.

  FALSTAFF

  Why sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so.

  SERVANT

  75

  I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside, and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat if you say I am any other than an honest man.

  FALSTAFF

  I give thee leave to tell me so? I lay aside that which grows to me? If thou gett’st any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak’st

  80

  leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter. Hence! Avaunt!

  SERVANT

  Sir, my lord would speak with you.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

  FALSTAFF

  My good lord. God give your Lordship good time of the

  85

  day. I am glad to see your Lordship abroad. I heard say your Lordship was sick: I hope your Lordship goes abroad by advice. Your Lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of an ague in you, some relish of the saltness of time in you, and I most humbly beseech your

  90

  Lordship to have a reverent care of your health.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.

  FALSTAFF

  An ’t please your Lordship, I hear his Majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  95

  I talk not of his Majesty. You would not come when I sent for you.

  FALSTAFF

  And I hear, moreover, his Highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  Well, God mend him. I pray you let me speak with you.

  FALSTAFF

  100

  This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an ’t please your Lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.

  FALSTAFF

  It hath its original from much grief, from study, and

  105

  perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects in Galen. It is a kind of deafness.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  I think you are fallen into the disease, for you hear not what I say to you.

  FALSTAFF

  Very well, my lord, very well. Rather, an ’t please you, it is

  110

  the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

  CHIEF JUSTICE

  To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears, and I care not if I do become your physician.

  FALSTAFF

  I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient. Your

  115

  Lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty, but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.