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Henry IV, Part 1

by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

Act 1

Scene 1

Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmoreland, with others.

King Henry IV: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 commenced in strands afar remote. 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 flow’rets with the armèd hoofs Of hostile paces. Those opposèd eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, March all one way and be no more opposed Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies. The edge of war, like an ill-sheathèd knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulcher of Christ— Whose soldier now, under whose blessèd cross We are impressèd and engaged to fight— Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessèd feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is twelve month old, And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go. Therefor we meet not now. Then let me hear Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, What yesternight our council did decree In forwarding this dear expedience.

Earl of Westmoreland: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, Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, A thousand of his people butcherèd, Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, Such beastly shameless transformation By those Welshwomen done, as may not be Without much shame retold or spoken of.

King Henry IV:It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

Earl of Westmoreland:This matched with other did, 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, Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, That ever valiant and approvèd Scot, At Holmedon met, where they did spend A sad and bloody hour— As by discharge of their artillery 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, Uncertain of the issue any way.

King Henry IV:Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stained with the variation of each soil 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, Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see On Holmedon’s plains. Of prisoners Hotspur took Mordake, Earl of Fife and eldest son To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Atholl, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honorable spoil? A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?

Earl of Westmoreland:In faith, it is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

King Henry IV: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, A son who is the theme of Honor’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, See riot and dishonor stain the brow Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, And called 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 Which he in this adventure hath surprised To his own use he keeps, and sends me word I shall have none but Mordake, Earl of Fife.

Earl of Westmoreland:This is his uncle’s teaching. This is Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects, Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

King Henry IV:But I have sent for him to answer this. And for this cause awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords. But come yourself with speed to us again, For more is to be said and to be done Than out of anger can be utterèd.

Earl of Westmoreland:I will, my liege.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff.

Sir John Falstaff:Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

Prince Hal:Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Sir John Falstaff:Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy Grace—Majesty, I should say, for grace thou wilt have none—

Prince Hal:What, none?

Sir John Falstaff:No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

Prince Hal:Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.

Sir John Falstaff:Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty. Let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon, and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Prince Hal:Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swearing "Lay by" and spent with crying "Bring in"; now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Sir John Falstaff:By the Lord, thou sayst true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

Prince Hal:As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Sir John Falstaff:How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

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

Sir John Falstaff:Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

Prince Hal:Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Sir John Falstaff:No, I’ll give thee thy due. Thou hast paid all there.

Prince Hal:Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would not, I have used my credit.

Sir John Falstaff:Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent—But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father Antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

Prince Hal:No, thou shalt.

Sir John Falstaff:Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.

Prince Hal:Thou judgest false already. I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, Hal, well, and in some sort it jumps with my humor as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

Prince Hal:For obtaining of suits?

Sir John Falstaff:Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. ’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

Prince Hal:Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.

Sir John Falstaff:Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

Prince Hal:What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moorditch?

Sir John Falstaff:Thou hast the most unsavory similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascaliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he talked wisely, and in the street, too.

Prince Hal:Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.

Sir John Falstaff:O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over. By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain. I’ll be damned for never a king’s son in Christendom.

Prince Hal:Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

Sir John Falstaff:Zounds, where thou wilt, lad. I’ll make one. An I do not, call me villain and baffle me.

Prince Hal:I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.

Sir John Falstaff:Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal. ’Tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation. [Enter Poins.] Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried "Stand!" to a true man.

Prince Hal:Good morrow, Ned.

Poins:Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s leg?

Prince Hal:Sir John stands to his word. The devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due.

Poins:[to Falstaff] Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

Prince Hal:Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins:But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at Gad’s Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have vizards for you all. You have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.

Sir John Falstaff:Hear you, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for going.

Poins:You will, chops?

Sir John Falstaff:Hal, wilt thou make one?

Prince Hal:Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.

Sir John Falstaff:There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam’st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

Prince Hal:Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.

Sir John Falstaff:Why, that’s well said.

Prince Hal:Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.

Sir John Falstaff:By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then when thou art king.

Prince Hal:I care not.

Poins:Sir John, I prithee leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief, for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell. You shall find me in Eastcheap.

Prince Hal:Farewell, thou latter spring. Farewell, Allhallown summer.

Falstaff exits.

Poins:Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Peto, Bardolph, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid. Yourself and I will not be there. And when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.

Prince Hal:How shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins:Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but we’ll set upon them.

Prince Hal:Yea, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment to be ourselves.

Poins:Tut, our horses they shall not see; I’ll tie them in the wood. Our vizards we will change after we leave them. And, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

Prince Hal:Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

Poins:Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lives the jest.

Prince Hal:Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me tomorrow night in Eastcheap. There I’ll sup. Farewell.

Poins:Farewell, my lord.

Poins exits.

Prince Hal:I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humor 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, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wondered at By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapors that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work, But when they seldom come, they wished-for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So when this loose behavior I throw off And pay the debt I never promisèd, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes; And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I’ll so offend to make offense a skill, Redeeming time when men think least I will.

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, and Sir Walter Blunt, with others.

King Henry IV:[to Northumberland, Worcester, and Hotspur] 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 I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty and to be feared, than my condition, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect Which the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud.

Earl of Worcester:Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves The scourge of greatness to be used on it, And that same greatness too which our own hands Have holp to make so portly.

Earl of Northumberland:My lord—

King Henry IV:Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see Danger and disobedience in thine eye. 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. [Worcester exits.] You were about to speak.

Earl of Northumberland:Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied As is delivered to your Majesty. Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

Hotspur: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, Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reaped Showed like a stubble land at harvest home. He was perfumèd like a milliner, 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 smiled and talked. And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded My prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, To be so pestered with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience Answered neglectingly I know not what— 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!— And telling me the sovereignest thing on Earth Was parmacety for an inward bruise, And that it was great pity, so it was, This villainous saltpeter should be digged Out of the bowels of the harmless Earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly, and but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier. This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answered indirectly, as I said, And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high Majesty.

Sir Walter Blunt:The circumstance considered, good my lord, Whate’er Lord Harry Percy then had said To such a person and in such a place, At such a time, with all the rest retold, May reasonably die and never rise To do him wrong or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now.

King Henry IV: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, Who, on my soul, hath willfully betrayed The lives of those that he did lead to fight Against that great magician, damned Glendower, Whose daughter, as we hear, that Earl of March Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 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, For I shall never hold that man my friend Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

Hotspur: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, Those mouthèd 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 In changing hardiment with great Glendower. Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink, Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood, Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, Blood-stainèd with these valiant combatants. Never did bare and rotten policy Color her working with such deadly wounds, Nor never could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly. Then let not him be slandered with revolt.

King Henry IV: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 As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 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 will hear of it.

King exits with Blunt and others.

Hotspur: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.

Earl of Northumberland:What, drunk with choler? Stay and pause awhile. Here comes your uncle.

Enter Worcester.

Hotspur:Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul Want mercy if I do not join with him. Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust, But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer As high in the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke.

Earl of Northumberland:Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.

Earl of Worcester:Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

Hotspur:He will forsooth have all my prisoners, And when I urged the ransom once again Of my wife’s brother, then his cheek looked pale, And on my face he turned an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

Earl of Worcester:I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaimed By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood?

Earl of Northumberland:He was; I heard the proclamation. And then it was when the unhappy king— Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth Upon his Irish expedition; From whence he, intercepted, did return To be deposed and shortly murderèd.

Earl of Worcester:And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

Hotspur:But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown?

Earl of Northumberland:He did; myself did hear it.

