The First part of King Henry the Fourth

1So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

2Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,

3And breathe short-winded accents of new broils

4To be commenced in strands afar remote.

5No more the thirsty entrance of this soil

6Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;

7Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,

8Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs

9Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,

10Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,

11All of one nature, of one substance bred,

12Did lately meet in the intestine shock

13And furious close of civil butchery

14Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,

15March all one way and be no more opposed

16Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:

17The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,

18No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,

19As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,

20Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross

21We are impressed and engaged to fight,

22Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;

23Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb

24To chase these pagans in those holy fields

25Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet

26Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd

27For our advantage on the bitter cross.

28But this our purpose now is twelve month old,

29And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:

30Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear

31Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,

32What yesternight our council did decree

33In forwarding this dear expedience.

34My liege, this haste was hot in question,

35And many limits of the charge set down

36But yesternight: when all athwart there came

37A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;

38Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,

39Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

40Against the irregular and wild Glendower,

41Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,

42A thousand of his people butchered;

43Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,

44Such beastly shameless transformation,

45By those Welshwomen done as may not be

46Without much shame retold or spoken of.

47It seems then that the tidings of this broil

48Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

49This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;

50For more uneven and unwelcome news

51Came from the north and thus it did import:

52On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,

53Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,

54That ever-valiant and approved Scot,

55At Holmedon met,

56Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,

57As by discharge of their artillery,

58And shape of likelihood, the news was told;

59For he that brought them, in the very heat

60And pride of their contention did take horse,

61Uncertain of the issue any way.

62Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,

63Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.

64Stain'd with the variation of each soil

65Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;

66And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.

67The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:

68Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,

69Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see

70On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took

71Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son

72To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,

73Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:

74And is not this an honourable spoil?

75A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

76In faith,

77It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

78Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin

79In envy that my Lord Northumberland

80Should be the father to so blest a son,

81A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;

82Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;

83Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:

84Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,

85See riot and dishonour stain the brow

86Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved

87That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged

88In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,

89And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!

90Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.

91But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,

92Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,

93Which he in this adventure hath surprised,

94To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,

95I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

96This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,

97Malevolent to you in all aspects;

98Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up

99The crest of youth against your dignity.

100But I have sent for him to answer this;

101And for this cause awhile we must neglect

102Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

103Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we

104Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:

105But come yourself with speed to us again;

106For more is to be said and to be done

107Than out of anger can be uttered.

108I will, my liege.

1Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

2Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack

3and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon

4benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to

5demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know.

6What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the

7day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes

8capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the

9signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself

10a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no

11reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand

12the time of the day.

13Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take

14purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not

15by Phoebus, he,'that wandering knight so fair.' And,

16I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God

17save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace

18thou wilt have none,--

19What, none?

20No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to

21prologue to an egg and butter.

22Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

23Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not

24us that are squires of the night's body be called

25thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's

26foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the

27moon; and let men say we be men of good government,

28being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and

29chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

30Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the

31fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and

32flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,

33by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold

34most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most

35dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with

36swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying 'Bring in;'

37now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder

38and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

39By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my

40hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

41As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And

42is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

43How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and

44thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a

45buff jerkin?

46Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

47Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a

48time and oft.

49Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

50No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

51Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;

52and where it would not, I have used my credit.

53Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent

54that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet

55wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when

56thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is

57with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do

58not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

59No; thou shalt.

60Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

61Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have

62the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

63Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my

64humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell

65you.

66For obtaining of suits?

67Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman

68hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy

69as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

70Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

71Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

72What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of

73Moor-ditch?

74Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed

75the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young

76prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more

77with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a

78commodity of good names were to be bought. An old

79lord of the council rated me the other day in the

80street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet

81he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and

82yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

83Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the

84streets, and no man regards it.

85O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able

86to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon

87me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew

88thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man

89should speak truly, little better than one of the

90wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give

91it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain:

92I'll be damned for never a king's son in

93Christendom.

94Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

95'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one; an I

96do not, call me villain and baffle me.

97I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying

98to purse-taking.

99Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a

100man to labour in his vocation.

101Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a

102match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what

103hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the

104most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand' to

105a true man.

106Good morrow, Ned.

107Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse?

108what says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack! how

109agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou

110soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira

111and a cold capon's leg?

112Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have

113his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of

114proverbs: he will give the devil his due.

115Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

116Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

117But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four

118o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going

119to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders

120riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards

121for you all; you have horses for yourselves:

122Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke

123supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it

124as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff

125your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry

126at home and be hanged.

127Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not,

128I'll hang you for going.

129You will, chops?

130Hal, wilt thou make one?

131Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

132There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good

133fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood

134royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

135Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

136Why, that's well said.

137Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

138By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

139I care not.

140Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone:

141I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure

142that he shall go.

143Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him

144the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may

145move and what he hears may be believed, that the

146true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false

147thief; for the poor abuses of the time want

148countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

149Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

150Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us

151to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot

152manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill

153shall rob those men that we have already waylaid:

154yourself and I will not be there; and when they

155have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut

156this head off from my shoulders.

157How shall we part with them in setting forth?

158Why, we will set forth before or after them, and

159appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at

160our pleasure to fail, and then will they adventure

161upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have

162no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

163Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our

164horses, by our habits and by every other

165appointment, to be ourselves.

166Tut! our horses they shall not see: I'll tie them

167in the wood; our vizards we will change after we

168leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram

169for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

170Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

171Well, for two of them, I know them to be as

172true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the

173third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll

174forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the

175incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will

176tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at

177least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what

178extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this

179lies the jest.

180Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things

181necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap;

182there I'll sup. Farewell.

183Farewell, my lord.

