Prince. Your money!
Poins. Villains!
Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse.
The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear
So strongly that they dare not meet each other.
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death
And lards the lean earth as he walks along.
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd! Exeunt.
Scene III.
Warkworth Castle.
Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter.
Hot. '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 honourable an
action!
Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night.
Enter his Lady.
How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
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-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,
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 bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho!
[Enter a Servant.]
Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
[Exit Servant.]
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse!
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are toss'd 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-
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly unto this question that I ask.
I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell my all things true.
Hot. 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 crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
Lady. 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.
Hot. 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. How? so far?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
Will this content you, Kate?
Lady. It must of force. Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.
Enter Prince and Poins.
Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy
hand
to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
Prince. 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 christen 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
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying 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 honour 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, clapp'd
even
now into my hand by an under-skinker, 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. Francis!
Prince. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins.]
Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Prince. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord?
Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
Prince. 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?
Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England
I
could find in my heart-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir.
Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest
me-
'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when
thou
wilt, and, thou shalt have it.
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.
Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
Francis-
Fran. My lord?
Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
Prince. 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.
Fran. What, sir?
Poins. [within] Francis!
Prince. 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.
Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling?
Look
to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John,
with
half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
[Exit Vintner.]
Poins!
Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.
Enter Poins.
Prince. 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 ye; what cunning
match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come,
what's
the issue?
Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves
humours
since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
present this twelve o'clock at midnight.
[Enter Francis.]
What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit.]
Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is 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 kill'd to-day?'
'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some
fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee
call in
Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play
Dame
Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs,
call
in tallow.
Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
Francis follows with wine].
Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Fal. 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 nether-stocks, 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. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the
sun!
If thou didst, then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing
but
roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse
than
a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous 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 unhang'd 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. How now, woolsack? What mutter you?
Fal. 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. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
Lord, I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd 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 to-day.
Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou
drunk'st
last.
Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all
cowards
still say I.
Prince. What's the matter?
Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
thousand pound this day morning.
Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four
of
us!
Prince. What, a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
them
two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight
times
thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler
cut
through and through; my sword hack'd 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, If they speak more or
less
than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
Gads. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
Jew
else- an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon
us-
Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
Prince. What, fought you with them all?
Fal. 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-legg'd
creature.
Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd 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. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal. 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. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
Fal. In buckram?
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have
more
anon.
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in
buckram
that I told thee of-
Prince. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken-
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. 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. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
Fal. 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. These lies are like their father that begets them-
gross as
a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the
truth?
Prince. 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.
Fal. 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. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge
hill
of flesh-
Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath
to
utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
Prince. 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. 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,
outfac'd
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 roar'd for mercy, and
still
run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. 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?
Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!
Enter Hostess.
Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send
him
back again to my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he?
Host. An old man.
Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give
him
his answer?
Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
Exit.
Prince. Now, sirs. 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!
Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
hack'd?
Peto. Why, he hack'd 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.
Bard. 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 blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
ago
and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast
blush'd
extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet
thou
ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
exhalations?
Prince. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend?
Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. 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?
Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
eagle's talent 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 villanous 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. O, Glendower.
Fal. 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. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
sparrow flying.
Fal. You have hit it.
Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
running!
Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a
foot.
Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n
away
to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news;
you
may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
Prince. 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.
Fal. By the mass, lad, 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. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou
comest to
thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this
dagger my
sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden
sceptre
for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a
pitiful
bald crown.
Fal. 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. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players
as
ever I see!
Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- 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, yet 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 villanous 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
ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take
purses? A
question to be ask'd. 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. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
Fal. 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. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and
I'll
play my father.
Fal. 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. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for
a
young prince, i' faith.
Prince. 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
humours,
that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his
belly,
that reverend vice, that grey 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
villany?
wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
nothing?
Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
Grace?
Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
Prince. I know thou dost.
Fal. 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 damn'd. 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. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.]
[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]
Enter Bardolph, running.
Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous
watch
is at the door.
Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in
the
behalf of that Falstaff.
Enter the Hostess.
Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
What's the matter?
Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are
come
to search the house. Shall I let them in?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
Fal. 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. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and
therefore
I'll hide me. Exit.