Hotspur:Nay then, I cannot blame his cousin king That wished him on the barren mountains starve. But shall it be that you that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man And for his sake wear the detested blot Of murderous subornation—shall it be That you a world of curses undergo, 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 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 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 fooled, discarded, and shook off By him for whom these shames you underwent? No, yet time serves wherein you may redeem Your banished honors and restore yourselves Into the good thoughts of the world again, Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt Of this proud king, who studies day and night To answer all the debt he owes to you Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. Therefore I say—

Earl of Worcester:Peace, cousin, say no more. And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous, As full of peril and adventurous spirit As to o’erwalk a current roaring loud On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hotspur:If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim! Send danger from the east unto the west, So honor cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

Earl of Northumberland:[to Worcester] Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

Hotspur:By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drownèd honor by the locks, So he that doth redeem her thence might wear Without corrival all her dignities. But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

Earl of Worcester:He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend.— Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

Hotspur:I cry you mercy.

Earl of Worcester:Those same noble Scots That are your prisoners—

Hotspur: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!

Earl of Worcester:You start away And lend no ear unto my purposes: Those prisoners you shall keep—

Hotspur:Nay, I will. That’s flat! He said he would not ransom Mortimer, Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer. But I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear I’ll hollo "Mortimer." Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but "Mortimer," and give it him To keep his anger still in motion.

Earl of Worcester:Hear you, cousin, a word.

Hotspur:All studies here I solemnly defy, 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 poisoned with a pot of ale.

Earl of Worcester:Farewell, kinsman. I’ll talk to you When you are better tempered to attend.

Earl of Northumberland:[to Hotspur] Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou to break into this woman’s mood, Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

Hotspur:Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard’s time—what do you call the place? A plague upon it! It is in Gloucestershire. ’Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, His uncle York, where I first bowed my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke. ’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

Earl of Northumberland:At Berkeley Castle.

Hotspur:You say true. Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me: "Look when his infant fortune came to age," And "gentle Harry Percy," and "kind cousin." O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done.

Earl of Worcester:Nay, if you have not, to it again. We will stay your leisure.

Hotspur:I have done, i’ faith.

Earl of Worcester:Then once more to your Scottish prisoners: Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And make the Douglas’ son your only mean For powers in Scotland, which, for divers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assured Will easily be granted.—You, my lord, Your son in Scotland being thus employed, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate well beloved, The Archbishop.

Hotspur:Of York, is it not?

Earl of Worcester:True, who bears hard His brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation, As what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

Hotspur:I smell it. Upon my life it will do well.

Earl of Northumberland:Before the game is afoot thou still let’st slip.

Hotspur:Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot. And then the power of Scotland and of York To join with Mortimer, ha?

Earl of Worcester:And so they shall.

Hotspur:In faith, it is exceedingly well aimed.

Earl of Worcester:And ’tis no little reason bids us speed To save our heads by raising of a head, For bear ourselves as even as we can, The King will always think him in our debt, And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love.

Hotspur:He does, he does. We’ll be revenged on him.

Earl of Worcester:Cousin, farewell. No further go in this Than I by letters shall direct your course. When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer, Where you and Douglas and our powers at once, As I will fashion it, shall happily meet To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

Earl of Northumberland:Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.

Hotspur:Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport.

They exit.

Act 2

Scene 1

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.

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

Ostler:[within] Anon, anon.

First Carrier:I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle. Put a few flocks in the point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier, with a lantern.

Second Carrier:Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside down since Robin ostler died.

First Carrier:Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose. It was the death of him.

Second Carrier:I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas. I am stung like a tench.

First Carrier:Like a tench? By the Mass, there is ne’er a king christen could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.

Second Carrier:Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.

First Carrier:What, ostler, come away and be hanged. Come away.

Second Carrier:I have a gammon of bacon and two races of ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross.

First Carrier:God’s body, 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 deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged. Hast no faith in thee?

Enter Gadshill.

Gadshill:Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?

First Carrier:I think it be two o’clock.

Gadshill:I prithee, lend me thy lantern to see my gelding in the stable.

First Carrier:Nay, by God, soft. I know a trick worth two of that, i’ faith.

Gadshill:[to Second Carrier] I pray thee, lend me thine.

Second Carrier:Ay, when, canst tell? "Lend me thy lantern," quoth he. Marry, I’ll see thee hanged first.

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

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

Carriers exit.

Gadshill:What ho, chamberlain!

Enter Chamberlain.

Chamberlain:At hand, quoth pickpurse.

Gadshill: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 laboring: thou layest the plot how.

Chamberlain:Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper—a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already and call for eggs and butter. They will away presently.

Gadshill:Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee this neck.

Chamberlain:No, I’ll none of it. I pray thee, keep that for the hangman, for I know thou worshipest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

Gadshill:What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I’ll make a fat pair of gallows, for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray, and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their saint the commonwealth, or rather not pray to her but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.

Chamberlain:What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water in foul way?

Gadshill:She will, she will. Justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fern seed; we walk invisible.

Chamberlain:Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fern seed for your walking invisible.

Gadshill:Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

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

Gadshill:Go to. Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Prince, Poins, Bardolph, and Peto.

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

Prince Hal:Stand close.

Poins, Bardolph, and Peto exit.

Enter Falstaff.

Sir John Falstaff:Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

Prince Hal:Peace, you fat-kidneyed rascal. What a brawling dost thou keep!

Sir John Falstaff:Where’s Poins, Hal?

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

Prince exits.

Sir John Falstaff:I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company. The rascal hath removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the square further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged. It could not be else: I have drunk medicines.—Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both.—Bardolph! Peto!— I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another! [(They whistle, within.)] Whew! A plague upon you all! [Enter the Prince, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph.] Give me my horse, you rogues. Give me my horse and be hanged!

Prince Hal:Peace, you fat guts! Lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travelers.

Sir John Falstaff:Have you any levers to lift me up again being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not bear my own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s Exchequer. What a plague mean you to colt me thus?

Prince Hal:Thou liest. Thou art not colted; thou art uncolted.

Sir John Falstaff:I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.

Prince Hal:Out, you rogue! Shall I be your ostler?

Sir John Falstaff:Hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I’ll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison—when a jest is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

Enter Gadshill.

Gadshill:Stand.

Sir John Falstaff:So I do, against my will.

Poins:O, ’tis our setter. I know his voice.

Bardolph:What news?

Gadshill:Case you, case you. On with your vizards. There’s money of the King’s coming down the hill. ’Tis going to the King’s Exchequer.

Sir John Falstaff:You lie, you rogue. ’Tis going to the King’s Tavern.

Gadshill:There’s enough to make us all.

Sir John Falstaff:To be hanged.

Prince Hal:Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane. Ned Poins and I will walk lower. If they ’scape from your encounter, then they light on us.

Peto:How many be there of them?

Gadshill:Some eight or ten.

Sir John Falstaff:Zounds, will they not rob us?

Prince Hal:What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

Sir John Falstaff:Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather, but yet no coward, Hal.

Prince Hal:Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins:Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When thou need’st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell and stand fast.

Sir John Falstaff:Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

Prince Hal:[aside to Poins] Ned, where are our disguises?

Poins:[aside to Prince] Here, hard by. Stand close.

The Prince and Poins exit.

Sir John Falstaff:Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man to his business.

They step aside.

Enter the Travelers.

First Traveler:Come, neighbor, the boy shall lead our horses down the hill. We’ll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.

Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, Gadshill:[advancing] Stand!

First Traveler:Jesus bless us!

Sir John Falstaff:Strike! Down with them! Cut the villains’ throats! Ah, whoreson caterpillars, bacon-fed knaves, they hate us youth. Down with them! Fleece them!

First Traveler:O, we are undone, both we and ours forever!

Sir John Falstaff:Hang, you gorbellied knaves! Are you undone? No, you fat chuffs. I would your store were here. On, bacons, on! What, you knaves, young men must live. You are grandjurors, are you? We’ll jure you, faith.

Here they rob them and bind them. They all exit.

Enter the Prince and Poins, disguised.

Prince Hal: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 forever.

Poins:Stand close, I hear them coming.

They step aside.

