Читать книгу The First Part of King Henry the Fourth - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 4

  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 us'd on it-

    And that same greatness too which our own hands

    Have holp to make so portly.

  North. My 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.

    Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need

    'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

    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 delivered 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 toll,

    Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,

    Came there a certain lord, neat and 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 smil'd 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 questioned me, amongst the rest demanded

    My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.

    I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,

    To be so pest'red with a popingay,

    Out of my grief and my impatience

    Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-

    He should, or he should not; for he 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 sovereignest thing on earth

    Was parmacity for an inward bruise;

    And that it was great pity, so it was,

    This villanous saltpetre 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 considered, good my lord,

    Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said

    To such a person, and in such a place,

    At such a time, with all the rest retold,

    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 breath'd, 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,

    Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.

    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 slandered 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 thou not asham'd? 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 will hear of it.

  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,

    Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

  North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.

    Here comes your uncle.

  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 in the dust,

    But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer

    As high in the air as this unthankful king,

    As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.

  North. 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 urg'd the ransom once again

    Of my wive'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 depos'd, and shortly murdered.

  Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth

    Live scandaliz'd 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 murtherous 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 subtile 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 discontents

    I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,

    As full of peril and adventurous spirit

    As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud

    On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

  Hot. If he 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-fac'd moon,

    Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

    Where fadom 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-fac'd 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 is 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 holloa '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 would have him poisoned 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 scourg'd 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 it! 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-

    'S blood!

    When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-

  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 it again.

    We will 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 assur'd

    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-belov'd,

    The Archbishop.

  Hot. Of York, is it not?

  Wor. True; who bears hard

    His brother's death at Bristow, 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 it. Upon my life, it will do well.

  North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'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 reveng'd 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 pow'rs 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!