William Shakespeare, The First Part of King Henry the Fourth (1597-98)


William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

This is a part of a collection of works by William Shakespeare.

Source

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (London: Oxford University Press, 1916).

See the complete volume in HTML and facs. PDF.

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH

Scene I.— London. The Palace.

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, and Others.

K. Hen.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,

And breathe short-winded accents of new broils

To be commenc’d in stronds afar remote. 4

No more the thirsty entrance of this soil

Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood;

No more shall trenching war channel her fields,

Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 8

Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,

Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,

All of one nature, of one substance bred,

Did lately meet in the intestine shock 12

And furious close of civil butchery,

Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,

March all one way, and be no more oppos’d

Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: 16

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

No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,

As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,—

Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 20

We are impressed and engag’d to fight,—

Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,

Whose arms were moulded in their mother’s womb

To chase these pagans in those holy fields 24

Over whose acres walk’d those blessed feet

Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail’d

For our advantage on the bitter cross.

But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 28

And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go:

Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear

Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,

What yesternight our council did decree 32

In forwarding this dear expedience.

West.

My liege, this haste was hot in question,

And many limits of the charge set down

But yesternight; when all athwart there came

A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; 37

Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,

Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 40

Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,

And a thousand of his people butchered;

Upon whose dead corpse’ there was such misuse,

Such beastly shameless transformation 44

By those Welshwomen done, as may not be

Without much shame re-told or spoken of.

K. Hen.

It seems then that the tidings of this broil

Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 48

West.

This match’d with other like, my gracious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news

Came from the north and thus it did import:

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

Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,

That ever-valiant and approved Scot,

At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;

As by discharge of their artillery, 57

And shape of likelihood, the news was told;

For he that brought them, in the very heat

And pride of their contention did take horse, 60

Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen.

Here is a dear and true industrious friend,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,

Stain’d with the variation of each soil 64

Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;

And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.

The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, 68

Balk’d in their own blood did Sir Walter see

On Holmedon’s plains: of prisoners Hotspur took

Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son

To beaten Douglas, and the Earls of Athol, 72

Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an honourable spoil?

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

West.

In faith, 76

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

K. Hen.

Yea, there thou mak’st me sad and mak’st me sin

In envy that my Lord Northumberland

Should be the father to so blest a son, 80

A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue;

Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;

Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride:

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

See riot and dishonour stain the brow

Of my young Harry. O! that it could be prov’d

That some night-tripping fairy had exchang’d

In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 88

And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet.

Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.

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

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

Which he in this adventure hath surpris’d,

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

I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

West.

This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester, 96

Malevolent to you in all aspects;

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up

The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen.

But I have sent for him to answer this; 100

And for this cause a while we must neglect

Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we

Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords: 104

But come yourself with speed to us again;

For more is to be said and to be done

Than out of anger can be uttered.

West.

Prince.

I know you all, and will awhile uphold 217

The unyok’d humour of your idleness:

Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

To smother up his beauty from the world, 221

That when he please again to be himself,

Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,

By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 225

If all the year were playing holidays,

To sport would be as tedious as to work;

But when they seldom come, they wish’d for come,

And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 229

So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,

And pay the debt I never promised,

By how much better than my word I am 232

By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;

And like bright metal on a sullen ground,

My reformation, glittering o’er my fault,

Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 237

I’ll so offend to make offence a skill;

Redeeming time when men think least I will.

[Exit.

Scene III.— The Same. The Palace.

Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and Others.

K. Hen.

My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

Unapt to stir at these indignities,

And you have found me; for accordingly

You tread upon my patience: but, be sure, 4

I will from henceforth rather be myself,

Mighty, and to be fear’d, than my condition,

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

And therefore lost that title of respect 8

Which the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud.

Wor.

Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves

The scourge of greatness to be us’d on it;

And that same greatness too which our own hands 12

Have holp to make so portly.

North.

My lord,—

K. Hen.

Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see

Danger and disobedience in thine eye. 16

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

And majesty might never yet endure

The moody frontier of a servant brow.

You have good leave to leave us; when we need

Your use and counsel we shall send for you. 21

[Exit Worcester.

[To Northumberland.] You were about to speak.

North.

Yea, my good lord.

Those prisoners in your highness’ name demanded,

Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 24

Were, as he says, not with such strength denied

As is deliver’d to your majesty:

Either envy, therefore, or misprision

Is guilty of this fault and not my son. 28

Hot.

My liege, I did deny no prisoners:

But I remember, when the fight was done,

When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,

Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 32

Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress’d,

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap’d,

Show’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home:

He was perfumed like a milliner, 36

And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose and took’t away again;

Who therewith angry, when it next came there,

Took it in snuff: and still he smil’d and talk’d;

And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse 44

Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holiday and lady terms

He question’d me; among the rest, demanded

My prisoners in your majesty’s behalf. 48

I then all smarting with my wounds being cold,

To be so pester’d with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience

Answer’d neglectingly, I know not what, 52

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

To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

Of guns, and drums, and wounds,—God save the mark!— 56

And telling me the sovereign’st thing on earth

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,

This villanous saltpetre should be digg’d 60

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d

So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,

He would himself have been a soldier. 64

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,

I answer’d indirectly, as I said;

And I beseech you, let not his report

Come current for an accusation 68

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Blunt.

The circumstance consider’d, good my lord,

Whatever Harry Percy then had said

To such a person and in such a place, 72

At such a time, with all the rest re-told,

May reasonably die and never rise

To do him wrong, or any way impeach

What then he said, so he unsay it now. 76

K. Hen.

Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,

But with proviso and exception,

That we at our own charge shall ransom straight

His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 80

Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’d

The lives of those that he did lead to fight

Against the great magician, damn’d Glendower,

Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March

Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 85

Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?

Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears,

When they have lost and forfeited themselves?

No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 89

For I shall never hold that man my friend

Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost

To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 92

Hot.

Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

But by the chance of war: to prove that true

Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, 96

Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,

When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank,

In single opposition, hand to hand,

He did confound the best part of an hour 100

In changing hardiment with great Glendower.

Three times they breath’d and three times did they drink,

Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood,

Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 104

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,

And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.

Never did base and rotten policy 108

Colour her working with such deadly wounds;

Nor never could the noble Mortimer

Receive so many, and all willingly:

Then let him not be slander’d with revolt. 112

K. Hen.

Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him:

He never did encounter with Glendower:

I tell thee,

He durst as well have met the devil alone 116

As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art thou not asham’d? But, sirrah, henceforth

Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:

Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 120

Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,

We license your departure with your son.

Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it. 124

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train.

Hot.

An if the devil come and roar for them,

I will not send them: I will after straight

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

Albeit I make a hazard of my head. 128

North.