Enter the Thieves again.

Sir John Falstaff: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 valor in that Poins than in a wild duck.

As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them.

Prince Hal:Your money!

Poins:Villains!

They all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.

Prince Hal:Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. The thieves are all scattered, and possessed 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. Were ’t not for laughing, I should pity him.

Poins:How the fat rogue roared!

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Hotspur alone, reading a letter.

Hotspur: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. 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. 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. 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 honorable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared. I will set forward tonight. [Enter his Lady.] How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady Percy:O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offense have I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry’s bed? 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 sit’st alone? 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 watched, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, Cry "Courage! To the field!" And thou hast talked Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain, And all the currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream, And in thy face strange motions have appeared, 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, And I must know it, else he loves me not.

Hotspur:What, ho! [Enter a Servant.] Is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Servant:He is, my lord, an hour ago.

Hotspur:Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

Servant:One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

Hotspur:What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?

Servant:It is, my lord.

Hotspur:That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight. O, Esperance! Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

Servant exits.

Lady Percy:But hear you, my lord.

Hotspur:What say’st thou, my lady?

Lady Percy:What is it carries you away?

Hotspur:Why, my horse, my love, my horse.

Lady Percy:Out, you mad-headed ape! A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen As you are tossed with. In faith, 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—

Hotspur:So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

Lady Percy:Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly unto this question that I ask. In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

Hotspur:Away! Away, you trifler. Love, I love thee not. I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!— What say’st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?

Lady Percy: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.

Hotspur:Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am a-horseback I will swear I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate, I must not have you henceforth question me 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 farther wise 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.

Lady Percy:How? So far?

Hotspur:Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too. Today will I set forth, tomorrow you. Will this content you, Kate?

Lady Percy:It must, of force.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Prince and Poins.

Prince Hal:Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins:Where hast been, Hal?

Prince Hal:With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy, and tell me flatly I am no proud jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy—by the Lord, so they call me—and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep "dyeing scarlet," and when you breathe in your watering, they cry "Hem!" and bid you "Play it off!" To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honor that thou wert not with me in this action; but, sweet Ned—to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an underskinker, one that never spake other English in his life than "Eight shillings and sixpence," and "You are welcome," with this shrill addition, "Anon, anon, sir.—Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon," or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee, do thou stand in some by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar, and do thou never leave calling "Francis," that his tale to me may be nothing but "Anon." Step aside, and I’ll show thee a precedent.

Poins exits.

Poins:[within] Francis!

Prince Hal:Thou art perfect.

Poins:[within] Francis!

Enter Francis, the Drawer.

Francis:Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

Prince Hal:Come hither, Francis.

Francis:My lord?

Prince Hal:How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Francis:Forsooth, five years, and as much as to—

Poins:[within] Francis!

Francis:Anon, anon, sir.

Prince Hal:Five year! By ’r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter! But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Francis:O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart—

Poins:[within] Francis!

Francis:Anon, sir.

Prince Hal:How old art thou, Francis?

Francis:Let me see. About Michaelmas next, I shall be—

Poins:[within] Francis!

Francis:Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord.

Prince Hal:Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me—’twas a pennyworth, was ’t not?

Francis:O Lord, I would it had been two!

Prince Hal:I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poins:[within] Francis!

Francis:Anon, anon.

Prince Hal:Anon, Francis? No, Francis. But tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, o’ Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis—

Francis:My lord?

Prince Hal:Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch—

Francis:O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

Prince Hal:Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink, for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

Francis:What, sir?

Poins:[within] Francis!

Prince Hal:Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?

Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vintner:What, stand’st thou still and hear’st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Francis exits.] My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door. Shall I let them in?

Prince Hal:Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Vintner exits.] Poins!

Enter Poins.

Poins:Anon, anon, sir.

Prince Hal:Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door. Shall we be merry?

Poins:As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark you, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer. Come, what’s the issue?

Prince Hal:I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors since the old days of Goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight. [Enter Francis, in haste.] What’s o’clock, Francis?

Francis:Anon, anon, sir.

Francis exits.

Prince Hal:That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs, 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 today?" "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.

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Peto, Bardolph; and Francis, with wine.

Poins:Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?

Sir John Falstaff:A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry and amen!—Give me a cup of sack, boy.—Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew netherstocks and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!—Give me a cup of sack, rogue!—Is there no virtue extant?

He drinketh.

Prince Hal:Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter—pitiful-hearted Titan!—that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? If thou didst, then behold that compound.

Sir John Falstaff:[to Francis] You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too.—There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man, yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack. Die when thou wilt. If manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the Earth, then am I a shotten herring. There lives not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old, God help the while. A bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver. I could sing psalms, or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

Prince Hal:How now, woolsack, what mutter you?

Sir John Falstaff:A king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You, Prince of Wales!

Prince Hal:Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?

Sir John Falstaff:Are not you a coward? Answer me to that— and Poins there?

Poins:Zounds, you fat paunch, an you call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab thee.

Sir John Falstaff:I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack.—I am a rogue if I drunk today.

Prince Hal:O villain, thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last.

Sir John Falstaff:All is one for that. [(He drinketh.)] A plague of all cowards, still say I.

Prince Hal:What’s the matter?

Sir John Falstaff:What’s the matter? There be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound this day morning.

Prince Hal:Where is it, Jack, where is it?

Sir John Falstaff:Where is it? Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four of us.

Prince Hal:What, a hundred, man?

Sir John Falstaff:I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hacked like a handsaw. Ecce signum! I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak. [Pointing to Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.] If they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness.

Prince Hal:Speak, sirs, how was it?

Bardolph:We four set upon some dozen.

Sir John Falstaff:Sixteen at least, my lord.

Bardolph:And bound them.

Peto:No, no, they were not bound.

Sir John Falstaff:You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

Bardolph:As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.

Sir John Falstaff:And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

Prince Hal:What, fought you with them all?

Sir John Falstaff:All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not with fifty of them I am a bunch of radish. If there were not two- or three-and-fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.

Prince Hal:Pray God you have not murdered some of them.

Sir John Falstaff:Nay, that’s past praying for. I have peppered two of them. Two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.

Prince Hal:What, four? Thou said’st but two even now.

Sir John Falstaff:Four, Hal, I told thee four.

Poins:Ay, ay, he said four.

Sir John Falstaff:These four came all afront, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

Prince Hal:Seven? Why there were but four even now.

Sir John Falstaff:In buckram?

Poins:Ay, four in buckram suits.

Sir John Falstaff:Seven by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

Prince Hal:[to Poins] Prithee, let him alone. We shall have more anon.

Sir John Falstaff:Dost thou hear me, Hal?

Prince Hal:Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Sir John Falstaff:Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of—

Prince Hal:So, two more already.

Sir John Falstaff:Their points being broken—

Poins:Down fell their hose.

Sir John Falstaff:Began to give me ground, but I followed me close, came in foot and hand, and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.

Prince Hal:O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Sir John Falstaff:But as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and let drive at me, for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.

Prince Hal:These lies are like their father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou claybrained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-catch—

Sir John Falstaff:What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?

Prince Hal:Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason. What sayest thou to this?

Poins:Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Sir John Falstaff:What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

Prince Hal:I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-backbreaker, this huge hill of flesh—

Sir John Falstaff:’Sblood, you starveling, you elfskin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stockfish! O, for breath to utter what is like thee! You tailor’s yard, you sheath, you bowcase, you vile standing tuck—

Prince Hal:Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again, and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins:Mark, Jack.

Prince Hal:We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize, and have it, yea, and can show it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still run and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?

Poins:Come, let’s hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?

Sir John Falstaff:By the Lord, I knew you as well as he that made you. Why, hear you, my masters, was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life— I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.—Hostess, clap to the doors.—Watch tonight, pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you. What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?

