King Henry IV, Part 2. Уильям Шекспир

          where to find me. [Exit PAGE] A pox of this gout! or, a

      gout of

          this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my

      great

          toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my

      colour,

          and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit

      will

          make use of anything. I will turn diseases to commodity.

        ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;

          And, my most noble friends, I pray you all

          Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes-

          And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it?

        MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis;

          But gladly would be better satisfied

          How, in our means, we should advance ourselves

          To look with forehead bold and big enough

          Upon the power and puissance of the King.

        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.

        LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:

          Whether our present five and twenty thousand

          May hold up head without Northumberland?

        HASTINGS. With him, we may.

        LORD 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. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed

          It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

        LORD 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.

        HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt

          To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.

        LORD 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.

        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.

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

        HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph;

          For his divisions, as the times do brawl,

          Are in three heads: one power against the French,

          And one against Glendower; perforce a third

          Must take up us. So is the unfirm King

          In three divided; and his coffers sound

          With hollow poverty and emptiness.

        ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together

          And come against us in full puissance

          Need not be dreaded.

        HASTINGS. If he should do so,

          He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh

          Baying at his heels. Never fear that.

        LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither?

        HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;

          Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth;

          But who is substituted against the French

          I have no certain notice.

        ARCHBISHOP. Let us on,

          And publish the occasion of our arms.

          The