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

Here comes your uncle.

Re-enter Worcester.

Hot.

Speak of Mortimer!

’Zounds! I will speak of him; and let my soul

Want mercy if I do not join with him: 132

In his behalf I’ll empty all these veins,

And shed my dear blood drop by drop i’ the dust,

But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer

As high i’ the air as this unthankful king, 136

As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.

North.

Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.

Wor.

Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

Hot.

He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;

And when I urg’d the ransom once again 141

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

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

Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 144

Wor.

I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim’d

By Richard that dead is the next of blood?

North.

He was; I heard the proclamation:

And then it was when the unhappy king,— 148

Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth

Upon his Irish expedition;

From whence he, intercepted, did return

To be depos’d, and shortly murdered. 152

Wor.

And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth

Live scandaliz’d and foully spoken of.

Hot.

But, soft! I pray you, did King Richard then

Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 156

Heir to the crown?

North.

He did; myself did hear it.

Hot.

Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,

That wish’d him on the barren mountains starve.

But shall it be that you, that set the crown 160

Upon the head of this forgetful man,

And for his sake wear the detested blot

Of murd’rous subornation, shall it be,

That you a world of curses undergo, 164

Being the agents, or base second means,

The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?

O! pardon me that I descend so low,

To show the line and the predicament 168

Wherein you range under this subtle king.

Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,

Or fill up chronicles in time to come,

That men of your nobility and power, 172

Did gage them both in’an unjust behalf,

As both of you—God pardon it!—have done,

To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

And shall it in more shame be further spoken,

That you are fool’d, discarded, and shook off

By him for whom these shames ye underwent?

No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem 180

Your banish’d honours, and restore yourselves

Into the good thoughts of the world again;

Revenge the jeering and disdain’d contempt

Of this proud king, who studies day and night

To answer all the debt he owes to you, 185

Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.

Therefore, I say,—

Wor.

Peace, cousin! say no more:

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 188

And to your quick-conceiving discontents

I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,

As full of peril and adventurous spirit

Those same noble Scots 212

That are your prisoners,—

Hot.

I’ll keep them all;

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them:

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

I’ll keep them, by this hand.

Wor.

You start away, 216

And lend no ear unto my purposes.

Those prisoners you shall keep.

Hot.

Nay, I will; that’s flat:

He said he would not ransom Mortimer;

Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 220

But I will find him when he lies asleep,

And in his ear I’ll holla ‘Mortimer!’

Nay,

I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak 224

Nothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him,

To keep his anger still in motion.

Wor.

Hear you, cousin; a word.

Hot.

All studies here I solemnly defy, 228

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:

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

But that I think his father loves him not,

And would be glad he met with some mischance,

I would have him poison’d with a pot of ale. 233

Wor.

Farewell, kinsman: I will talk to you

When you are better temper’d to attend.

North.

Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 236

Art thou to break into this woman’s mood,

Before the game’s afoot thou still lett’st slip.

Hot.

ACT II.

Scene I.— Rochester. An Inn-Yard.

Enter a Carrier, with a lanthorn in his hand.

First Car.

Heigh-ho! An’t be not four by the day I’ll be hanged: Charles’ Wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! 4

Ost.

[Within.] Anon, anon.

First Car.

I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. 8

Godsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An ’twere not as good a deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged! hast no faith in thee?

Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen: they will along with company, for they have great charge.

[Exeunt Carriers.

Gads.

What, ho! chamberlain! 52

Cham.

[Within.] ‘At hand, quoth pick-purse.’

Gads.

That’s even as fair as, ‘at hand, quoth the chamberlain’; for thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from labouring; thou layest the plot how. 57

Go to; homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. 106

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— The Road by Gadshill.

Enter the Prince and Poins.

Poins.

Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff’s horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

Prince.

Stand close. 4

Enter Falstaff.

Fal.

Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

Prince.

Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a brawling dost thou keep!

Fal.

Where’s Poins, Hal? 8

Prince.

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

Gads.

Stand.

Fal.

So I do, against my will.

Poins.

Prince.

[Aside to Poins.] Ned, where are our disguises?

Poins.

Here, hard by; stand close.

[Exeunt Prince and Poins.

Fal.

Now my masters, happy man be his dole, say I: every man to his business. 85

Enter Travellers.

First Trav.

Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our horses down the hill; we’ll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs. 88

Thieves.

Stand!

Travellers.

Jesu bless us!

Fal.

Strike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats: ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; fleece them.

Travellers.

O! we are undone, both we and ours for ever. 96

Fal.

Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What! ye knaves, young men must live. You are grand-jurors are ye? We’ll jure ye, i’ faith. 101

[Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt.

Re-enter the Prince and Poins.

Prince.

The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 106

Poins.

Stand close; I hear them coming.

Re-enter Thieves.

Fal.

Come, my masters; let us share, and then to horse before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no equity stirring: there’s no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck. 112

Prince.

Your money!

Poins.

Villains!

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them. They all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind.

Prince

Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:

The thieves are scatter’d and possess’d with fear

So strongly that they dare not meet each other;

Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death

And lards the lean earth as he walks along: 120

Were’t not for laughing I should pity him.

Poins.

How the rogue roar’d!

[Exeunt.

Scene III.— Warkworth. A Room in the Castle.

Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.

But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.

He could be contented; why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house: he shows in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more.

The purpose you undertake is dangerous;— 8

Why, that’s certain: ’tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 12

The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition. 16

Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action. ’Zounds! an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady’s fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay open all our proceedings. O! I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action. Hang him! let him tell the king; we are prepared. I will set forward to-night. 40

Enter Lady Percy.

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

Lady P.

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

For what offence have I this fortnight been

A banish’d woman from my Harry’s bed? 44

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

Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?

Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,

And start so often when thou sitt’st alone? 48

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks,

And given my treasures and my rights of thee

To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?

In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch’d, 52

And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,

Cry, ‘Courage! to the field!’ And thou hast talk’d

Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, 56

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain,

And all the currents of a heady fight. 60

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,

And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep,

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,

Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream; 64

And in thy face strange motions have appear’d,

Such as we see when men restrain their breath

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

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 68

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

Hot.

What, ho!

Enter Servant.

That roan shall be my throne.

Well, I will back him straight: O, Esperance!

Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 77

As you are toss’d with. In faith, 84

I’ll know your business, Harry, that I will.

I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir

About his title, and hath sent for you

To line his enterprise. But if you go— 88

Hot.

So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

Lady P.

Come, come, you paraquito, answer me

Directly unto this question that I ask.

In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, 92

An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

Hot.