184I know you all, and will awhile uphold

185The unyoked humour of your idleness:

186Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

187Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

188To smother up his beauty from the world,

189That, when he please again to be himself,

190Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,

191By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

192Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

193If all the year were playing holidays,

194To sport would be as tedious as to work;

195But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come,

196And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

197So, when this loose behavior I throw off

198And pay the debt I never promised,

199By how much better than my word I am,

200By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;

201And like bright metal on a sullen ground,

202My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,

203Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

204Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

205I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;

206Redeeming time when men think least I will.

1My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

2Unapt to stir at these indignities,

3And you have found me; for accordingly

4You tread upon my patience: but be sure

5I will from henceforth rather be myself,

6Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition;

7Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,

8And therefore lost that title of respect

9Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

10Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves

11The scourge of greatness to be used on it;

12And that same greatness too which our own hands

13Have holp to make so portly.

14My lord.--

15Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see

16Danger and disobedience in thine eye:

17O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,

18And majesty might never yet endure

19The moody frontier of a servant brow.

20You have good leave to leave us: when we need

21Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

22You were about to speak.

23Yea, my good lord.

24Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded,

25Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,

26Were, as he says, not with such strength denied

27As is deliver'd to your majesty:

28Either envy, therefore, or misprison

29Is guilty of this fault and not my son.

30My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

31But I remember, when the fight was done,

32When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,

33Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,

34Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,

35Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd

36Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;

37He was perfumed like a milliner;

38And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held

39A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

40He gave his nose and took't away again;

41Who therewith angry, when it next came there,

42Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd,

43And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

44He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,

45To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse

46Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

47With many holiday and lady terms

48He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded

49My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.

50I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,

51To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

52Out of my grief and my impatience,

53Answer'd neglectingly I know not what,

54He should or he should not; for he made me mad

55To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet

56And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

57Of guns and drums and wounds,--God save the mark!--

58And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth

59Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

60And that it was great pity, so it was,

61This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd

62Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,

63Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd

64So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,

65He would himself have been a soldier.

66This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,

67I answer'd indirectly, as I said;

68And I beseech you, let not his report

69Come current for an accusation

70Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

71The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,

72Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said

73To such a person and in such a place,

74At such a time, with all the rest retold,

75May reasonably die and never rise

76To do him wrong or any way impeach

77What then he said, so he unsay it now.

78Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,

79But with proviso and exception,

80That we at our own charge shall ransom straight

81His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;

82Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd

83The lives of those that he did lead to fight

84Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,

85Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March

86Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,

87Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?

88Shall we but treason? and indent with fears,

89When they have lost and forfeited themselves?

90No, on the barren mountains let him starve;

91For I shall never hold that man my friend

92Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost

93To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

94Revolted Mortimer!

95He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

96But by the chance of war; to prove that true

97Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,

98Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took

99When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,

100In single opposition, hand to hand,

101He did confound the best part of an hour

102In changing hardiment with great Glendower:

103Three times they breathed and three times did

104they drink,

105Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;

106Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,

107Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,

108And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,

109Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.

110Never did base and rotten policy

111Colour her working with such deadly wounds;

112Nor could the noble Mortimer

113Receive so many, and all willingly:

114Then let not him be slander'd with revolt.

115Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;

116He never did encounter with Glendower:

117I tell thee,

118He durst as well have met the devil alone

119As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

120Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth

121Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:

122Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,

123Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

124As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,

125We licence your departure with your son.

126Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

127An if the devil come and roar for them,

128I will not send them: I will after straight

129And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,

130Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

131What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:

132Here comes your uncle.

133Speak of Mortimer!

134'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul

135Want mercy, if I do not join with him:

136Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,

137And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,

138But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer

139As high in the air as this unthankful king,

140As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

141Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.

142Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

143He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;

144And when I urged the ransom once again

145Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,

146And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,

147Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

148I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim'd

149By Richard that dead is the next of blood?

150He was; I heard the proclamation:

151And then it was when the unhappy king,

152--Whose wrongs in us God pardon!--did set forth

153Upon his Irish expedition;

154From whence he intercepted did return

155To be deposed and shortly murdered.

156And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth

157Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

158But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then

159Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer

160Heir to the crown?

161He did; myself did hear it.

162Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,

163That wished him on the barren mountains starve.

164But shall it be that you, that set the crown

165Upon the head of this forgetful man

166And for his sake wear the detested blot

167Of murderous subornation, shall it be,

168That you a world of curses undergo,

169Being the agents, or base second means,

170The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?

171O, pardon me that I descend so low,

172To show the line and the predicament

173Wherein you range under this subtle king;

174Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,

175Or fill up chronicles in time to come,

176That men of your nobility and power

177Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,

178As both of you--God pardon it!--have done,

179To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

180An plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

181And shall it in more shame be further spoken,

182That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off

183By him for whom these shames ye underwent?

184No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem

185Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves

186Into the good thoughts of the world again,

187Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt

188Of this proud king, who studies day and night

189To answer all the debt he owes to you

190Even with the bloody payment of your deaths:

191Therefore, I say--

192Peace, cousin, say no more:

193And now I will unclasp a secret book,

194And to your quick-conceiving discontents

195I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,

196As full of peril and adventurous spirit

197As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud

198On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

199If he fall in, good night! or sink or swim:

200Send danger from the east unto the west,

201So honour cross it from the north to south,

202And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs

203To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

204Imagination of some great exploit

205Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

206By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,

207To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,

208Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

209Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,

210And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;

211So he that doth redeem her thence might wear

212Without corrival, all her dignities:

213But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

214He apprehends a world of figures here,

215But not the form of what he should attend.

216Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

217I cry you mercy.

218Those same noble Scots

219That are your prisoners,--

220I'll keep them all;

221By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;

222No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:

223I'll keep them, by this hand.

