Henry IV, Part I

Oh no, Sir Richard, my nephew cannot be told about the generous and kind offer the King made.

But he should be told.

It will be the end of all of us! There is absolutely no way that the King will keep his word and trust us again. He will always be wary of us. He’ll find other reasons to punish us for this rebellion. For the rest of our lives he and his loyalists will look on us with suspicion. Treason is like a fox: you can tame it, care for it, and put it in a cage, but it will always have the wild instincts it inherited from its ancestors. No matter how we look—sad or happy—people will interpret our looks in the worst possible light. We’ll be like oxen in a stall: the better they’re fed, the closer they are to being slaughtered. My nephew’s disloyalty might be forgiven: his young age and hot temper will excuse it. Plus, his nickname gives him permission: Hotspur the Harebrain, always flaring up. All his offenses will be blamed on me and his father. After all, we encouraged him, and since we taught him to be angry at the King, we’ll pay for it. So cousin, don’t by any means let Harry know what the King offered.

Tell him what you want, and I’ll back you up.

Here comes your nephew.

My uncle’s back. Free Westmoreland, his hostage. Uncle, what’s happening?

The King will beckon you to battle shortly.

Have Westmoreland deliver your message of defiance.

Douglas, go tell him to do that.

Indeed, I will, and gladly.

The King doesn’t appear willing to forgive us.

Did you ask him to? God forbid!

I politely told him what our issues were. I accused him of breaking his promise to us, and here’s how he answered: he lied about the fact that he lied. He called us rebels, traitors, and said he’d punish us with his mighty army.

Get your weapons, gentlemen, get your weapons! I sent King Henry a brave and defiant message, and Westmoreland, who was our hostage, will deliver it. This will surely bring the battle on immediately.

The Prince of Wales stepped forward, nephew, and challenged you to a one-on-one fight.

Oh, I wish the whole battle were between us, and that the only people who would lose their breath today would be me and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, what was the tone of his challenge? Did he show contempt for me?

No, I swear; I never heard a challenge issued more gracefully. It was like a brother asking a brother to a little friendly competition. He paid you all due respect, and he summed up your good qualities in the most princely language. He spoke of how deserving you are, as though he were your biographer. He claimed you were even above praise, for simple praise could never measure up to your true merits. And he gave a modest account of himself, as well, which made him seem like a true prince indeed. He berated himself for having behaved wildly, but he said this so gracefully that he sounded like a teacher giving a lesson and a student learning one at the same time. There he stopped, but let me say this: if he survives this battle, then England never had a sweeter hope, nor one so misunderstood in his recklessness.

I think you’ve been charmed by his foolishness. I’ve never heard of a Prince who was so wild and loose. But however he wants to seem, before night falls I will embrace him with these soldier’s arms, and he will tremble at my affection. Get ready, get ready quickly! And friends, partners, soldiers, take a moment to think for yourselves about what you have to do. I’m not a good enough speaker to motivate you.

My lord, I have some letters for you.

I can’t read them now. Oh, gentlemen, life is short. But if you spend that brief time shamefully, you are wasting your time: even if life lasted only an hour, it would still be too long. If we live, it will be in triumph over kings. If we die, it will be a glorious death, since princes will die with us. As for our consciences, our battle is fair: it’s right to bear arms when the cause is just.

My lord, get ready. The King has launched his attack.

I thank him for cutting off my speech, since I have no talent for speaking. Only one more thing: each man should do his best, and with that I will draw my sword. On this dangerous day, I intend to stain it with the best blood I can find. “Hope is my comfort!” Percy! Let’s go! Sound all the imposing instruments of battle, and let’s embrace one another to the tune of that music. For, by heaven, some of us will never be able to do that again.