Away,

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

I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world 96

To play with mammets and to tilt with lips:

We must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns,

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

What sayst thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me? 100

Lady P.

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

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

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

Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 104

Hot.

Come, wilt thou see me ride?

And when I am o’ horseback, I will swear

I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;

I must not have you henceforth question me 108

Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.

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

This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.

I know you wise; but yet no further wise 112

Than Harry Percy’s wife: constant you are,

But yet a woman: and for secrecy,

No lady closer; for I well believe

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;

And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 117

Lady P.

How! so far?

Hot.

Not an inch further. But, hark you, Kate;

Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 120

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

Will this content you, Kate?

Lady P.

Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! 97

Re-enter Poins.

Poins.

Anon, anon, sir.

Prince.

Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? 100

Poins.

As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what’s the issue? 104

Prince.

I am now of all humours that have show’d themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight. [Francis crosses the stage, with wine.] What’s o’clock, Francis? 110

Fran.

Anon, anon, sir.

[Exit.

Prince.

That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is up-stairs and down-stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, ‘Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.’ ‘O my sweet Harry,’ says she, ‘how many hast thou killed to-day?’ ‘Give my roan horse a drench,’ says he, and answers, ‘Some fourteen,’ an hour after, ‘a trifle, a trifle.’ I prithee call in Falstaff: I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. ‘Rivo!’ says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 127

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, Peto, and Francis.

Poins.

Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?

Fal.

Fal.

Faith, and I’ll send him packing.

Prince.

Well, here is my leg.

[Exeunt Mistress Quickly, Francis, and Bardolph.

Re-enter Bardolph, running.

Bard.

O! my lord, my lord, the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door.

Fal.

[Exeunt all but the Prince and Peto.

Prince.

Call in the sheriff.

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, master sheriff, what’s your will with me?

Sher.

First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 564

Hath follow’d certain men unto this house.

Prince.

What men?

Sher.

One of them is well known, my gracious lord,

A gross fat man.

Car.

As fat as butter. 568

Prince.

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

For I myself at this time have employ’d him.

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

That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 572

Send him to answer thee, or any man,

For anything he shall be charg’d withal:

And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sher.

I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen 576

Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

Prince.

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

He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

Sher.

Good night, my noble lord. 580

Prince.

I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sher.

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

[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier.

Prince.

This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s.

Go, call him forth. 584

Peto.

Falstaff! fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

Prince.

Hark, how hard he fetches breath.

Search his pockets. [He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers.] What hast thou found? 590

Peto.

Nothing but papers, my lord.

Prince.

Let’s see what they be: read them.

Peto.

Item, A capon	2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce	4l.
Item, Sack, two gallons	5s. 8l.
Item, Anchovies and sack after supper	2s. 6l.
Item, Bread	ob.

Prince.

O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we’ll read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I’ll to the court in the morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Peto. 608

Peto.

Good morrow, good my lord.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene I.— Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower.

Mort.

These promises are fair, the parties sure,

And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hot.

Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,

Will you sit down? 4

And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!

I have forgot the map.

Glend.

No, here it is.

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur;

For by that name as oft as Lancaster 8

Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with

A rising sigh he wishes you in heaven.

Hot.

And you in hell, as often as he hears

Owen Glendower spoke of. 12

Glend.

I cannot blame him: at my nativity

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

Of burning cressets; and at my birth

The frame and huge foundation of the earth 16

Shak’d like a coward.

Hot.

Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother’s cat had but kittened, though yourself had never been born. 20

Glend.

I say the earth did shake when I was born.

Hot.

And I say the earth was not of my mind,

If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

Glend.

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

Hot.

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

And not in fear of your nativity.

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth

In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth 28

Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d

By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,

Shakes the old beldam earth, and topples down

Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth 33

Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,

In passion shook.

Glend.

Cousin, of many men

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 36

To tell you once again that at my birth

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds

Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.

These signs have mark’d me extraordinary; 41

And all the courses of my life do show

I am not in the roll of common men.

Where is he living, clipp’d in with the sea 44

That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,

Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?

And bring him out that is but woman’s son

Can trace me in the tedious ways of art 48

And hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hot.

I think there’s no man speaks better Welsh.

I’ll to dinner.

Mort.

Peace, cousin Percy! you will make him mad. 52

Glend.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hot.

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

But will they come when you do call for them?

Glend.

Why, I can teach thee, cousin, to command 56

The devil.

Hot.

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

By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.

If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 60

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

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

Mort.

Come, come;

No more of this unprofitable chat. 64

Glend.

Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head

Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye

And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent him

Bootless home and weather-beaten back. 68

Hot.

Home without boots, and in foul weather too!

How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name?

Glend.

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

According to our threefold order ta’en? 72

Mort.

The archdeacon hath divided it

Into three limits very equally.

England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,

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

All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,

And all the fertile land within that bound,

To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you

The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 80

And our indentures tripartite are drawn,

Which being sealed interchangeably,

A business that this night may execute,

To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I 84

And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth

To meet your father and the Scottish power,

As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.

My father Glendower is not ready yet, 88

Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.

[To Glendower.] Within that space you may have drawn together

Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.

Glend.

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

And in my conduct shall your ladies come,

From whom you now must steal and take no leave;

For there will be a world of water shed

Upon the parting of your wives and you. 96

Hot.

Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,

In quantity equals not one of yours:

See how this river comes me cranking in,

And cuts me from the best of all my land 100

A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.

I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up,

And here the smug and silver Trent shall run

In a new channel, fair and evenly: 104

It shall not wind with such a deep indent,

To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend.

Not wind! it shall, it must; you see it doth.

Mort.

Yea, but 108

Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up

With like advantage on the other side;

Gelding the opposed continent as much,

As on the other side it takes from you. 112

Wor.

Yea, but a little charge will trench him here,

And on this north side win this cape of land;

Glend.

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

For I was train’d up in the English court;

Where, being but young, I framed to the harp

Many an English ditty lovely well, 124

And gave the tongue an helpful ornament;

A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot.

Marry, and I’m glad of it with all my heart.

I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew 128

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;

I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d,

Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,

Nothing so much as mincing poetry: 133

’Tis like the forc’d gait of a shuffling nag.

Glend.

Come, you shall have Trent turn’d.

Hot.

I do not care: I’ll give thrice so much land 136

To any well-deserving friend;

But in the way of bargain, mark you me,

I’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

Glend.

The moon shines fair, you may away by night: 141

I’ll haste the writer and withal

Break with your wives of your departure hence:

I am afraid my daughter will run mad, 144

So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

[Exit.

Mort.

Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

Hot.

