ACT IV. SCENE I. THE REBEL CAMP NEAR SHREWSBURY. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. The tongues of soothers: but a braver place No man so potent breathes upon the ground, Hot. Do So, and 'tis well: Enter a Messenger, with Letters. What letters hast thou there?—I can but thank you. Mess. These letters come from your father,Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not him self? Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick. Hot. 'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick, In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his physicians. Wor. I would, the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited; His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprize; 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. He writes me here, that inward sickness And that his friends by deputation could not On any soul remov'd, but on his own. All at one cast? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good: for therein should we read G The very list, the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes. Doug. 'Faith, and so we should; Where now remains a sweet reversion: We may boldly spend upon the hope of what A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet I would your father had been here. The quality and hair of our attempt Brooks no division: It will be thought By some, that know not why he is away, And breed a kind of question in our cause: Hot. You strain too far. I, rather, of his absence make this use;- A larger dare to our great enterprize, To push against the kingdom; with his help, Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm: What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd, The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; And yet not ours:-Come, let me take my horse, Against the bosom of the prince of Wales: Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.— O, that Glendower were come! Ver. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? Ver. To thirty thousand. Hot. Forty let it be; My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a day. Come, let us take a muster speedily:. Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily, |