224You start away

225And lend no ear unto my purposes.

226Those prisoners you shall keep.

227Nay, I will; that's flat:

228He said he would not ransom Mortimer;

229Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;

230But I will find him when he lies asleep,

231And in his ear I'll holla 'Mortimer!'

232Nay,

233I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak

234Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him

235To keep his anger still in motion.

236Hear you, cousin; a word.

237All studies here I solemnly defy,

238Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:

239And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,

240But that I think his father loves him not

241And would be glad he met with some mischance,

242I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

243Farewell, kinsman: I'll talk to you

244When you are better temper'd to attend.

245Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool

246Art thou to break into this woman's mood,

247Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

248Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with rods,

249Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear

250Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.

251In Richard's time,--what do you call the place?--

252A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire;

253'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,

254His uncle York; where I first bow'd my knee

255Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,--

256'Sblood!--

257When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

258At Berkley castle.

259You say true:

260Why, what a candy deal of courtesy

261This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!

262Look,'when his infant fortune came to age,'

263And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin;'

264O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive me!

265Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done.

266Nay, if you have not, to it again;

267We will stay your leisure.

268I have done, i' faith.

269Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

270Deliver them up without their ransom straight,

271And make the Douglas' son your only mean

272For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons

273Which I shall send you written, be assured,

274Will easily be granted. You, my lord,

275Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,

276Shall secretly into the bosom creep

277Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,

278The archbishop.

279Of York, is it not?

280True; who bears hard

281His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.

282I speak not this in estimation,

283As what I think might be, but what I know

284Is ruminated, plotted and set down,

285And only stays but to behold the face

286Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

287I smell it: upon my life, it will do well.

288Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st slip.

289Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;

290And then the power of Scotland and of York,

291To join with Mortimer, ha?

292And so they shall.

293In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

294And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,

295To save our heads by raising of a head;

296For, bear ourselves as even as we can,

297The king will always think him in our debt,

298And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,

299Till he hath found a time to pay us home:

300And see already how he doth begin

301To make us strangers to his looks of love.

302He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him.

303Cousin, farewell: no further go in this

304Than I by letters shall direct your course.

305When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,

306I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;

307Where you and Douglas and our powers at once,

308As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,

309To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,

310Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

311Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

312Uncle, Adieu: O, let the hours be short

313Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

1Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be

2hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and

3yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

4[Within] Anon, anon.

5I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks

6in the point; poor jade, is wrung in the withers out

7of all cess.

8Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that

9is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this

10house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.

11Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of oats

12rose; it was the death of him.

13I think this be the most villanous house in all

14London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

15Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er a king

16christen could be better bit than I have been since

17the first cock.

18Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we

19leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds

20fleas like a loach.

21What, ostler! come away and be hanged!

22I have a gammon of bacon and two razors of ginger,

23to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

24God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite

25starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou

26never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An

27'twere not as good deed as drink, to break the pate

28on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged!

29hast thou no faith in thee?

30Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?

31I think it be two o'clock.

32I pray thee lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding

33in the stable.

34Nay, by God, soft; I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

35I pray thee, lend me thine.

36Ay, when? can'st tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth

37he? marry, I'll see thee hanged first.

38Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

39Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant

40thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the

41gentleman: they will along with company, for they

42have great charge.

43What, ho! chamberlain!

44[Within] At hand, quoth pick-purse.

45That's even as fair as--at hand, quoth the

46chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking

47of purses than giving direction doth from labouring;

48thou layest the plot how.

49Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that

50I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the

51wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with

52him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his

53company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one

54that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what.

55They are up already, and call for eggs and butter;

56they will away presently.

57Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas'

58clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

59No, I'll none of it: I pray thee keep that for the

60hangman; for I know thou worshippest St. Nicholas

61as truly as a man of falsehood may.

62What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang,

63I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old

64Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no

65starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou

66dreamest not of, the which for sport sake are

67content to do the profession some grace; that would,

68if matters should be looked into, for their own

69credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no

70foot-land rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers,

71none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms;

72but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and

73great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will

74strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than

75drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet, zounds,

76I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the

77commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey

78on her, for they ride up and down on her and make

79her their boots.

80What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold

81out water in foul way?

82She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We

83steal as in a castle, cocksure; we have the receipt

84of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

85Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to

86the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

87Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our

88purchase, as I am a true man.

89Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

90Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the

91ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell,

92you muddy knave.

1Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's

2horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

3Stand close.

4Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

5Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost

6thou keep!

7Where's Poins, Hal?

8He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.

9I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the

10rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know

11not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier

12further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt

13not but to die a fair death for all this, if I

14'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have

15forsworn his company hourly any time this two and

16twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the

17rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me

18medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it

19could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins!

20Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto!

21I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere

22not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to

23leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that

24ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven

25ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me;

26and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough:

27a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

28Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you

29rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!

30Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close

31to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread

32of travellers.

33Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?

34'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot

35again for all the coin in thy father's exchequer.

36What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?

37Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

38I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,

39good king's son.

40Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?

41Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent

42garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I

43have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy

44tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest

45is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

46Stand.

47So I do, against my will.

48O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,

49what news?

50Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there 's

51money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going

52to the king's exchequer.

53You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.

54There's enough to make us all.

55To be hanged.

56Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane;

57Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 'scape

58from your encounter, then they light on us.

59How many be there of them?

60Some eight or ten.

61'Zounds, will they not rob us?

62What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

63Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;

64but yet no coward, Hal.

65Well, we leave that to the proof.

66Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge:

67when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him.

68Farewell, and stand fast.

69Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

70Ned, where are our disguises?

71Here, hard by: stand close.

72Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I:

73every man to his business.

74Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our horses down

75the hill; we'll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs.

76Stand!

77Jesus bless us!

78Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats:

79ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they

80hate us youth: down with them: fleece them.

81O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!

82Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye

83fat chuffs: I would your store were here! On,

84bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live.

85You are Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith.

86The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou

87and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it

88would be argument for a week, laughter for a month

89and a good jest for ever.

90Stand close; I hear them coming.

91Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse

92before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two

93arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's

94no more valour in that Poins than in a wild-duck.

95Your money!

96Villains!

97Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:

98The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with fear

99So strongly that they dare not meet each other;

100Each takes his fellow for an officer.

101Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death,

102And lards the lean earth as he walks along:

103Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him.

104How the rogue roar'd!

1'But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well

2contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear

3your house.' He could be contented: why is he not,

4then? In respect of the love he bears our house:

5he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than

6he loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The

7purpose you undertake is dangerous;'--why, that's

8certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to

9drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this

10nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The

11purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you

12have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and

13your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so

14great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say

15unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and

16you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord,

17our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our

18friends true and constant: a good plot, good

19friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,

20very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is

21this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the

22general course of action. 'Zounds, an I were now by

23this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan.

24Is there not my father, my uncle and myself? lord

25Edmund Mortimer, My lord of York and Owen Glendower?

26is there not besides the Douglas? have I not all

27their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the

28next month? and are they not some of them set

29forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an

30infidel! Ha! you shall see now in very sincerity

31of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay

32open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself

33and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of

34skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang him!

35let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set

36forward to-night.

37How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

38O, my good lord, why are you thus alone?

39For what offence have I this fortnight been

40A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?

41Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee

42Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep?

43Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,

44And start so often when thou sit'st alone?

45Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;

46And given my treasures and my rights of thee

47To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?

48In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,

49And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;

50Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;

51Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd

52Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,

53Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,

54Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,

55Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain,

56And all the currents of a heady fight.

57Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war

58And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,

59That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow

60Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;

61And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,

62Such as we see when men restrain their breath

63On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?

64Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

65And I must know it, else he loves me not.

66What, ho!

67Is Gilliams with the packet gone?

68He is, my lord, an hour ago.

69Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

70One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

71What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?

72It is, my lord.

73That roan shall by my throne.

74Well, I will back him straight: O esperance!

75Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

76But hear you, my lord.

77What say'st thou, my lady?

78What is it carries you away?

79Why, my horse, my love, my horse.

80Out, you mad-headed ape!

81A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen

82As you are toss'd with. In faith,

83I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.

84I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir

85About his title, and hath sent for you

86To line his enterprise: but if you go,--

87So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

88Come, come, you paraquito, answer me

89Directly unto this question that I ask:

90In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,

91An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

92Away,

93Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not,

94I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world

95To play with mammets and to tilt with lips:

96We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,

97And pass them current too. God's me, my horse!

98What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou

99have with me?

100Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?

101Well, do not then; for since you love me not,

102I will not love myself. Do you not love me?

103Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.

104Come, wilt thou see me ride?

105And when I am on horseback, I will swear

106I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;

107I must not have you henceforth question me

108Whither I go, nor reason whereabout:

109Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,

110This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.

111I know you wise, but yet no farther wise

112Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are,

113But yet a woman: and for secrecy,

114No lady closer; for I well believe

115Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;

116And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.

117How! so far?

118Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:

119Whither I go, thither shall you go too;

120To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.

121Will this content you, Kate?

122It must of force.

1Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me

2thy hand to laugh a little.

3Where hast been, Hal?

4With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four

5score hogsheads. I have sounded the very

6base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother

7to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by

8their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis.

9They take it already upon their salvation, that

10though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am king

11of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack,

12like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a

13good boy, by the Lord, so they call me, and when I

14am king of England, I shall command all the good

15lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing

16scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they

17cry 'hem!' and bid you play it off. To conclude, I

18am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour,

19that I can drink with any tinker in his own language

20during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost

21much honour, that thou wert not with me in this sweet

22action. But, sweet Ned,--to sweeten which name of

23Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped

24even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that

25never spake other English in his life than 'Eight

26shillings and sixpence' and 'You are welcome,' with

27this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint

28of bastard in the Half-Moon,' or so. But, Ned, to

29drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee,

30do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my

31puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; and do

32thou never leave calling 'Francis,' that his tale

33to me may be nothing but 'Anon.' Step aside, and

34I'll show thee a precedent.

35Francis!

36Thou art perfect.

37Francis!

38Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

39Come hither, Francis.

40My lord?

41How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

42Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--

43[Within] Francis!

44Anon, anon, sir.

45Five year! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking

46of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant

47as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it

48a fair pair of heels and run from it?

49O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in

50England, I could find in my heart.

51[Within] Francis!

52Anon, sir.

53How old art thou, Francis?

54Let me see--about Michaelmas next I shall be--

55[Within] Francis!

56Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.

57Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou

58gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not?

59O Lord, I would it had been two!

60I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me

61when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

62[Within] Francis!

63Anon, anon.

64Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis;

65or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when

66thou wilt. But, Francis!

67My lord?

68Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button,

69not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,

70smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--

71O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

72Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink;

73for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet

74will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

75What, sir?

76[Within] Francis!

77Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?

78What, standest thou still, and hearest such a

79calling? Look to the guests within.

80My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are

81at the door: shall I let them in?

82Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.

83Poins!

84Anon, anon, sir.

85Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at

86the door: shall we be merry?

87As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what

88cunning match have you made with this jest of the

89drawer? come, what's the issue?

90I am now of all humours that have showed themselves

91humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the

92pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.

93What's o'clock, Francis?