Prince Hal:Content, and the argument shall be thy running away.

Sir John Falstaff:Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.

Enter Hostess.

Hostess:O Jesu, my lord the Prince—

Prince Hal:How now, my lady the hostess, what sayst thou to me?

Hostess:Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.

Prince Hal:Give him as much as will make him a royal man and send him back again to my mother.

Sir John Falstaff:What manner of man is he?

Hostess:An old man.

Sir John Falstaff:What doth Gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer?

Prince Hal:Prithee do, Jack.

Sir John Falstaff:Faith, and I’ll send him packing.

He exits.

Prince Hal:Now, sirs. [To Gadshill.] By ’r Lady, you fought fair.—So did you, Peto.—So did you, Bardolph.— You are lions too. You ran away upon instinct. You will not touch the true prince. No, fie!

Bardolph:Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

Prince Hal:Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked?

Peto:Why, he hacked it with his dagger and said he would swear truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

Bardolph:Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year before: I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.

Prince Hal:O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?

Bardolph:My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?

Prince Hal:I do.

Bardolph:What think you they portend?

Prince Hal:Hot livers and cold purses.

Bardolph:Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

Prince Hal:No. If rightly taken, halter. [Enter Falstaff.] Here comes lean Jack. Here comes bare-bone.— How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is ’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

Sir John Falstaff:My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s talon in the waist. I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. There’s villainous news abroad. Here was Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague call you him?

Poins:Owen Glendower.

Sir John Falstaff:Owen, Owen, the same, and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular—

Prince Hal:He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.

Sir John Falstaff:You have hit it.

Prince Hal:So did he never the sparrow.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him. He will not run.

Prince Hal:Why, what a rascal art thou then to praise him so for running?

Sir John Falstaff:A-horseback, you cuckoo, but afoot he will not budge a foot.

Prince Hal:Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Sir John Falstaff:I grant you, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away tonight. Thy father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

Prince Hal:Why then, it is like if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.

Sir John Falstaff:By the Mass, thou sayest true. It is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

Prince Hal:Not a whit, i’ faith. I lack some of thy instinct.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father. If thou love me, practice an answer.

Prince Hal:Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Sir John Falstaff:Shall I? Content. [He sits down.] This chair shall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown.

Prince Hal:Thy state is taken for a joined stool, thy golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved.—Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses’ vein.

Prince Hal:[bowing] Well, here is my leg.

Sir John Falstaff:And here is my speech. [As King.] Stand aside, nobility.

Hostess:O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i’ faith!

Sir John Falstaff:[as King] Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.

Hostess:O the Father, how he holds his countenance!

Sir John Falstaff:[as King] For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.

Hostess:O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see.

Sir John Falstaff:Peace, good pint-pot. Peace, good tickle-brain.— [As King.] Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, so youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point: why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

Prince Hal:What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

Sir John Falstaff:[as King] A goodly portly man, i’ faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage, and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by ’r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me, for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak it: there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?

Prince Hal:Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my father.

Sir John Falstaff:[rising] Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter’s hare.

Prince Hal:[sitting down] Well, here I am set.

Sir John Falstaff:And here I stand.—Judge, my masters.

Prince Hal:[as King] Now, Harry, whence come you?

Sir John Falstaff:[as Prince] My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

Prince Hal:[as King] The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

Sir John Falstaff:[as Prince] ’Sblood, my lord, they are false. —Nay, I’ll tickle you for a young prince, i’ faith.

Prince Hal:[as King] Swearest thou? Ungracious boy, henceforth ne’er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man. A tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humors, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloakbag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend Vice, that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly but to carve a capon and eat it? Wherein cunning but in craft? Wherein crafty but in villainy? Wherein villainous but in all things? Wherein worthy but in nothing?

Sir John Falstaff:[as Prince] I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace?

Prince Hal:[as King] That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

Sir John Falstaff:[as Prince] My lord, the man I know.

Prince Hal:[as King] I know thou dost.

Sir John Falstaff:[as Prince] But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity; his white hairs do witness it. But that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked. If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned. If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins, but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being as he is old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy Harry’s company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

Prince Hal:I do, I will.

A loud knocking, and Bardolph, Hostess, and Francis exit.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bardolph:O my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door.

Sir John Falstaff:Out, you rogue.—Play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter the Hostess.

Hostess:O Jesu, my lord, my lord—

Prince Hal:Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick. What’s the matter?

Hostess:The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

Sir John Falstaff:Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit. Thou art essentially made without seeming so.

Prince Hal:And thou a natural coward without instinct.

Sir John Falstaff:I deny your major. If you will deny the Sheriff, so; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up. I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

Prince Hal:[standing] Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk up above.—Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

Sir John Falstaff:Both which I have had, but their date is out; and therefore I’ll hide me.

He hides.

Prince Hal:Call in the Sheriff.

All but the Prince and Peto exit.

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

Prince Hal:Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?

Sheriff:First pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath followed certain men unto this house.

Prince Hal:What men?

Sheriff:One of them is well known, my gracious lord. A gross fat man.

Carrier:As fat as butter.

Prince Hal:The man I do assure you is not here, For I myself at this time have employed him. And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee That I will by tomorrow dinner time Send him to answer thee or any man For anything he shall be charged withal. And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sheriff:I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

Prince Hal:It may be so. If he have robbed these men, He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

Sheriff:Good night, my noble lord.

Prince Hal:I think it is good morrow, is it not?

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

He exits with the Carrier.

Prince Hal:This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go call him forth.

Peto:Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

Prince Hal:Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. [(He searcheth his pocket, and findeth certain papers.)] What hast thou found?

Peto:Nothing but papers, my lord.

Prince Hal:Let’s see what they be. Read them.

Peto:[reads] Item, a capon,…2s. 2d. Item, sauce,…4d. Item, sack, two gallons,…5s. 8d. Item, anchovies and sack after supper,…2s. 6d. Item, bread,…ob.

Prince Hal:O monstrous! But one halfpennyworth 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 honorable. 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.

Peto:Good morrow, good my lord.

They exit.

Act 3

Scene 1

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and Owen Glendower.

Edmund Mortimer:These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hotspur:Lord Mortimer and cousin Glendower, Will you sit down? And uncle Worcester— A plague upon it, I have forgot the map.

Owen Glendower:No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy, Sit, good cousin Hotspur, for by that name As oft as Lancaster doth speak of you His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh He wisheth you in heaven.

Hotspur:And you in hell, As oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Owen Glendower: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 Shaked like a coward.

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

Owen Glendower:I say the Earth did shake when I was born.

Hotspur:And I say the Earth was not of my mind, If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

Owen Glendower:The heavens were all on fire; the Earth did tremble.

Hotspur:O, then the Earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseasèd nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions; oft the teeming Earth Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed 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 Our grandam Earth, having this distemp’rature, In passion shook.

Owen Glendower:Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 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 marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living, clipped in with the sea 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 And hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hotspur:I think there’s no man speaks better Welsh. I’ll to dinner.

Edmund Mortimer:Peace, cousin Percy. You will make him mad.

Owen Glendower:I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hotspur:Why, so can I, or so can any man, But will they come when you do call for them?

Owen Glendower:Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.

Hotspur: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, And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

Edmund Mortimer:Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

Owen Glendower:Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye And sandy-bottomed Severn have I sent him Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

Hotspur:Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name?

Owen Glendower:Come, here is the map. Shall we divide our right According to our threefold order ta’en?

Edmund Mortimer:The Archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits very equally: England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, By south and east is to my part assigned; 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. And our indentures tripartite are drawn, Which being sealèd interchangeably— A business that this night may execute— Tomorrow, cousin Percy, you and I 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, Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. [To Glendower.] Within that space you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighboring gentlemen.

Owen Glendower:A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, 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.