I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me

With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,

Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, 149

And of a dragon, and a finless fish,

A clip-wing’d griffin, and a moulten raven,

A couching lion, and a ramping cat, 152

And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff

As puts me from my faith. I’ll tell thee what;

He held me last night at least nine hours

In reckoning up the several devils’ names 156

That were his lackeys: I cried ‘hum!’ and ‘well, go to.’

But mark’d him not a word. O! he’s as tedious

As a tired horse, a railing wife;

Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live

With cheese and garlick in a windmill, far, 161

Than feed on cates and have him talk to me

In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort.

In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 164

Exceedingly well read, and profited

In strange concealments, valiant as a lion

And wondrous affable, and as bountiful

As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 168

He holds your temper in a high respect,

And curbs himself even of his natural scope

When you do cross his humour; faith, he does.

I warrant you, that man is not alive 172

Might so have tempted him as you have done,

Without the taste of danger and reproof:

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

Wor.

In faith, my lord, you are too wilfulblame; 176

And since your coming hither have done enough

To put him quite beside his patience.

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

Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,— 180

And that’s the dearest grace it renders you,—

Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,

Defect of manners, want of government,

Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: 184

The least of which haunting a nobleman

Loseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stain

Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

Beguiling them of commendation. 188

Hot.

Well, I am school’d; good manners be your speed!

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

Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies.

Mort.

This is the deadly spite that angers me,

My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 192

Glend.

My daughter weeps; she will not part with you:

She’ll be a soldier too: she’ll to the wars.

Mort.

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

Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 196

[Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Glend.

She’s desperate here; a peevish self-will’d harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon.

[She speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.

Mort.

I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh 200

Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens

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

In such a parley would I answer thee.

[She speaks again.

I understand thy kisses and thou mine, 204

And that’s a feeling disputation:

But I will never be a truant, love,

Till I have learn’d thy language; for thy tongue

Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d,

Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower, 209

With ravishing division, to her lute.

Glend.

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

[She speaks again.

Mort.

O! I am ignorance itself in this. 212

Glend.

She bids you

Upon the wanton rushes lay you down

And rest your gentle head upon her lap,

And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,

And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, 217

Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,

Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep

As is the difference between day and night 220

The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team

Begins his golden progress in the east.

Mort.

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

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

Glend.

Do so; 225

And those musicians that shall play to you

Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,

And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. 228

Hot.

Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P.

Go, ye giddy goose. 232

[Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and music is heard.

Hot.

Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;

And ’tis no marvel he is so humorous.

Peace! she sings. 248

[A Welsh song sung by Lady Mortimer.

Hot.

Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.

Lady P.

Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot.

Not yours, ‘in good sooth!’ Heart! you swear like a comfit-maker’s wife! Not you, ‘in good sooth;’ and, ‘as true as I live;’ and, ‘as God shall mend me;’ and, ‘as sure as day:’

And giv’st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

As if thou never walk’dst further than Finsbury. 256

Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

A good mouth-filling oath; and leave ‘in sooth,’

And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,

To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. 260

Come, sing.

Lady P.

I will not sing.

Hot.

’Tis the next way to turn tailor or be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.

[Exit.

Glend.

Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. 268

By this our book is drawn; we will but seal,

And then to horse immediately.

Mort.

With all my heart.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, the Prince, and Lords.

K. Hen.

Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I

Must have some private conference: but be near at hand,

For we shall presently have need of you.

[Exeunt Lords.

I know not whether God will have it so, 4

For some displeasing service I have done,

That, in his secret doom, out of my blood

He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me;

But thou dost in thy passages of life 8

Make me believe that thou art only mark’d

For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven

To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,

Could such inordinate and low desires, 12

Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,

Such barren pleasures, rude society,

As thou art match’d withal and grafted to,

Accompany the greatness of thy blood 16

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Prince.

So please your majesty, I would I could

Quit all offences with as clear excuse

As well as I am doubtless I can purge 20

Myself of many I am charg’d withal:

Yet such extenuation let me beg,

As, in reproof of many tales devis’d,

Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,

By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,

I may, for some things true, wherein my youth

Hath faulty wander’d and irregular,

Find pardon on my true submission. 28

K. Hen.

God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,

At thy affections, which do hold a wing

Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 32

Which by thy younger brother is supplied,

And art almost an alien to the hearts

Of all the court and princes of my blood.

The hope and expectation of thy time 36

Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man

Prophetically do forethink thy fall.

Had I so lavish of my presence been,

So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men, 40

So stale and cheap to vulgar company,

Opinion, that did help me to the crown,

Had still kept loyal to possession

And left me in reputeless banishment, 44

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.

By being seldom seen, I could not stir,

But like a comet I was wonder’d at;

That men would tell their children, ‘This is he;’

Others would say, ‘Where? which is Bolingbroke?’ 49

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

And dress’d myself in such humility

That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,

Even in the presence of the crowned king.

Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;

My presence, like a robe pontifical, 56

Ne’er seen but wonder’d at: and so my state,

Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast,

And won by rareness such solemnity.

The skipping king, he ambled up and down 60

With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,

Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,

Mingled his royalty with capering fools,

Had his great name profaned with their scorns,

And gave his countenance, against his name, 65

To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push

Of every beardless vain comparative;

Grew a companion to the common streets, 68

Enfeoff’d himself to popularity;

That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes,

They surfeited with honey and began

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little

More than a little is by much too much. 73

So, when he had occasion to be seen,

He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes

As, sick and blunted with community, 77

Afford no extraordinary gaze,

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; 80

But rather drows’d and hung their eyelids down,

Slept in his face, and render’d such aspect

As cloudy men use to their adversaries,

Being with his presence glutted, gorg’d, and full.

And in that very line, Harry, stand’st thou; 85

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege

With vile participation: not an eye

But is aweary of thy common sight, 88

Save mine, which hath desir’d to see thee more;

Which now doth that I would not have it do,

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

Prince.

I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, 92

Be more myself.

K. Hen.

For all the world,

As thou art to this hour was Richard then

When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh;

And even as I was then is Percy now. 96

Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot,

He hath more worthy interest to the state

Than thou the shadow of succession;

For of no right, nor colour like to right, 100

He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,

Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws,

And, being no more in debt to years than thou,

Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 104

To bloody battles and to bruising arms.

What never-dying honour hath he got

Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,

Whose hot incursions and great name in arms,

Holds from all soldiers chief majority, 109

And military title capital,

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.

Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes, 112

This infant warrior, in his enterprises

Discomfited great Douglas; ta’en him once,

Enlarged him and made a friend of him,

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 116

And shake the peace and safety of our throne.

And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,

Capitulate against us and are up. 120

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,

Which art my near’st and dearest enemy?

Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,

Base inclination, and the start of spleen, 125

To fight against me under Percy’s pay,

To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns,

To show how much thou art degenerate. 128

Prince.

Do not think so; you shall not find it so:

And God forgive them, that so much have sway’d

Your majesty’s good thoughts away from me!

I will redeem all this on Percy’s head, 132

And in the closing of some glorious day

Be bold to tell you that I am your son;

When I will wear a garment all of blood

And stain my favours in a bloody mask, 136

Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it:

And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights,

That this same child of honour and renown,

This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 140

And your unthought of Harry chance to meet.

For every honour sitting on his helm,—

Would they were multitudes, and on my head

My shames redoubled!—for the time will come

That I shall make this northern youth exchange

His glorious deeds for my indignities.

Percy is but my factor, good my lord,

To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 148

And I will call him to so strict account

That he shall render every glory up,

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,

Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 152

This, in the name of God, I promise here:

The which, if he be pleas’d I shall perform,

I do beseech your majesty may salve

The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 156

If not, the end of life cancels all bands,

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen.

A hundred thousand rebels die in this: 160

Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

How now, good Blunt! thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt.

So hath the business that I come to speak of.

Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 164

That Douglas and the English rebels met,

The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.

A mighty and a fearful head they are,—

If promises be kept on every hand,— 168

As ever offer’d foul play in a state.

K. Hen.

The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day,

With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;

For this advertisement is five days old. 172

On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;

On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting

Is Bridgenorth; and Harry, you shall march

Through Gloucestershire; by which account, 176

Our business valued, some twelve days hence

Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.

Our hands are full of business: let’s away;

Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. 180

Fal.

How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; ’sblood! an he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so. 100

Enter the Prince and Poins marching. Falstaff meets them, playing on his truncheon like a fife.

Fal

How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i’ faith? must we all march?

Bard.

Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

Quick.

My lord, I pray you, hear me. 104

Prince.

Bard.

My lord? 216

Prince.

Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,

To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.

Go, Poins, to horse, to horse! for thou and I

Have thirty miles to ride ere dinner-time. 220

Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall

At two o’clock in the afternoon:

There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive

Money and order for their furniture. 224

The land is burning; Percy stands on high;

And either we or they must lower lie.

[Exeunt the Prince, Poins, and Bardolph.

Fal.

Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast; come!

O! I could wish this tavern were my drum. 228

[Exit.

ACT IV.

Scene I.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.

Hot.

Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth

In this fine age were not thought flattery,

Such attribution should the Douglas have,

As not a soldier of this season’s stamp 4

Should go so general current through the world.

By God, I cannot flatter; do defy

The tongues of soothers; but a braver place

In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself. 8

Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

Doug.

Thou art the king of honour:

No man so potent breathes upon the ground

But I will beard him.

Hot.

Do so, and ’tis well. 12

Enter a Messenger, with letters.

Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect 28

The very life-blood of our enterprise;

’Tis catching hither, even to our camp,

He writes me here, that inward sickness—

And that his friends by deputation could not 32

So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust

On any soul remov’d but on his own.

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, 36

That with our small conjunction we should on,

To see how fortune is dispos’d to us;

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,

Because the king is certainly possess’d 40

Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

Wor.

Your father’s sickness is a maim to us.

Hot.

A perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off:

And yet, in faith, ’tis not; his present want 44

Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good

To set the exact wealth of all our states

All at one cast? to set so rich a main

On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 48

It were not good; for therein should we read

The very bottom and the soul of hope,

The very list, the very utmost bound

Of all our fortunes.

Doug.

Faith, and so we should; 52

Where now remains a sweet reversion:

We may boldly spend upon the hope of what

Is to come in:

A comfort of retirement lives in this. 56

Hot.

A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,

If that the devil and mischance look big

Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

Wor.

But yet, I would your father had been here. 60

The quality and hair of our attempt

Brooks no division. It will be thought

By some, that know not why he is away,

That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 64

Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence.

And think how such an apprehension

May turn the tide of fearful faction

And breed a kind of question in our cause; 68

For well you know we of the offering side

Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,

And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence

The eye of reason may pry in upon us: 72

This absence of your father’s draws a curtain,

That shows the ignorant a kind of fear

Before not dreamt of.

Hot.

You strain too far.

I rather of his absence make this use: 76

It lends a lustre and more great opinion,

A larger dare to our great enterprise,

Than if the earl were here; for men must think,

If we without his help, can make a head 80

To push against the kingdom, with his help

We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down.

Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

Doug.

As heart can think: there is not such a word 84

Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hot.

My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.

Ver.

Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.

The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,

Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.

Hot.

No harm: what more?

Ver.

And further, I have learn’d,

The king himself in person is set forth,

Or hitherwards intended speedily, 92

With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot.

He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,

The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,

And his comrades, that daff’d the world aside, 96

And bid it pass?

Ver.

All furnish’d, all in arms,

All plum’d like estridges that wing the wind,

Baited like eagles having lately bath’d,

Glittering in golden coats, like images, 100

As full of spirit as the month of May,

And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer,

Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.

I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 104

His cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm’d,

Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury,

And vaulted with such ease into his seat,

As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds,

To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus 109

And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot.

No more, no more: worse than the sun in March

This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come;

They come like sacrifices in their trim, 113

And to the fire-ey’d maid of smoky war

All hot and bleeding will we offer them:

The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 116

Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire

To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh

And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,

Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt 120

Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales:

Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,

Meet and ne’er part till one drop down a corse.

O! that Glendower were come.

Ver.

There is more news: 124

I learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along,

He cannot draw his power these fourteen days.

Doug.

That’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet.

Wor.

Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 123

Hot.

What may the king’s whole battle reach unto?

Ver.

To thirty thousand.

Hot.

Forty let it be:

My father and Glendower being both away,

The powers of us may serve so great a day. 132

Come, let us take a muster speedily:

Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.

Doug.

Talk not of dying: I am out of fear

Of death or death’s hand for this one half year.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— A public Road near Coventry.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal.

Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through: we’ll to Sutton-Co’fil’ to-night.

Bard.

Will you give me money, captain? 4

Fal.

Lay out, lay out.

Bard.

This bottle makes an angel.

Fal.

An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meet me at the town’s end. 10

Bard.

I will, captain: farewell.

[Exit.

Fal.

You do not counsel well:

You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

Ver

Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,—

And I dare well maintain it with my life,— 9

If well-respected honour bid me on,

I hold as little counsel with weak fear

As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:

Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle 13

Which of us fears.

Doug.

Yea, or to-night.

Ver.

Content.

Hot.

To-night, say I.

Ver.

Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, 16

Being men of such great leading as you are,

That you foresee not what impediments

Drag back our expedition: certain horse

Of my cousin Vernon’s are not yet come up: 20

Your uncle Worcester’s horse came but to-day;

And now their pride and mettle is asleep,

Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,

That not a horse is half the half of himself. 24

Hot.

So are the horses of the enemy

In general, journey-bated and brought low:

The better part of ours are full of rest.

Wor.

The number of the king exceedeth ours:

For God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 29

[The trumpet sounds a parley.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

Blunt.

I come with gracious offers from the king,

If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.

Hot.

Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God 32

You were of our determination!

Some of us love you well; and even those some

Envy your great deservings and good name,

Because you are not of our quality, 36

But stand against us like an enemy.

Blunt.

And God defend but still I should stand so,

So long as out of limit and true rule

You stand against anointed majesty. 40

But, to my charge. The king hath sent to know

The nature of your griefs, and whereupon

You conjure from the breast of civil peace

Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 44

Audacious cruelty. If that the king

Have any way your good deserts forgot,—

Which he confesseth to be manifold,—

He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed 48

You shall have your desires with interest,

And pardon absolute for yourself and these

Herein misled by your suggestion.

Hot.

The king is kind; and well we know the king 52

Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.

My father and my uncle and myself

Did give him that same royalty he wears;

And when he was not six-and-twenty strong, 56

Sick in the world’s regard, wretched and low,

A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,

My father gave him welcome to the shore;

And when he heard him swear and vow to God

He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, 61

To sue his livery and beg his peace,

With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,

My father, in kind heart and pity mov’d, 64

Swore him assistance and perform’d it too.

Now when the lords and barons of the realm

Perceiv’d Northumberland did lean to him,

The more and less came in with cap and knee;

Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, 69

Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,

Laid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths,

Gave him their heirs as pages, follow’d him 72

Even at the heels in golden multitudes.

He presently, as greatness knows itself,

Steps me a little higher than his vow

Made to my father, while his blood was poor, 76

Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform

Some certain edicts and some strait decrees

That lie too heavy on the commonwealth, 80

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep

Over his country’s wrongs; and by this face,

This seeming brow of justice, did he win

The hearts of all that he did angle for; 84

Proceeded further; cut me off the heads

Of all the favourites that the absent king

In deputation left behind him here,

When he was personal in the Irish war. 88

Blunt.

Tut, I came not to hear this.

Hot.

Then to the point.

In short time after, he depos’d the king;

Soon after that, depriv’d him of his life;

And, in the neck of that, task’d the whole state;

To make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March— 93

Who is, if every owner were well plac’d,

Indeed his king—to be engag’d in Wales,

There without ransom to lie forfeited; 96

Disgrac’d me in my happy victories;

Sought to entrap me by intelligence;

Rated my uncle from the council-board;

In rage dismiss’d my father from the court; 100

Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong;

And in conclusion drove us to seek out

This head of safety; and withal to pry

Into his title, the which we find 104

Too indirect for long continuance.

Blunt.

Shall I return this answer to the king?

Hot.

Not so, Sir Walter: we’ll withdraw awhile.

Go to the king; and let there be impawn’d 108

Some surety for a safe return again,

And in the morning early shall my uncle

Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.

Blunt.

I would you would accept of grace and love. 112

Hot.

And may be so we shall.

Blunt.

Pray God, you do!

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.— York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace.

The special head of all the land together: 28

The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,

The noble Westmoreland, and war-like Blunt;

And many moe corrivals and dear men

Of estimation and command in arms. 32

Sir M.

Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos’d.

Arch.

I hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear;

And, to prevent the worse, Sir Michael, speed:

For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 36

Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,

For he hath heard of our confederacy,

And ’tis but wisdom to make strong against him:

Therefore make haste. I must go write again 40

To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I.— The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter King Henry, the Prince, John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff.

K. Hen.

How bloodily the sun begins to peer

Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale

At his distemperature.

Prince.

The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, 4

And by his hollow whistling in the leaves

Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

K. Hen.

Then with the losers let it sympathize,

For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 8

[Trumpet sounds.

Enter Worcester and Vernon.

How now, my Lord of Worcester! ’tis not well

That you and I should meet upon such terms

As now we meet. You have deceiv’d our trust,

And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 12

To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:

This is not well, my lord; this is not well.

What say you to it? will you again unknit

This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, 16

And move in that obedient orb again

Where you did give a fair and natural light,

And be no more an exhal’d meteor,

A prodigy of fear and a portent 20

Of broached mischief to the unborn times?

Wor.

Hear me, my liege.

For mine own part, I could be well content

To entertain the lag-end of my life 24

With quiet hours; for I do protest

I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. Hen.

You have not sought it! how comes it then?

Fal.

Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prince.

Peace, chewet, peace! 29

Wor.

It pleas’d your majesty to turn your looks

Of favour from myself and all our house;

And yet I must remember you, my lord, 32

We were the first and dearest of your friends.

For you my staff of office did I break

In Richard’s time; and posted day and night

To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 36

When yet you were in place and in account

Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.

It was myself, my brother, and his son,

That brought you home and boldly did outdare

The dangers of the time. You swore to us, 41

And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,

That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state,

Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right,

The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster. 45

To this we swore our aid: but, in short space

It rain’d down fortune showering on your head,

And such a flood of greatness fell on you, 48

What with our help, what with the absent king,

What with the injuries of a wanton time,

The seeming sufferances that you had borne,

And the contrarious winds that held the king 52

So long in his unlucky Irish wars,

That all in England did repute him dead:

And from this swarm of fair advantages

You took occasion to be quickly woo’d 56

To gripe the general sway into your hand;

Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;

And being fed by us you us’d us so

As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo’s bird, 60

Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest,

Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk

That even our love durst not come near your sight

For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing 64

We were enforc’d, for safety’s sake, to fly

Out of your sight and raise this present head;

Whereby we stand opposed by such means

As you yourself have forg’d against yourself 68

By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,

And violation of all faith and troth

Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.

K. Hen.

These things indeed, you have articulate, 72

Proclaim’d at market-crosses, read in churches,

To face the garment of rebellion

With some fine colour that may please the eye

Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 76

Which gape and rub the elbow at the news

Of hurlyburly innovation:

And never yet did insurrection want

Such water-colours to impaint his cause; 80

Nor moody beggars, starving for a time

Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.

Prince.

