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Monologues for Men


I am sorry I should force you to believe

That which I would to God I had not seen,

But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath’d,

To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down

The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.

In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire

Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,

Being bruited once, took fire and heat away

From the best-temper’d courage in his troops,

For from his metal was his party steeled,

Which once in him abated, all the rest

Turn’d on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

And as the thing that’s heavy in itself

Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,

So did our men, heavy in Hotspur’s loss,

Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear

That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim

Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,

Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester

So soon ta’en prisoner, and that furious Scot,

The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword

Had three times slain th’ appearance of the King,

Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame

Of those that turn’d their backs, and in his flight,

Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out

A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,

Under the conduct of young Lancaster

And Westmerland. This is the news at full.

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