Hotspur:[looking at the map] 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 A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. I’ll have the current in this place dammed up, And here the smug and silver Trent shall run In a new channel, fair and evenly. It shall not wind with such a deep indent To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Owen Glendower:Not wind? It shall, it must. You see it doth.

Edmund Mortimer:[to Hotspur] Yea, but mark how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side, Gelding the opposèd continent as much As on the other side it takes from you.

Earl of Worcester:Yea, but a little charge will trench him here And on this north side win this cape of land, And then he runs straight and even.

Hotspur:I’ll have it so. A little charge will do it.

Owen Glendower:I’ll not have it altered.

Hotspur:Will not you?

Owen Glendower:No, nor you shall not.

Hotspur:Who shall say me nay?

Owen Glendower:Why, that will I.

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

Owen Glendower:I can speak English, lord, as well as you, For I was trained up in the English court, Where being but young I framèd to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well And gave the tongue a helpful ornament— A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hotspur:Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart. I had rather be a kitten and cry "mew" Than one of these same meter balladmongers. I had rather hear a brazen can’stick turned, Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry. ’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

Owen Glendower:Come, you shall have Trent turned.

Hotspur:I do not care. I’ll give thrice so much land 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?

Owen Glendower:The moon shines fair. You may away by night. I’ll haste the writer, and withal Break with your wives of your departure hence. I am afraid my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

He exits.

Edmund Mortimer:Fie, cousin Percy, how you cross my father!

Hotspur:I cannot choose. Sometime he angers me With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-winged griffin and a moulten raven, A couching lion and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what— He held me last night at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils’ names That were his lackeys. I cried "Hum," and "Well, go to," But marked him not a word. O, he is as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife, Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates and have him talk to me In any summer house in Christendom.

Edmund Mortimer:In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 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? He holds your temper in a high respect And curbs himself even of his natural scope When you come cross his humor. Faith, he does. I warrant you that man is not alive 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.

Earl of Worcester:[to Hotspur] In faith, my lord, you are too willful-blame, And, since your coming hither, have done enough To put him quite besides his patience. You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault. Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood— 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, 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.

Hotspur:Well, I am schooled. Good manners be your speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

Enter Glendower with the Ladies.

Edmund Mortimer:This is the deadly spite that angers me: My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Owen Glendower:My daughter weeps; she’ll not part with you. She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars.

Edmund Mortimer:Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Owen Glendower:She is desperate here, a peevish self-willed harlotry, One that no persuasion can do good upon.

The Lady speaks in Welsh.

Edmund Mortimer:I understand thy looks. That pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in, and but for shame In such a parley should I answer thee. [The Lady speaks again in Welsh. They kiss.] I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that’s a feeling disputation; But I will never be a truant, love, Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penned, Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.

Owen Glendower:Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

The Lady speaks again in Welsh.

Edmund Mortimer:O, I am ignorance itself in this!

Owen Glendower:She bids you on 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 eyelids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep As is the difference betwixt day and night The hour before the heavenly harnessed team Begins his golden progress in the east.

Edmund Mortimer:With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing. By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Owen Glendower:Do so, 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.

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

Lady Percy:Go, you giddy goose.

The music plays.

Hotspur:Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh, And ’tis no marvel he is so humorous. By ’r Lady, he is a good musician.

Lady Percy:Then should you be nothing but musical, for you are altogether governed by humors. Lie still, you thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

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

Lady Percy:Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

Hotspur:No.

Lady Percy:Then be still.

Hotspur:Neither; ’tis a woman’s fault.

Lady Percy:Now God help thee!

Hotspur:To the Welsh lady’s bed.

Lady Percy:What’s that?

Hotspur:Peace, she sings.

Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.

Hotspur:Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.

Lady Percy:Not mine, in good sooth.

Hotspur: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 givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths As if thou never walk’st further than Finsbury. 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. Come, sing.

Lady Percy:I will not sing.

Hotspur:’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours, and so come in when you will.

He exits.

Owen Glendower:Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. By this our book is drawn. We’ll but seal, And then to horse immediately.

Edmund Mortimer:With all my heart.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

King Henry IV: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. [Lords exit.] I know not whether God will have it so 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 Make me believe that thou art only marked For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, Could such inordinate and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, Such barren pleasures, rude society As thou art matched withal, and grafted to, Accompany the greatness of thy blood, And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Prince Hal:So please your Majesty, I would I could Quit all offenses with as clear excuse As well as I am doubtless I can purge Myself of many I am charged withal. Yet such extenuation let me beg As, in reproof of many tales devised, Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers, I may for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wandered and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission.

King Henry IV: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, 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 Is ruined, and the soul of every man Prophetically do forethink thy fall. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common-hackneyed in the eyes of men, 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, A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir But like a comet I was wondered at, That men would tell their children "This is he." Others would say "Where? Which is Bolingbroke?" And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dressed 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 crownèd king. Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne’er seen but wondered 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 With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state, Mingled his royalty with cap’ring fools, Had his great name profanèd with their scorns, And gave his countenance, against his name, To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push Of every beardless vain comparative; Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoffed himself to popularity, That, being daily swallowed 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. 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, Afford no extraordinary gaze Such as is bent on sunlike majesty When it shines seldom in admiring eyes, But rather drowsed and hung their eyelids down, Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries, Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full. And in that very line, Harry, standest thou, For thou hast lost thy princely privilege With vile participation. Not an eye But is aweary of thy common sight, Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more, Which now doth that I would not have it do, Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

Prince Hal:I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself.

King Henry IV: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. Now, by my scepter, and my soul to boot, He hath more worthy interest to the state Than thou, the shadow of succession. For of no right, nor color like to right, He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, Turns head against the lion’s armèd jaws, And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on To bloody battles and to bruising arms. What never-dying honor hath he got Against renownèd Douglas, whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions and great name in arms, Holds from all soldiers chief majority And military title capital Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swaddling clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas, ta’en him once, Enlargèd him, and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 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. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my nearest and dearest enemy? Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, To fight against me under Percy’s pay, To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns, To show how much thou art degenerate.

Prince Hal:Do not think so. You shall not find it so. And God forgive them that so much have swayed Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me. I will redeem all this on Percy’s head, 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 favors in a bloody mask, Which, washed away, shall scour my shame with it. And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights, That this same child of honor and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praisèd knight, And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. For every honor 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. 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. This in the name of God I promise here, The which if He be pleased I shall perform, I do beseech your Majesty may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance. 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.

King Henry IV:A hundred thousand rebels die in this. Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. [Enter Blunt.] How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.

Sir Walter Blunt:So hath the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 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, As ever offered foul play in a state.

King Henry IV:The Earl of Westmoreland set forth today, With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster, For this advertisement is five days old.— 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, Our business valuèd, 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.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Sir John Falstaff:Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s loose gown. I am withered like an old applejohn. Well, I’ll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking. I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer’s horse. The inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bardolph:Sir John, you are so fretful you cannot live long.

Sir John Falstaff:Why, there is it. Come, sing me a bawdy song, make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough: swore little; diced not above seven times—a week; went to a bawdy house not above once in a quarter—of an hour; paid money that I borrowed—three or four times; lived well and in good compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bardolph:Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Sir John Falstaff:Do thou amend thy face, and I’ll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, but ’tis in the nose of thee. Thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.

Bardolph:Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

Sir John Falstaff:No, I’ll be sworn, I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death’s-head or a memento mori. I never see thy face but I think upon hellfire and Dives that lived in purple, for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face. My oath should be "By this fire, that’s God’s angel." But thou art altogether given over, and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran’st up Gad’s Hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light. Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern, but the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler’s in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire any time this two-and-thirty years, God reward me for it.

Bardolph:’Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

Sir John Falstaff:Godamercy, so should I be sure to be heartburned! [Enter Hostess.] How now, Dame Partlet the hen, have you enquired yet who picked my pocket?