94Anon, anon, sir.

95That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a

96parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is

97upstairs and downstairs; his eloquence the parcel of

98a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the

99Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or

100seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his

101hands, and says to his wife 'Fie upon this quiet

102life! I want work.' 'O my sweet Harry,' says she,

103'how many hast thou killed to-day?' 'Give my roan

104horse a drench,' says he; and answers 'Some

105fourteen,' an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I

106prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and

107that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his

108wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

109Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?

110A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too!

111marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I

112lead this life long, I'll sew nether stocks and mend

113them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!

114Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant?

115Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?

116pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale

117of the sun's! if thou didst, then behold that compound.

118You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is

119nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man:

120yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime

121in it. A villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack;

122die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be

123not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a

124shotten herring. There live not three good men

125unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and

126grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say.

127I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any

128thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

129How now, wool-sack! what mutter you?

130A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy

131kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy

132subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese,

133I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!

134Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?

135Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?

136'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the

137Lord, I'll stab thee.

138I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call

139thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I

140could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight

141enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your

142back: call you that backing of your friends? A

143plague upon such backing! give me them that will

144face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I

145drunk to-day.

146O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou

147drunkest last.

148All's one for that.

149A plague of all cowards, still say I.

150What's the matter?

151What's the matter! there be four of us here have

152ta'en a thousand pound this day morning.

153Where is it, Jack? where is it?

154Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon

155poor four of us.

156What, a hundred, man?

157I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a

158dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by

159miracle. I am eight times thrust through the

160doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut

161through and through; my sword hacked like a

162hand-saw--ecce signum! I never dealt better since

163I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all

164cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or

165less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

166Speak, sirs; how was it?

167We four set upon some dozen--

168Sixteen at least, my lord.

169And bound them.

170No, no, they were not bound.

171You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I

172am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

173As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us--

174And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

175What, fought you with them all?

176All! I know not what you call all; but if I fought

177not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if

178there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old

179Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.

180Pray God you have not murdered some of them.

181Nay, that's past praying for: I have peppered two

182of them; two I am sure I have paid, two rogues

183in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell

184thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou

185knowest my old ward; here I lay and thus I bore my

186point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me--

187What, four? thou saidst but two even now.

188Four, Hal; I told thee four.

189Ay, ay, he said four.

190These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at

191me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven

192points in my target, thus.

193Seven? why, there were but four even now.

194In buckram?

195Ay, four, in buckram suits.

196Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

197Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.

198Dost thou hear me, Hal?

199Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

200Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine

201in buckram that I told thee of--

202So, two more already.

203Their points being broken,--

204Down fell their hose.

205Began to give me ground: but I followed me close,

206came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of

207the eleven I paid.

208O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

209But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten

210knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let drive

211at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst

212not see thy hand.

213These lies are like their father that begets them;

214gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou

215clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou

216whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,--

217What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth

218the truth?

219Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal

220green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy

221hand? come, tell us your reason: what sayest thou to this?

222Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

223What, upon compulsion? 'Zounds, an I were at the

224strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would

225not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on

226compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as

227blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon

228compulsion, I.

229I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine

230coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker,

231this huge hill of flesh,--

232'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried

233neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O

234for breath to utter what is like thee! you

235tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile

236standing-tuck,--

237Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and

238when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons,

239hear me speak but this.

240Mark, Jack.

241We two saw you four set on four and bound them, and

242were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how a plain

243tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you

244four; and, with a word, out-faced you from your

245prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in

246the house: and, Falstaff, you carried your guts

247away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared

248for mercy and still run and roared, as ever I heard

249bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword

250as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight!

251What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst

252thou now find out to hide thee from this open and

253apparent shame?

254Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?

255By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye.

256Why, hear you, my masters: was it for me to kill the

257heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true prince?

258why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but

259beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true

260prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was now a

261coward on instinct. I shall think the better of

262myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant

263lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord,

264lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap

265to the doors: watch to-night, pray to-morrow.

266Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles

267of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be

268merry? shall we have a play extempore?

269Content; and the argument shall be thy running away.

270Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

271O Jesu, my lord the prince!

272How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest thou to

273me?

274Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at

275door would speak with you: he says he comes from

276your father.

277Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and

278send him back again to my mother.

279What manner of man is he?

280An old man.

281What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall

282I give him his answer?

283Prithee, do, Jack.

284'Faith, and I'll send him packing.

285Now, sirs: by'r lady, you fought fair; so did you,

286Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, you

287ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true

288prince; no, fie!

289'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

290'Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's

291sword so hacked?

292Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would

293swear truth out of England but he would make you

294believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

295Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to

296make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments

297with it and swear it was the blood of true men. I

298did that I did not this seven year before, I blushed

299to hear his monstrous devices.

300O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years

301ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since

302thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and

303sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away: what

304instinct hadst thou for it?

305My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold

306these exhalations?

307I do.

308What think you they portend?

309Hot livers and cold purses.

310Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

311No, if rightly taken, halter.

312Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone.

313How now, my sweet creature of bombast!

314How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

315My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was

316not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have

317crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: a plague of

318sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a

319bladder. There's villanous news abroad: here was

320Sir John Bracy from your father; you must to the

321court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the

322north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the

323bastinado and made Lucifer cuckold and swore the

324devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh

325hook--what a plague call you him?

326O, Glendower.

327Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer,

328and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of

329Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill

330perpendicular,--

331He that rides at high speed and with his pistol

332kills a sparrow flying.

333You have hit it.

334So did he never the sparrow.

335Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.

336Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so

337for running!

338O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.

339Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

340I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too,

341and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more:

342Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's

343beard is turned white with the news: you may buy

344land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

345Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and

346this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads

347as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

348By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we

349shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal,

350art not thou horrible afeard? thou being

351heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three

352such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that

353spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou

354not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at

355it?

356Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

357Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou

358comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

359Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the

360particulars of my life.

361Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state,

362this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

363Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden

364sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich

365crown for a pitiful bald crown!

366Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee,

367now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to

368make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have

369wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it

370in King Cambyses' vein.

371Well, here is my leg.

372And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.

373O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!

374Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain.

375O, the father, how he holds his countenance!

376For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen;

377For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.

378O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry

379players as ever I see!

380Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.

381Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy

382time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though

383the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster

384it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the

385sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have

386partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion,

387but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a

388foolish-hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant

389me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point;

390why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall

391the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat

392blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall

393the sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a

394question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry,

395which thou hast often heard of and it is known to

396many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch,

397as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth

398the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not

399speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in

400pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in

401woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I

402have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

403What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

404A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a

405cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble

406carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or,

407by'r lady, inclining to three score; and now I

408remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man

409should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry,

410I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be

411known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then,

412peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that

413Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell

414me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast

415thou been this month?

416Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me,

417and I'll play my father.

418Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so

419majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by

420the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.

421Well, here I am set.

422And here I stand: judge, my masters.

423Now, Harry, whence come you?

424My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

425The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

426'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I'll tickle

427ye for a young prince, i' faith.

428Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look

429on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace:

430there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an

431old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why

432dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that

433bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel

434of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed

435cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with

436the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that

437grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in

438years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and

439drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a

440capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft?

441wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous,

442but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

443I would your grace would take me with you: whom

444means your grace?

445That villanous abominable misleader of youth,

446Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

447My lord, the man I know.

448I know thou dost.

449But to say I know more harm in him than in myself,

450were to say more than I know. That he is old, the

451more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but

452that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster,

453that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault,

454God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a

455sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if

456to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine

457are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto,

458banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack

459Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,

460valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,

461being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him

462thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's

463company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

464I do, I will.

465O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most

466monstrous watch is at the door.

467Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to

468say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

469O Jesu, my lord, my lord!

470Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick:

471what's the matter?

472The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they

473are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

474Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of

475gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad,

476without seeming so.

477And thou a natural coward, without instinct.

478I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff,

479so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart

480as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up!

481I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

482Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up

483above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good

484conscience.

485Both which I have had: but their date is out, and

486therefore I'll hide me.

487Call in the sheriff.

488Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?

489First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry

490Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

491What men?

492One of them is well known, my gracious lord,

493A gross fat man.

494As fat as butter.

495The man, I do assure you, is not here;

496For I myself at this time have employ'd him.

497And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee

498That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,

499Send him to answer thee, or any man,

500For any thing he shall be charged withal:

501And so let me entreat you leave the house.

502I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen

503Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

504It may be so: if he have robb'd these men,

505He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

506Good night, my noble lord.

507I think it is good morrow, is it not?

508Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

509This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go,

510call him forth.

511Falstaff!--Fast asleep behind the arras, and

512snorting like a horse.

513Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

514What hast thou found?

515Nothing but papers, my lord.

516Let's see what they be: read them.

517[Reads] Item, A capon,.. 2s. 2d.

518Item, Sauce,... 4d.

519Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.

520Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.

521Item, Bread, ob.

522O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to

523this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else,

524keep close; we'll read it at more advantage: there

525let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the

526morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place

527shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a

528charge of foot; and I know his death will be a

529march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid

530back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in

531the morning; and so, good morrow, Peto.

532Good morrow, good my lord.

1These promises are fair, the parties sure,

2And our induction full of prosperous hope.

3Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,

4Will you sit down?

5And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!

6I have forgot the map.

7No, here it is.

8Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,

9For by that name as oft as Lancaster

10Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with

11A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.

12And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

13I cannot blame him: at my nativity

14The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

15Of burning cressets; and at my birth

16The frame and huge foundation of the earth

17Shaked like a coward.

18Why, so it would have done at the same season, if

19your mother's cat had but kittened, though yourself

20had never been born.

21I say the earth did shake when I was born.

22And I say the earth was not of my mind,

23If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

24The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

25O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,

26And not in fear of your nativity.

27Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth

28In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth

29Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd

30By the imprisoning of unruly wind

31Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,

32Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down

33Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth

34Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,

35In passion shook.

36Cousin, of many men

37I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave

38To tell you once again that at my birth

39The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

40The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds

41Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.

42These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;

43And all the courses of my life do show

44I am not in the roll of common men.

45Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea

46That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,

47Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?

48And bring him out that is but woman's son

49Can trace me in the tedious ways of art

50And hold me pace in deep experiments.

51I think there's no man speaks better Welsh.

52I'll to dinner.

53Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

54I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

55Why, so can I, or so can any man;

56But will they come when you do call for them?

57Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command

58The devil.

59And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil

60By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.

61If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,

62And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.

63O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

64Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

65Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head

66Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye

67And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him

68Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

69Home without boots, and in foul weather too!

70How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

71Come, here's the map: shall we divide our right

72According to our threefold order ta'en?

73The archdeacon hath divided it

74Into three limits very equally:

75England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,

76By south and east is to my part assign'd:

77All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,

78And all the fertile land within that bound,

79To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you

80The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.

81And our indentures tripartite are drawn;

82Which being sealed interchangeably,

83A business that this night may execute,

84To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I

85And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth

86To meet your father and the Scottish power,

87As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.

88My father Glendower is not ready yet,

89Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.

90Within that space you may have drawn together

91Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.

