Speeches (Lines) for Bardolph in "History of Henry IV, Part II"

Rumour. Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth.
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace while covert emnity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wav'ring multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory,
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? My office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the King before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.

Bardolph. Who keeps the gate here, ho? [The PORTER opens the gate]
Where is the Earl?

Porter. What shall I say you are?

Bardolph. Tell thou the Earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Porter. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard.
Please it your honour knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.

Bardolph. Here comes the Earl. Exit PORTER

Earl of Northumberland. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem.
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him.

Bardolph. Noble Earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

Earl of Northumberland. Good, an God will!

Bardolph. As good as heart can wish.
The King is almost wounded to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,
So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Cxsar's fortunes!

Earl of Northumberland. How is this deriv'd?
Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?

Bardolph. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
That freely rend'red me these news for true.

Earl of Northumberland. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bardolph. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from me.

Earl of Northumberland. Ha! Again:
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?

Bardolph. My lord, I'll tell you what:
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony. Never talk of it.

Earl of Northumberland. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?

Bardolph. Who--he?
He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n
The horse he rode on and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

Earl of Northumberland. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye;
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not that reports his death;
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.

Bardolph. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

Earl of Northumberland. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well;
And as the wretch whose fever-weak'ned joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
Weak'ned with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif!
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a ling'ring act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Bardolph. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

Morton. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast th' event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance before you said
'Let us make head.' It was your pre-surmise
That in the dole of blows your son might drop.
You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge,
More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
You were advis'd his flesh was capable
Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;
Yet did you say 'Go forth'; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth
More than that being which was like to be?

Bardolph. We all that are engaged to this loss
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will put forth, body and goods.

Lord Hastings. Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.

Bardolph. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?

Lord Hastings. With him, we may.

Bardolph. Yea, marry, there's the point;
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand;
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain, should not be admitted.

Archbishop Scroop. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

Bardolph. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the air and promise of supply,
Flatt'ring himself in project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts;
And so, with great imagination
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And, winking, leapt into destruction.

Lord Hastings. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.

Bardolph. Yes, if this present quality of war-
Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot-
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then we must rate the cost of the erection;
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then but draw anew the model
In fewer offices, or at least desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work--
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
And set another up--should we survey
The plot of situation and the model,
Consent upon a sure foundation,
Question surveyors, know our own estate
How able such a work to undergo-
To weigh against his opposite; or else
We fortify in paper and in figures,
Using the names of men instead of men;
Like one that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.

Lord Hastings. Grant that our hopes--yet likely of fair birth--
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The utmost man of expectation,
I think we are so a body strong enough,
Even as we are, to equal with the King.

Bardolph. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand?

Lord Hastings. If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying at his heels. Never fear that.

Bardolph. Who is it like should lead his forces hither?

Henry V. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me
Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd
ape.

Bardolph. God save your Grace!

Henry V. Has not the boy profited?

Bardolph. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

Edward Poins. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers!
Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.

Bardolph. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the
shall have wrong.

Henry V. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

Bardolph. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to
There's a letter for you.

Edward Poins. Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,
your master?

Bardolph. In bodily health, sir.

Henry V. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the
of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master
London?

Bardolph. Yea, my lord.

Henry V. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

Bardolph. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

Henry V. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master
I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.

Bardolph. I have no tongue, sir.

Doll Tearsheet. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as
as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before
was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.

Bardolph. Pray thee go down, good ancient.

Mistress Quickly. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words.

Bardolph. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl

Falstaff. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing
here.

Bardolph. Come, get you down stairs.

Falstaff. Have you turn'd him out a doors?

Bardolph. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir,
th' shoulder.

Falstaff. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we
must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking within] More
knocking at the door!
[Re-enter BARDOLPH]
How now! What's the matter?

Bardolph. You must away to court, sir, presently;
A dozen captains stay at door for you.

Mistress Quickly. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these
years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted

Bardolph. [Within] Mistress Tearsheet!

Mistress Quickly. What's the matter?

Bardolph. [Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.

Robert Shallow. Good morrow, honest gentlemen.

Bardolph. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?

Robert Shallow. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this
and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your
pleasure with me?

Bardolph. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
John Falstaff--a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most
leader.

Robert Shallow. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword
How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife

Bardolph. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than
wife.

Robert Shallow. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said
too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it.
phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.
'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good

Bardolph. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you
By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the
with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of
good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man
they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a
thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.

Peter Bullcalf. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and
here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In
truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for
mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with
friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.

Bardolph. Go to; stand aside.

Ralph Mouldy. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's
stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when
am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall
forty, sir.

Bardolph. Go to; stand aside.

Francis Feeble. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe
a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so;
an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and,
it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for
next.

Bardolph. Well said; th'art a good fellow.

Robert Shallow. Four of which you please.

Bardolph. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free
and Bullcalf.

Falstaff. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a
Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big
assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow.
Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge
and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer,
off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's
And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow--give me this man. He
presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great
level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat--how
will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the
spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into
Wart's hand, Bardolph.

Bardolph. Hold, Wart. Traverse--thus, thus, thus.

Falstaff. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your
dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth
love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh--but that's no
he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys
to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male
green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches.
are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be
but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold
operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there
the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it;
apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and
delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the
which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second
your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which
cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the
badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms
and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes.
illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all
rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital
commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their
captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this
doth any deed of courage--and this valour comes of sherris.
that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that
it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil
till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof
it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did
naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile,
bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent
endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris,
that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand
the first humane principle I would teach them should be to
forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
[Enter BARDOLPH]
How now, Bardolph!

Bardolph. The army is discharged all and gone.

Davy. [Exit DAVY] Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come,
with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.

Bardolph. I am glad to see your worship.

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die.

Bardolph. An I might see you there, Davy!

Robert Shallow. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together--ha! will
not, Master Bardolph?

Bardolph. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.

Robert Shallow. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick
thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true
bred.

Bardolph. And I'll stick by him, sir.

Falstaff. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert
choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol,
will double-charge thee with dignities.

Bardolph. O joyful day!
I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.