Hostess:Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John, do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have enquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant. The tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Sir John Falstaff:You lie, hostess. Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair, and I’ll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go.

Hostess:Who, I? No, I defy thee! God’s light, I was never called so in mine own house before.

Sir John Falstaff:Go to, I know you well enough.

Hostess:No, Sir John, you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John. You owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Sir John Falstaff:Dowlas, filthy dowlas. I have given them away to bakers’ wives; they have made bolters of them.

Hostess:Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound.

Sir John Falstaff:[pointing to Bardolph] He had his part of it. Let him pay.

Hostess:He? Alas, he is poor. He hath nothing.

Sir John Falstaff:How, poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Let them coin his nose. Let them coin his cheeks. I’ll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal ring of my grandfather’s worth forty mark.

Hostess:[to Bardolph] O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper.

Sir John Falstaff:How? The Prince is a jack, a sneak-up. ’Sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so. [Enter the Prince marching, with Peto, and Falstaff meets him playing upon his truncheon like a fife.] How now, lad, is the wind in that door, i’ faith? Must we all march?

Bardolph:Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

Hostess:[to Prince] My lord, I pray you, hear me.

Prince Hal:What say’st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.

Hostess:Good my lord, hear me.

Sir John Falstaff:Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.

Prince Hal:What say’st thou, Jack?

Sir John Falstaff:The other night I fell asleep here, behind the arras, and had my pocket picked. This house is turned bawdy house; they pick pockets.

Prince Hal:What didst thou lose, Jack?

Sir John Falstaff:Wilt thou believe me, Hal, three or four bonds of forty pound apiece, and a seal ring of my grandfather’s.

Prince Hal:A trifle, some eightpenny matter.

Hostess:So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace say so. And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man, as he is, and said he would cudgel you.

Prince Hal:What, he did not!

Hostess:There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

Sir John Falstaff:There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn fox, and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the deputy’s wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go.

Hostess:Say, what thing, what thing?

Sir John Falstaff:What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.

Hostess:I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it! I am an honest man’s wife, and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.

Sir John Falstaff:Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

Hostess:Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?

Sir John Falstaff:What beast? Why, an otter.

Prince Hal:An otter, Sir John. Why an otter?

Sir John Falstaff:Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.

Hostess:Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou.

Prince Hal:Thou sayst true, hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly.

Hostess:So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you owed him a thousand pound.

Prince Hal:Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

Sir John Falstaff:A thousand pound, Hal? A million. Thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love.

Hostess:Nay, my lord, he called you "jack," and said he would cudgel you.

Sir John Falstaff:Did I, Bardolph?

Bardolph:Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

Sir John Falstaff:Yea, if he said my ring was copper.

Prince Hal:I say ’tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now?

Sir John Falstaff:Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare, but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion’s whelp.

Prince Hal:And why not as the lion?

Sir John Falstaff:The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think I’ll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break.

Prince Hal:O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine. It is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it! You will not pocket up wrong! Art thou not ashamed?

Sir John Falstaff:Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell, and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my pocket.

Prince Hal:It appears so by the story.

Sir John Falstaff:Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast, love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, begone. [(Hostess exits.)] Now, Hal, to the news at court. For the robbery, lad, how is that answered?

Prince Hal:O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. The money is paid back again.

Sir John Falstaff:O, I do not like that paying back. ’Tis a double labor.

Prince Hal:I am good friends with my father and may do anything.

Sir John Falstaff:Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.

Bardolph:Do, my lord.

Prince Hal:I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

Sir John Falstaff:I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O, for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them; I praise them.

Prince Hal:Bardolph.

Bardolph:My lord.

Prince Hal:[handing Bardolph papers] Go, bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland. [Bardolph exits.] Go, Peto, to horse, to horse, for thou and I Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. [Peto exits.] Jack, meet me tomorrow 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. The land is burning. Percy stands on high, And either we or they must lower lie.

He exits.

Sir John Falstaff:Rare words, brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast, come.— O, I could wish this tavern were my drum.

He exits.

Act 4

Scene 1

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.

Hotspur: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 Should go so general current through the world. By God, I cannot flatter. I do defy The tongues of soothers. But a braver place In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

Douglas:Thou art the king of honor. No man so potent breathes upon the ground But I will beard him.

Hotspur:Do so, and ’tis well. [Enter a Messenger with letters.] What letters hast thou there? [To Douglas.] I can but thank you.

Messenger:These letters come from your father.

Hotspur:Letters from him! Why comes he not himself?

Messenger:He cannot come, my lord. He is grievous sick.

Hotspur:Zounds, how has he the leisure to be sick In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Under whose government come they along?

Messenger:[handing letter to Hotspur, who begins reading it] His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.

Earl of Worcester:I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Messenger:He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth, And, at the time of my departure thence, He was much feared by his physicians.

Earl of Worcester:I would the state of time had first been whole Ere he by sickness had been visited. His health was never better worth than now.

Hotspur:Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect The very lifeblood 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 so soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul removed but on his own; Yet doth he give us bold advertisement That with our small conjunction we should on To see how fortune is disposed to us, For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Because the King is certainly possessed Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

Earl of Worcester:Your father’s sickness is a maim to us.

Hotspur:A perilous gash, a very limb lopped off! And yet, in faith, it is not. His present want 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? 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.

Douglas:Faith, and so we should, 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.

Hotspur:A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

Earl of Worcester:But yet I would your father had been here. 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 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. For well you know, we of the off’ring side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrament, And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence The eye of reason may pry in upon us. This absence of your father’s draws a curtain That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Before not dreamt of.

Hotspur:You strain too far. I rather of his absence make this use: It lends a luster 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 To push against a kingdom, with his help We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down. Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.

Douglas:As heart can think. There is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hotspur:My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.

Sir Richard Vernon:Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards, with him Prince John.

Hotspur:No harm, what more?

Sir Richard Vernon:And further I have learned The King himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation.

Hotspur:He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daffed the world aside And bid it pass?

Sir Richard Vernon:All furnished, all in arms, All plumed like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed, Glittering in golden coats like images, 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, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly armed, Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury And vaulted with such ease into his seat As if an angel dropped down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hotspur: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, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war All hot and bleeding will we offer them. The mailèd Mars shall on his altar sit 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 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!

Sir Richard Vernon:There is more news. I learned in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.

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

Earl of Worcester:Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.

Hotspur:What may the King’s whole battle reach unto?

Sir Richard Vernon:To thirty thousand.

Hotspur:Forty let it be. My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a day. Come, let us take a muster speedily. Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.

Douglas:Talk not of dying. I am out of fear Of death or death’s hand for this one half year.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Sir John Falstaff:Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry. Fill me a bottle of sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We’ll to Sutton Coldfield tonight.

Bardolph:Will you give me money, captain?

Sir John Falstaff:Lay out, lay out.

Bardolph:This bottle makes an angel.

Sir John Falstaff:An if it do, take it for thy labor. An if it make twenty, take them all. I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town’s end.

Bardolph:I will, captain. Farewell.

He exits.

Sir John Falstaff:If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have misused the King’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen’s sons, inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns—such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the devil as a drum, such as fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I pressed me none but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins’ heads, and they have bought out their services, and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies—slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded, unjust servingmen, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers tradefallen, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace, ten times more dishonorable-ragged than an old feazed ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them as have bought out their services, that you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them, that’s flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs as if they had gyves on, for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There’s not a shirt and a half in all my company, and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together and thrown over the shoulders like a herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Albans or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge.

Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.

Prince Hal:How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt?

Sir John Falstaff:What, Hal, how now, mad wag? What a devil dost thou in Warwickshire?—My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy. I thought your Honor had already been at Shrewsbury.

Earl of Westmoreland:Faith, Sir John, ’tis more than time that I were there and you too, but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all. We must away all night.