Prince. Call in the sheriff.
[Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.]
Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.
Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.
Prince. What men?
Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
A gross fat man.
Carrier. As fat as butter.
Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
Exit [with Carrier].
Prince. 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. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
What hast thou found?
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.
Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii
d.
Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii
d.
Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii
d.
Item, Anchovies and sack after supper. ii s. vi
d.
Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ob.'
Prince. 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 honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score.
The
money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me
betimes
in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.
Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.
Exeunt.
<>
ACT III. Scene I.
Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.
Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.
Glend. No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.
Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glend. I cannot blame him. At my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
Of burning cressets, and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your
mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been
born.
Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth and topples down
Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth
Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature,
In passion shook.
Glend. 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 mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
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.
Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to
dinner.
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come when you do call for them?
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil-
By telling truth. Tell truth and shame the devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!
Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
Bootless home and weather-beaten back.
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too?
How scapes he agues, in the devil's name
Glend. Come, here's the map. Shall we divide our right
According to our threefold order ta'en?
Mort. The Archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits very equally.
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east is to my part assign'd;
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 sealed interchangeably
(A business that this night may execute),
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
To meet your father and the Scottish bower,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.
[To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glend. 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.
Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours.
See how this river comes me cranking in
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I'll have the current ill this place damm'd up,
And here the smug and sliver 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.
Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth.
Mort. Yea, but
Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up
With like advantage on the other side,
Gelding the opposed continent as much
As on the other side it takes from you.
Wor. 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.
Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it.
Glend. I will not have it alt'red.
Hot. Will not you?
Glend. No, nor you shall not.
Hot. Who shall say me nay?
Glend. No, that will I.
Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh.
Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was train'd up in the English court,
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty lovely well,
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament-
A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hot. 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 metre ballet-mongers.
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd
Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree,
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry.
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag,
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair
Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone?
Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night.
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. Exit.
Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
And of a dragon and a finless fish,
A clip-wing'd 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 mark'd 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.
Mort. 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 humour. 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.
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-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.
Hot. Well, I am school'd. Good manners be your speed!
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Enter Glendower with the Ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me-
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you;
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers
him in the same.
Glend. She is desperate here. A peevish self-will'd harlotry,
One that no persuasion can do good upon.
The Lady speaks in Welsh.
Mort. 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 Barley should I answer thee.
The Lady again in Welsh.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation.
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learnt thy language: for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bow'r,
With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
The Lady speaks again in Welsh.
Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this!
Glend. 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-harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the East.
Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing.
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so,
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.
Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick,
quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.
The music plays.
Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
And 'tis no marvel, be is so humorous.
By'r Lady, he is a good musician.
Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are
altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear
the
lady sing in Welsh.
Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
Hot. No.
Lady P. Then be still.
Hot. Neither! 'Tis a woman's fault.
Lady P. Now God help thee!
Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady P. What's that?
Hot. Peace! she sings.
Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.
Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.
Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.
Hot. Not yours, in good sooth? Heart! you swear like a
comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth!' and 'as true
as I
live!' and 'as God shall mend me!' and 'as sure as day!'
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths
As if thou ne'er 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 P. I will not sing.
Hot. '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 ye will. Exit.
Glend. 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.
Mort. With all my heart.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.
King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you.
Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it so,
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 mark'd
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 match'd withal and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse
As well as I am doubtless I can purge
Myself of many I am charged withal.
Yet such extenuation let me beg
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear
By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true wherein my youth
Hath faulty wand'red and irregular,
And pardon on lily true submission.
King. 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 ruin'd, and the soul of every man
Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
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 wond'red 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 dress'd myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths
Even in the presence of the crowned King.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wond'red at; and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, show'd 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 profaned 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,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
That, being dally 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 unlike majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down,
Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, 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 desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth that I would not have it do-
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,
Be more myself.
King. 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 sceptre, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou, the shadow of succession;
For of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
And, Being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on
To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowmed 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 swathling clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises
Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
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. Do not think so. You shall not find it so.
And God forgive them that so much have sway'd
Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought of Harry chance to meet.
For every honour sitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! For the time will come
That I shall make this Northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call hall 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 pleas'd 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. A hundred thousand rebels die in this!
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.