92A shorter time shall send me to you, lords:

93And in my conduct shall your ladies come;

94From whom you now must steal and take no leave,

95For there will be a world of water shed

96Upon the parting of your wives and you.

97Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,

98In quantity equals not one of yours:

99See how this river comes me cranking in,

100And cuts me from the best of all my land

101A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.

102I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;

103And here the smug and silver Trent shall run

104In a new channel, fair and evenly;

105It shall not wind with such a deep indent,

106To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

107Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.

108Yea, but

109Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up

110With like advantage on the other side;

111Gelding the opposed continent as much

112As on the other side it takes from you.

113Yea, but a little charge will trench him here

114And on this north side win this cape of land;

115And then he runs straight and even.

116I'll have it so: a little charge will do it.

117I'll not have it alter'd.

118Will not you?

119No, nor you shall not.

120Who shall say me nay?

121Why, that will I.

122Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.

123I can speak English, lord, as well as you;

124For I was train'd up in the English court;

125Where, being but young, I framed to the harp

126Many an English ditty lovely well

127And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,

128A virtue that was never seen in you.

129Marry,

130And I am glad of it with all my heart:

131I had rather be a kitten and cry mew

132Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;

133I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,

134Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;

135And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,

136Nothing so much as mincing poetry:

137'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

138Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

139I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land

140To any well-deserving friend;

141But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,

142I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

143Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

144The moon shines fair; you may away by night:

145I'll haste the writer and withal

146Break with your wives of your departure hence:

147I am afraid my daughter will run mad,

148So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

149Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

150I cannot choose: sometime he angers me

151With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant,

152Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,

153And of a dragon and a finless fish,

154A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,

155A couching lion and a ramping cat,

156And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff

157As puts me from my faith. I tell you what;

158He held me last night at least nine hours

159In reckoning up the several devils' names

160That were his lackeys: I cried 'hum,' and 'well, go to,'

161But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious

162As a tired horse, a railing wife;

163Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live

164With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,

165Than feed on cates and have him talk to me

166In any summer-house in Christendom.

167In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,

168Exceedingly well read, and profited

169In strange concealments, valiant as a lion

170And as wondrous affable and as bountiful

171As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?

172He holds your temper in a high respect

173And curbs himself even of his natural scope

174When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he does:

175I warrant you, that man is not alive

176Might so have tempted him as you have done,

177Without the taste of danger and reproof:

178But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

179In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;

180And since your coming hither have done enough

181To put him quite beside his patience.

182You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:

183Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,--

184And that's the dearest grace it renders you,--

185Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,

186Defect of manners, want of government,

187Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:

188The least of which haunting a nobleman

189Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain

190Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

191Beguiling them of commendation.

192Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed!

193Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

194This is the deadly spite that angers me;

195My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

196My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;

197She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

198Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy

199Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

200She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry,

201one that no persuasion can do good upon.

202I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh

203Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens

204I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

205In such a parley should I answer thee.

206I understand thy kisses and thou mine,

207And that's a feeling disputation:

208But I will never be a truant, love,

209Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue

210Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,

211Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,

212With ravishing division, to her lute.

213Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

214O, I am ignorance itself in this!

215She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down

216And rest your gentle head upon her lap,

217And she will sing the song that pleaseth you

218And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.

219Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,

220Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep

221As is the difference betwixt day and night

222The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team

223Begins his golden progress in the east.

224With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:

225By that time will our book, I think, be drawn

226Do so;

227And those musicians that shall play to you

228Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,

229And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

230Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come,

231quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

232Go, ye giddy goose.

233Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;

234And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous.

235By'r lady, he is a good musician.

236Then should you be nothing but musical for you are

237altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief,

238and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

239I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

240Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

241No.

242Then be still.

243Neither;'tis a woman's fault.

244Now God help thee!

245To the Welsh lady's bed.

246What's that?

247Peace! she sings.

248Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

249Not mine, in good sooth.

250Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a

251comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth,' and

252'as true as I live,' and 'as God shall mend me,' and

253'as sure as day,'

254And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

255As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury.

256Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

257A good mouth-filling oath, and leave 'in sooth,'

258And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,

259To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.

260Come, sing.

261I will not sing.

262'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast

263teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away

264within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.

265Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow

266As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

267By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,

268And then to horse immediately.

269With all my heart.

1Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I

2Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,

3For we shall presently have need of you.

4I know not whether God will have it so,

5For some displeasing service I have done,

6That, in his secret doom, out of my blood

7He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;

8But thou dost in thy passages of life

9Make me believe that thou art only mark'd

10For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven

11To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,

12Could such inordinate and low desires,

13Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,

14Such barren pleasures, rude society,

15As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,

16Accompany the greatness of thy blood

17And hold their level with thy princely heart?

18So please your majesty, I would I could

19Quit all offences with as clear excuse

20As well as I am doubtless I can purge

21Myself of many I am charged withal:

22Yet such extenuation let me beg,

23As, in reproof of many tales devised,

24which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,

25By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,

26I may, for some things true, wherein my youth

27Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,

28Find pardon on my true submission.

29God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,

30At thy affections, which do hold a wing

31Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

32Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost.

33Which by thy younger brother is supplied,

34And art almost an alien to the hearts

35Of all the court and princes of my blood:

36The hope and expectation of thy time

37Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man

38Prophetically doth forethink thy fall.

39Had I so lavish of my presence been,

40So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,

41So stale and cheap to vulgar company,

42Opinion, that did help me to the crown,

43Had still kept loyal to possession

44And left me in reputeless banishment,

45A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.

46By being seldom seen, I could not stir

47But like a comet I was wonder'd at;

48That men would tell their children 'This is he;'

49Others would say 'Where, which is Bolingbroke?'