Sir John Falstaff:Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

Prince Hal:I think to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after?

Sir John Falstaff:Mine, Hal, mine.

Prince Hal:I did never see such pitiful rascals.

Sir John Falstaff:Tut, tut, good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder. They’ll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.

Earl of Westmoreland:Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.

Sir John Falstaff:Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that, and for their bareness, I am sure they never learned that of me.

Prince Hal:No, I’ll be sworn, unless you call three fingers in the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy is already in the field.

He exits.

Sir John Falstaff:What, is the King encamped?

Earl of Westmoreland:He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.

He exits.

Sir John Falstaff:Well, To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon.

Hotspur:We’ll fight with him tonight.

Earl of Worcester:It may not be.

Douglas:You give him then advantage.

Sir Richard Vernon:Not a whit.

Hotspur:Why say you so? Looks he not for supply?

Sir Richard Vernon:So do we.

Hotspur:His is certain; ours is doubtful.

Earl of Worcester:Good cousin, be advised. Stir not tonight.

Sir Richard Vernon:[to Hotspur] Do not, my lord.

Douglas:You do not counsel well. You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

Sir Richard Vernon:Do me no slander, Douglas. By my life (And I dare well maintain it with my life), If well-respected honor 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 tomorrow in the battle Which of us fears.

Douglas:Yea, or tonight.

Sir Richard Vernon:Content.

Hotspur:Tonight, say I.

Sir Richard Vernon:Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, 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. Your uncle Worcester’s horse came but today, And now their pride and mettle is asleep, Their courage with hard labor tame and dull, That not a horse is half the half of himself.

Hotspur:So are the horses of the enemy In general journey-bated and brought low. The better part of ours are full of rest.

Earl of Worcester:The number of the King exceedeth ours. For God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in.

The trumpet sounds a parley.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

Sir Walter Blunt:I come with gracious offers from the King, If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.

Hotspur:Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God 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 But stand against us like an enemy.

Sir Walter Blunt:And God defend but still I should stand so, So long as out of limit and true rule You stand against anointed majesty. 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 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 You shall have your desires with interest And pardon absolute for yourself and these Herein misled by your suggestion.

Hotspur:The King is kind, and well we know the King 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, 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, To sue his livery, and beg his peace With tears of innocency and terms of zeal, My father, in kind heart and pity moved, Swore him assistance and performed it too. Now when the lords and barons of the realm Perceived Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less came in with cap and knee, Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, proffered him their oaths, Gave him their heirs as pages, followed him 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 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, 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, Proceeded further—cut me off the heads Of all the favorites that the absent king In deputation left behind him here When he was personal in the Irish war.

Sir Walter Blunt:Tut, I came not to hear this.

Hotspur:Then to the point. In short time after, he deposed the King, Soon after that deprived him of his life And, in the neck of that, tasked the whole state. To make that worse, suffered his kinsman March (Who is, if every owner were well placed, Indeed his king) to be engaged in Wales, There without ransom to lie forfeited, Disgraced me in my happy victories, Sought to entrap me by intelligence, Rated mine uncle from the council board, In rage dismissed my father from the court, 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 Too indirect for long continuance.

Sir Walter Blunt:Shall I return this answer to the King?

Hotspur:Not so, Sir Walter. We’ll withdraw awhile. Go to the King, and let there be impawned Some surety for a safe return again, And in the morning early shall mine uncle Bring him our purposes. And so farewell.

Sir Walter Blunt:I would you would accept of grace and love.

Hotspur:And maybe so we shall.

Sir Walter Blunt:Pray God you do.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.

Archbishop:[handing papers] Hie, good Sir Michael, bear this sealèd brief With wingèd haste to the Lord Marshal, This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest To whom they are directed. If you knew How much they do import, you would make haste.

Sir Michael:My good lord, I guess their tenor.

Archbishop:Like enough you do. Tomorrow, good Sir Michael, is a day Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch. For, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The King with mighty and quick-raisèd power Meets with Lord Harry. And I fear, Sir Michael, What with the sickness of Northumberland, Whose power was in the first proportion, And what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence, Who with them was a rated sinew too And comes not in, o’erruled by prophecies, I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the King.

Sir Michael:Why, my good lord, you need not fear. There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.

Archbishop:No, Mortimer is not there.

Sir Michael:But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.

Archbishop:And so there is. But yet the King hath drawn The special head of all the land together: The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt, And many more corrivals and dear men Of estimation and command in arms.

Sir Michael:Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.

Archbishop:I hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear; And to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed. For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King 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 To other friends. And so farewell, Sir Michael.

They exit.

Act 5

Scene 1

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

King Henry IV:How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon bulky hill. The day looks pale At his distemp’rature.

Prince Hal:The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blust’ring day.

King Henry IV:Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win. [The 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 deceived our trust And made us doff our easy robes of peace 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-abhorrèd war And move in that obedient orb again Where you did give a fair and natural light, And be no more an exhaled meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broachèd mischief to the unborn times?

Earl of Worcester:Hear me, my liege: For mine own part I could be well content To entertain the lag end of my life With quiet hours. For I protest I have not sought the day of this dislike.

King Henry IV:You have not sought it. How comes it then?

Sir John Falstaff:Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prince Hal:Peace, chewet, peace.

Earl of Worcester:It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks Of favor from myself and all our house; And yet I must remember you, my lord, 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 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, 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. To this we swore our aid. But in short space It rained down fortune show’ring on your head, And such a flood of greatness fell on you— 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 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 wooed To gripe the general sway into your hand, Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And being fed by us, you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo’s bird, 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 We were enforced for safety sake to fly Out of your sight and raise this present head, Whereby we stand opposèd by such means As you yourself have forged against yourself By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.

King Henry IV:These things indeed you have articulate, Proclaimed at market crosses, read in churches, To face the garment of rebellion With some fine color that may please the eye Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, Which gape and rub the elbow at the news Of hurlyburly innovation. And never yet did insurrection want Such water colors to impaint his cause, Nor moody beggars starving for a time Of pellmell havoc and confusion.

Prince Hal:In both your armies there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter 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, 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. 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: 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.

King Henry IV: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 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. 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 begone. We will not now be troubled with reply. We offer fair. Take it advisedly.

Worcester exits with Vernon.

Prince Hal:It will not be accepted, on my life. The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms.

King Henry IV: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.

They exit. Prince and Falstaff remain.

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

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

Sir John Falstaff:I would ’twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.

Prince Hal:Why, thou owest God a death.

He exits.

Sir John Falstaff:’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. Honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if honor prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honor? A word. What is in that word "honor"? What is that "honor"? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ’Tis 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. Honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.

He exits.

Scene 2

Enter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon.

Earl of Worcester:O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, The liberal and kind offer of the King.

Sir Richard Vernon:’Twere best he did.

Earl of Worcester:Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be The King should keep his word in loving us. He will suspect us still and find a time To punish this offense in other faults. Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes, For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, never so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. Look how we can, or sad or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks, And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherished still the nearer death. My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot; It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, And an adopted name of privilege— A harebrained Hotspur governed by a spleen. All his offenses live upon my head 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 In any case the offer of the King.

Sir Richard Vernon:Deliver what you will; I’ll say ’tis so. [Enter Hotspur, Douglas, and their army.] Here comes your cousin.

Hotspur:[to Douglas] My uncle is returned. Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.— Uncle, what news?

Earl of Worcester:The King will bid you battle presently.

Douglas:[to Hotspur] Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland.

Hotspur:Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

Douglas:Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

Douglas exits.

Earl of Worcester:There is no seeming mercy in the King.

Hotspur:Did you beg any? God forbid!

Earl of Worcester:I told him gently of our grievances, 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.

Enter Douglas.

Douglas:Arm, gentlemen, to arms. For I have thrown A brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth, And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it, Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.