In both our armies there is many a soul

Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 84

If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,

The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world

In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes,

This present enterprise set off his head, 88

I do not think a braver gentleman,

More active-valiant or more valiant-young,

More daring or more bold, is now alive

To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 92

For my part, I may speak it to my shame,

I have a truant been to chivalry;

And so I hear he doth account me too;

Yet this before my father’s majesty— 96

I am content that he shall take the odds

Of his great name and estimation,

And will, to save the blood on either side,

Try fortune with him in a single fight. 100

K. Hen.

And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,

Albeit considerations infinite

Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no,

We love our people well; even those we love 104

That are misled upon your cousin’s part;

And, will they take the offer of our grace,

Both he and they and you, yea, every man

Shall be my friend again, and I’ll be his. 108

So tell your cousin, and bring me word

What he will do; but if he will not yield,

Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,

And they shall do their office. So, be gone: 112

We will not now be troubled with reply;

We offer fair, take it advisedly.

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon.

Prince.

It will not be accepted, on my life.

The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 116

Are confident against the world in arms.

K. Hen.

Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;

For, on their answer, will we set on them;

And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 120

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and John of Lancaster.

Fal.

Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; ’tis a point of friendship.

Prince.

Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.

Fal.

I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 126

Prince.

Why, thou owest God a death.

[Exit.

Fal.

’Tis not due yet: I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? a word. What is that word, honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. It is insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon; and so ends my catechism. 143

[Exit.

Scene II.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter Worcester and Vernon.

Wor.

O, no! my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,

The liberal kind offer of the king.

Ver.

’Twere best he did.

Wor.

Then are we all undone.

It is not possible, it cannot be, 4

The king should keep his word in loving us;

He will suspect us still, and find a time

To punish this offence in other faults:

Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; 8

For treason is but trusted like the fox,

Who, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d, and lock’d up,

Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.

Look how we can, or sad or merrily, 12

Interpretation will misquote our looks,

And we shall feed like oxen at a stall,

The better cherish’d, still the nearer death.

My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot, 16

It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood;

And an adopted name of privilege,

A hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen.

All his offences live upon my head 20

And on his father’s: we did train him on;

And, his corruption being ta’en from us,

We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.

Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know 24

In any case the offer of the king.

Ver.

Deliver what you will, I’ll say ’tis so.

Here comes your cousin.

Enter Hotspur and Douglas; Officers and Soldiers behind.

Hot.

My uncle is return’d: deliver up 28

My Lord of Westmoreland. Uncle, what news?

Wor.

The king will bid you battle presently.

Doug.

Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland.

Hot.

Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 32

Doug.

Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

[Exit.

Wor.

There is no seeming mercy in the king.

Hot.

Did you beg any? God forbid!

Wor.

I told him gently of our grievances, 36

Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,

By now forswearing that he is forsworn:

He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge

With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 40

Re-enter Douglas.

Doug.

Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown

A brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth,

And Westmoreland, that was engag’d, did bear it;

Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.

Wor.

The Prince of Wales stepp’d forth before the king, 45

And, nephew, challeng’d you to single fight.

Hot.

O! would the quarrel lay upon our heads,

And that no man might draw short breath to-day 48

But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell me,

How show’d his tasking? seem’d it in contempt?

Ver.

No, by my soul; I never in my life

Did hear a challenge urg’d more modestly, 52

Unless a brother should a brother dare

To gentle exercise and proof of arms.

He gave you all the duties of a man,

Trimm’d up your praises with a princely tongue,

Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, 57

Making you ever better than his praise,

By still dispraising praise valu’d with you;

And, which became him like a prince indeed, 60

He made a blushing cital of himself,

And chid his truant youth with such a grace

As if he master’d there a double spirit

Of teaching and of learning instantly. 64

There did he pause. But let me tell the world,

If he outlive the envy of this day,

England did never owe so sweet a hope,

So much misconstru’d in his wantonness. 68

Hot.

Cousin, I think thou art enamoured

On his follies: never did I hear

Of any prince so wild a libertine.

But be he as he will, yet once ere night 72

I will embrace him with a soldier’s arm,

That he shall shrink under my courtesy.

Arm, arm, with speed! And, fellows, soldiers, friends,

Better consider what you have to do, 76

Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,

Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess.

My lord, here are letters for you.

Hot.

I cannot read them now. 80

O gentlemen! the time of life is short;

To spend that shortness basely were too long,

If life did ride upon a dial’s point,

Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 84

An if we live, we live to tread on kings;

If die, brave death, when princes die with us!

Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair,

When the intent of bearing them is just. 88

Enter another Messenger.

Mess.

My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.

Hot.

I thank him that he cuts me from my tale,

For I profess not talking. Only this,—

Let each man do his best: and here draw I 92

A sword, whose temper I intend to stain

With the best blood that I can meet withal

In the adventure of this perilous day.

Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on. 96

Sound all the lofty instruments of war,

And by that music let us all embrace;

For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall

A second time do such a courtesy. 100

[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.

Scene III.— Between the Camps.

Excursions and Parties fighting. Alarum to the Battle. Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.

Blunt.

What is thy name, that in the battle thus

Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek

Upon my head?

Doug.

Know then, my name is Douglas;

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus 4

Because some tell me that thou art a king.

Blunt.

They tell thee true.

Doug.

The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought

Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry, 8

This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,

Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

Blunt.

I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;

And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 12

Lord Stafford’s death.

[They fight, and Blunt is slain.

Enter Hotspur.

Hot.

O, Douglas! hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,

Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;

I’ll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,

Until I meet the king.

Hot.

Up, and away! 28

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

[Exeunt.

Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 53

Prince.

Give it me. What! is it in the case?

Fal.

Ay, Hal; ’tis hot, ’tis hot: there’s that will sack a city. 56

[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.

Prince.

What! is’t a time to jest and dally now?

[Throws it at him, and exit.

Fal.

Well, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s an end.

[Exit.

Scene IV.— Another Part of the Field.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter King Henry, the Prince, John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland.

K. Hen.

I prithee,

Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed’st too much.

Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

Lanc.

Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 4

Prince.

I beseech your majesty, make up,

Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

K. Hen.

I will do so.

My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 8

West.

Come, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent.

Prince.

Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help:

And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive

The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, 12

Where stain’d nobility lies trodden on,

And rebels’ arms triumph in massacres!

Lanc.

We breathe too long: come, cousin Westmoreland,

Our duty this way lies: for God’s sake, come. 16

[Exeunt John of Lancaster and Westmoreland.

Prince.

By God, thou hast deceiv’d me, Lancaster;

I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:

Before, I lov’d thee as a brother, John;

But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 20

K. Hen.

I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point

With lustier maintenance than I did look for

Of such an ungrown warrior.

Prince.

O! this boy

Lends mettle to us all.

[Exit.

Alarums. Enter Douglas.

Doug.