50And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

51And dress'd myself in such humility

52That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,

53Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,

54Even in the presence of the crowned king.

55Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;

56My presence, like a robe pontifical,

57Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,

58Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast

59And won by rareness such solemnity.

60The skipping king, he ambled up and down

61With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,

62Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,

63Mingled his royalty with capering fools,

64Had his great name profaned with their scorns

65And gave his countenance, against his name,

66To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push

67Of every beardless vain comparative,

68Grew a companion to the common streets,

69Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;

70That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,

71They surfeited with honey and began

72To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little

73More than a little is by much too much.

74So when he had occasion to be seen,

75He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

76Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes

77As, sick and blunted with community,

78Afford no extraordinary gaze,

79Such as is bent on sun-like majesty

80When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;

81But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,

82Slept in his face and render'd such aspect

83As cloudy men use to their adversaries,

84Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.

85And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;

86For thou has lost thy princely privilege

87With vile participation: not an eye

88But is a-weary of thy common sight,

89Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;

90Which now doth that I would not have it do,

91Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

92I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,

93Be more myself.

94For all the world

95As thou art to this hour was Richard then

96When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,

97And even as I was then is Percy now.

98Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot,

99He hath more worthy interest to the state

100Than thou the shadow of succession;

101For of no right, nor colour like to right,

102He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,

103Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,

104And, being no more in debt to years than thou,

105Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on

106To bloody battles and to bruising arms.

107What never-dying honour hath he got

108Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,

109Whose hot incursions and great name in arms

110Holds from all soldiers chief majority

111And military title capital

112Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ:

113Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,

114This infant warrior, in his enterprises

115Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once,

116Enlarged him and made a friend of him,

117To fill the mouth of deep defiance up

118And shake the peace and safety of our throne.

119And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

120The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,

121Capitulate against us and are up.

122But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?

123Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,

124Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?

125Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,

126Base inclination and the start of spleen

127To fight against me under Percy's pay,

128To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,

129To show how much thou art degenerate.

130Do not think so; you shall not find it so:

131And God forgive them that so much have sway'd

132Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!

133I will redeem all this on Percy's head

134And in the closing of some glorious day

135Be bold to tell you that I am your son;

136When I will wear a garment all of blood

137And stain my favours in a bloody mask,

138Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it:

139And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,

140That this same child of honour and renown,

141This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,

142And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.

143For every honour sitting on his helm,

144Would they were multitudes, and on my head

145My shames redoubled! for the time will come,

146That I shall make this northern youth exchange

147His glorious deeds for my indignities.

148Percy is but my factor, good my lord,

149To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;

150And I will call him to so strict account,

151That he shall render every glory up,

152Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,

153Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.

154This, in the name of God, I promise here:

155The which if He be pleased I shall perform,

156I do beseech your majesty may salve

157The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:

158If not, the end of life cancels all bands;

159And I will die a hundred thousand deaths

160Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

161A hundred thousand rebels die in this:

162Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

163How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

164So hath the business that I come to speak of.

165Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word

166That Douglas and the English rebels met

167The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury

168A mighty and a fearful head they are,

169If promises be kept on every hand,

170As ever offer'd foul play in the state.

171The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;

172With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;

173For this advertisement is five days old:

174On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;

175On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting

176Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march

177Through Gloucestershire; by which account,

178Our business valued, some twelve days hence

179Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.

180Our hands are full of business: let's away;

181Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.

1Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last

2action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my

3skin hangs about me like an like an old lady's loose

4gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well,

5I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some

6liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I

7shall have no strength to repent. An I have not

8forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I

9am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a

10church! Company, villanous company, hath been the

11spoil of me.

12Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

13Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make

14me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman

15need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not

16above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house once

17in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I

18borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in

19good compass: and now I live out of all order, out

20of all compass.

21Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs

22be out of all compass, out of all reasonable

23compass, Sir John.

24Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life:

25thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in

26the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the

27Knight of the Burning Lamp.

28Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

29No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many

30a man doth of a Death's-head or a memento mori: I

31never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire and

32Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his

33robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way

34given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath

35should be 'By this fire, that's God's angel:' but

36thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but

37for the light in thy face, the son of utter

38darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the

39night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou

40hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire,

41there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a

42perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light!

43Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and

44torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt

45tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast

46drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap

47at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have

48maintained that salamander of yours with fire any

49time this two and thirty years; God reward me for

50it!

51'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

52God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.

53How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired

54yet who picked my pocket?

55Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you

56think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched,

57I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy

58by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair

59was never lost in my house before.

60Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many

61a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go

62to, you are a woman, go.

63Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, I was never

64called so in mine own house before.

65Go to, I know you well enough.

66No, Sir John; You do not know me, Sir John. I know

67you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now

68you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought

69you a dozen of shirts to your back.

70Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to

71bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

72Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight

73shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir

74John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money lent

75you, four and twenty pound.

76He had his part of it; let him pay.

77He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

78How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich?

79let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks:

80Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker

81of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I

82shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a

83seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.

84O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not

85how oft, that ring was copper!

86How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 'sblood, an

87he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he

88would say so.

89How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i' faith?

90must we all march?

91Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

92My lord, I pray you, hear me.

93What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy

94husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.

95Good my lord, hear me.

96Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.

97What sayest thou, Jack?

98The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras

99and had my pocket picked: this house is turned

100bawdy-house; they pick pockets.

101What didst thou lose, Jack?

102Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of

103forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my

104grandfather's.

105A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

106So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your

107grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely

108of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said

109he would cudgel you.

110What! he did not?

111There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

112There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed

113prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn

114fox; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the

115deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing,

116go

117Say, what thing? what thing?

118What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.