Earl of Worcester:The Prince of Wales stepped forth before the King, And, nephew, challenged you to single fight.

Hotspur:O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, And that no man might draw short breath today But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How showed his tasking? Seemed it in contempt?

Sir Richard Vernon:No, by my soul. I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man, Trimmed up your praises with a princely tongue, Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, Making you ever better than his praise By still dispraising praise valued with you, And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital of himself, And chid his truant youth with such a grace As if he mastered there a double spirit Of teaching and of learning instantly. 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 misconstrued in his wantonness.

Hotspur:Cousin, I think thou art enamorèd On his follies. Never did I hear Of any prince so wild a liberty. But be he as he will, yet once ere night 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 Than I that have not well the gift of tongue Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

Enter a Messenger.

Messenger:My lord, here are letters for you.

Hotspur:I cannot read them now.— 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. 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.

Enter another Messenger.

Second Messenger:My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace.

Hotspur: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 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. 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.

Here they embrace. The trumpets sound.

They exit.

Scene 3

The King enters with his power, crosses the stage and exits. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas, and Sir Walter Blunt, disguised as the King.

Sir Walter Blunt:[as King] What is thy name that in the battle thus Thou crossest me? What honor dost thou seek Upon my head?

Douglas:Know then my name is Douglas, And I do haunt thee in the battle thus Because some tell me that thou art a king.

Sir Walter Blunt:[as King] They tell thee true.

Douglas:The Lord of Stafford dear today hath bought Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry, This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee, Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

Sir Walter Blunt:[as King] I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot, And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford’s death.

They fight. Douglas kills Blunt.

Then enter Hotspur.

Hotspur:O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumphed upon a Scot.

Douglas:All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King.

Hotspur:Where?

Douglas:Here.

Hotspur:This, Douglas? No, I know this face full well. A gallant knight he was; his name was Blunt, Semblably furnished like the King himself.

Douglas:[addressing Blunt’s corpse] A fool go with thy soul whither it goes! A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

Hotspur:The King hath many marching in his coats.

Douglas:Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats. I’ll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, Until I meet the King.

Hotspur:Up and away! Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

They exit.

Alarm. Enter Falstaff alone.

Sir John Falstaff:Though I could ’scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here. Here’s no scoring but upon the pate.—Soft, who are you? Sir Walter Blunt. There’s honor for you. Here’s no vanity. I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me; I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered. There’s not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they are for the town’s end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

Enter the Prince.

Prince Hal:What, stand’st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword. Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are yet unrevenged. I prithee Lend me thy sword.

Sir John Falstaff:O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy; I have made him sure.

Prince Hal:He is indeed, and living to kill thee. I prithee, lend me thy sword.

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

Prince Hal:Give it me. What, is it in the case?

Sir John Falstaff:Ay, Hal, ’tis hot, ’tis hot. There’s that will sack a city.

The Prince draws it out, and finds it to be a bottle of sack.

Prince Hal:What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

He throws the bottle at him and exits.

Sir John Falstaff: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 honor as Sir Walter hath. Give me life, which, if I can save, so: if not, honor comes unlooked for, and there’s an end.

He exits. Blunt’s body is carried off.

Scene 4

Alarm, excursions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmoreland.

King Henry IV:I prithee, Harry, withdraw thyself. Thou bleedest too much. Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

Lord John of Lancaster:Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.

Prince Hal:I beseech your Majesty, make up, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

King Henry IV:I will do so.—My Lord of Westmoreland, Lead him to his tent.

Earl of Westmoreland:Come, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent.

Prince Hal: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, Where stained nobility lies trodden on, And rebels’ arms triumph in massacres.

Lord John of Lancaster:We breathe too long. Come, cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies. For God’s sake, come.

Lancaster and Westmoreland exit.

Prince Hal:By God, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster. I did not think thee lord of such a spirit. Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now I do respect thee as my soul.

King Henry IV:I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior.

Prince Hal:O, this boy lends mettle to us all.

He exits.

Enter Douglas.

Douglas:Another king! They grow like Hydra’s heads.— I am the Douglas, fatal to all those That wear those colors on them. What art thou That counterfeit’st the person of a king?

King Henry IV: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, But, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily, I will assay thee. And defend thyself.

Douglas:I fear thou art another counterfeit, And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king. But mine I am sure thou art, whoe’er thou be, And thus I win thee.

They fight. The King being in danger, enter Prince of Wales.

Prince Hal:Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again. The spirits 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 flieth.] [To King.] Cheerly, my lord. How fares your Grace? Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent, And so hath Clifton. I’ll to Clifton straight.

King Henry IV:Stay and breathe awhile. Thou hast redeemed thy lost opinion And showed thou mak’st some tender of my life In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

Prince Hal:O God, they did me too much injury That ever said I hearkened for your death. 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, And saved the treacherous labor of your son.

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

King exits.

Enter Hotspur.

Hotspur:If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

Prince Hal:Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name.

Hotspur:My name is Harry Percy.

Prince Hal:Why then I see A very valiant rebel of the name. I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more. 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.

Hotspur:Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come To end the one of us, and would to God Thy name in arms were now as great as mine.

Prince Hal:I’ll make it greater ere I part from thee, And all the budding honors on thy crest I’ll crop to make a garland for my head.

Hotspur:I can no longer brook thy vanities.

They fight.

Enter Falstaff.

Sir John Falstaff:Well said, Hal! To it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boys’ play here, I can tell you.

Enter Douglas. He fighteth with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead. Douglas exits. The Prince killeth Percy.

Hotspur:O Harry, thou hast robbed 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. But thoughts, the slaves 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 Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust, And food for—

He dies.

Prince Hal:For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart. Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit, 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 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 favors hide thy mangled face; [He covers Hotspur’s face.] 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 ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remembered in thy epitaph. [He spieth Falstaff on the ground.] What, old acquaintance, could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell. I could have better spared a better man. 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 today, Though many dearer in this bloody fray. Emboweled will I see thee by and by; Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.

He exits.

Falstaff riseth up.

Sir John Falstaff:Emboweled? If thou embowel me today, I’ll give you leave to powder me and eat me too tomorrow. ’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 valor 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 up Hotspur on his back.

Enter Prince and John of Lancaster.

Prince Hal:Come, brother John. Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword.

Lord John of Lancaster:But soft, whom have we here? Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?

Prince Hal:I did; I saw him dead, Breathless and bleeding on the ground.—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.

Sir John Falstaff: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. If your father will do me any honor, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.

Prince Hal:Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead.

Sir John Falstaff: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 valor 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.

Lord John of Lancaster:This is the strangest tale that ever I heard.

Prince Hal: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, 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.

They exit.

Sir John Falstaff: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.

He exits carrying Hotspur’s body.

Scene 5

The trumpets sound. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners, and Soldiers.

King Henry IV:Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.— Ill-spirited Worcester, did not we send grace, Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary, Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman’s trust? Three knights upon our party slain today, A noble earl, and many a creature else Had been alive this hour If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

Earl of Worcester:What I have done my safety urged me to. And I embrace this fortune patiently, Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

King Henry IV:Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too. Other offenders we will pause upon. [Worcester and Vernon exit, under guard.] How goes the field?

Prince Hal:The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw The fortune of the day quite turned from him, The noble Percy slain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest, And, falling from a hill, he was so bruised That the pursuers took him. At my tent The Douglas is, and I beseech your Grace I may dispose of him.

King Henry IV:With all my heart.

Prince Hal:Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you This honorable bounty shall belong. Go to the Douglas and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free. His valors shown upon our crests today Have taught us how to cherish such high deeds, Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

Lord John of Lancaster:I thank your Grace for this high courtesy, Which I shall give away immediately.

King Henry IV:Then this remains, that we divide our power. You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed 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, 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.

They exit.