Another king! they grow like Hydra’s heads: 25

I am the Douglas, fatal to all those

That wear those colours on them: what art thou,

That counterfeit’st the person of a king? 28

K. Hen.

The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart

So many of his shadows thou hast met

And not the very king. I have two boys

Seek Percy and thyself about the field: 32

But, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily,

I will assay thee; so defend thyself.

Doug.

I fear thou art another counterfeit;

And yet, in faith, thou bear’st thee like a king:

But mine I am sure thou art, whoe’er thou be,

And thus I win thee.

[They fight. King Henry being in danger, re-enter the Prince.

Prince.

Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like

Never to hold it up again! the spirits 40

Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms:

It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,

Who never promiseth but he means to pay.

[They fight: Douglas flies.

Cheerly, my lord: how fares your Grace? 44

Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,

And so hath Clifton: I’ll to Clifton straight.

K. Hen.

Stay, and breathe awhile.

Thou hast redeem’d thy lost opinion, 48

And show’d thou mak’st some tender of my life,

In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

Prince.

O God! they did me too much injury

That ever said I hearken’d for your death. 52

If it were so, I might have let alone

The insulting hand of Douglas over you;

Which would have been as speedy in your end

As all the poisonous potions in the world, 56

And sav’d the treacherous labour of your son.

K. Hen.

Make up to Clifton: I’ll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.

[Exit.

Enter Hotspur.

Hot.

If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

Prince.

Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name. 60

Hot.

My name is Harry Percy.

Prince.

Why, then, I see

A very valiant rebel of that name.

I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,

To share with me in glory any more: 64

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;

Nor can one England brook a double reign,

Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.

Hot.

Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come 68

To end the one of us; and would to God

Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

Prince.

I’ll make it greater ere I part from thee;

And all the budding honours on thy crest 72

I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head.

Hot.

I can no longer brook thy vanities.

[They fight.

Enter Falstaff.

Fal.

Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy’s play here, I can tell you. 76

Re-enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is wounded, and falls.

Hot.

O, Harry! thou hast robb’d me of my youth.

I better brook the loss of brittle life

Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;

They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh: 80

But thought’s the slave of life, and life time’s fool;

And time, that takes survey of all the world,

Must have a stop. O! I could prophesy,

But that the earthy and cold hand of death 84

Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust,

And food for—

[Dies.

Prince.

For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart!

Ill-weav’d ambition, how much art thou shrunk!

When that this body did contain a spirit, 89

A kingdom for it was too small a bound;

But now, two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough: this earth, that bears thee dead, 92

Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.

If thou wert sensible of courtesy,

I should not make so dear a show of zeal:

But let my favours hide thy mangled face, 96

And, even in thy behalf, I’ll thank myself

For doing these fair rites of tenderness.

Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!

Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, 100

But not remember’d in thy epitaph!

[He spies Falstaff on the ground.

What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh

Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!

I could have better spar’d a better man. 104

O! I should have a heavy miss of thee

If I were much in love with vanity.

Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,

Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. 108

Embowell’d will I see thee by and by:

Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.

[Exit.

Fal.

[Rising.] Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day, I’ll give you leave to powder me and eat me too, to-morrow. ’Sblood! ’twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit: to die, is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of valour is discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my life. ’Zounds! I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy though he be dead: how, if he should counterfeit too and rise? By my faith I am afraid he would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I’ll make him sure; yea, and I’ll swear I killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me: therefore, sirrah [stabbing him], with a new wound in your thigh come you along with me.

[He takes Hotspur on his back.

Re-enter the Prince and John of Lancaster.

Prince.

Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh’d 132

Thy maiden sword.

Lanc.

But, soft! whom have we here?

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?

Prince.

I did; I saw him dead,

Breathless and bleeding on the ground. 136

Art thou alive? or is it fantasy

That plays upon our eyesight? I prithee, speak;

We will not trust our eyes without our ears:

Thou art not what thou seem’st. 140

Fal.

No, that’s certain; I am not a double man: but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy [throwing the body down]: if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.

Prince.

Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead. 147

Fal.

Didst thou? Lord, Lord! how this world is given to lying. I grant you I was down and out of breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them that should reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I’ll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive and would deny it, ’zounds, I would make him eat a piece of my sword. 157

Lanc.

This is the strangest tale that e’er I heard.

Prince.

This is the strangest fellow, brother John.

Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:

For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 161

I’ll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

[A retreat is sounded.

The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.

Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field,

To see what friends are living, who are dead. 165

[Exeunt the Prince and John of Lancaster.

Fal.

I’ll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward him! If I do grow great, I’ll grow less; for I’ll purge, and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.

[Exit.

Scene V.— Another Part of the Field.

The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, the Prince, John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, and Others, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners.

K. Hen.

Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.

Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace,

Pardon, and terms of love to all of you?

And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 4

Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman’s trust?

Three knights upon our party slain to-day,

A noble earl and many a creature else

Had been alive this hour, 8

If like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne

Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

Wor.

What I have done my safety urg’d me to;

And I embrace this fortune patiently, 12

Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

K. Hen.

Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon too:

Other offenders we will pause upon.

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.

How goes the field? 16

Prince.

The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw

The fortune of the day quite turn’d from him,

The noble Percy slain, and all his men

Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 20

And falling from a hill he was so bruis’d

That the pursuers took him. At my tent

The Douglas is, and I beseech your Grace

I may dispose of him.

K. Hen.

With all my heart. 24

Prince.

Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you

This honourable bounty shall belong.

Go to the Douglas, and deliver him

Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free: 28

His valour shown upon our crests to-day

Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,

Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

Lanc.

I thank your Grace for this high courtesy, 32

Which I shall give away immediately.

K. Hen.

Then this remains, that we divide our power.

You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland

Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed, 36

To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,

Who, as we hear, are busily in arms:

Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales,

To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.

Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 41

Meeting the check of such another day:

And since this business so fair is done,

Let us not leave till all our own be won.

[Exeunt.

King Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, }	Sons to the King.
John of Lancaster, }	Sons to the King.
Earl of Westmoreland.
Sir Walter Blunt.
Thomas Percy,	Earl of Worcester.
Henry Percy,	Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy,	surnamed Hotspur, his son.
Edmund Mortimer,	Earl of March.
Richard Scroop,	Archbishop of York.
Archibald,	Earl of Douglas.
Owen Glendower.
Sir Richard Vernon.
Sir John Falstaff.
Sir Michael,	a Friend to the Archbishop of York.
Poins.
Gadshill.
Peto.
Bardolph.
Lady Percy,	Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer,	Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to Mortimer.
Mistress Quickly,	Hostess of the Boar’s Head Tavern in Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.