Fal.

How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen.

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

Fal.

Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft.

P. Hen.

Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal.

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

P. Hen.

Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin

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

Fal.

Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,—But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

P. Hen.

No: thou shalt.

Fal.

Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge^{5 note}

P. Hen.

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

Fal.

Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

P. Hen.

For obtaining of suits^{6 note}

Fal.

Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat^{7 note}

P. Hen.

Or an old lion; or a lover's lute.

Fal.

Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe^{8 note}

P. Hen.

What sayest thou to a hare^{9 note}

Fal.

Thou hast the most unsavoury similes^{3 note}; and art, indeed, the most comparative^{4 note}

P. Hen.

Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it^{6 note}.

Fal.

O, thou hast damnable iteration^{7 note}

P. Hen.

Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal.

Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me^{8 note}.

P. Hen.

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

Fal.

Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation^{9 note}

Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match^{1 note}

P. Hen.

Good morrow, Ned.

Poins.

Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar^{2 note}

P. Hen.

Well, then one in my days I'll be a mad-cap.

Fal.

Why, that's well said.

P. Hen.

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

Fal.

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

P. Hen.

I care not.

Poins.

Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal.

Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he 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.

P. Hen.

Farewell, thou latter spring^{4 note}! Farewell, All-hallown summer^{5 note}

Poins.

Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill^{6 note}, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders.

P. Hen.

But 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.

P. Hen.

Ay, 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 visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah^{7 note}

P. Hen.

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^{9 note} of this, lies the jest.

P. Hen.

Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night^{1 note} in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell.

Poins.

Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins.

P. Hen.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun;
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds^{2 note}




To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him^{3 note}
.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come^{4 note}





,

And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes^{5 note}

I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. SCENE III. The Same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and Others.

K. Hen.
My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me; for, accordingly,
You tread upon my patience: but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition^{7 note}

Wor.
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.

North.
My lord,—

K. Hen.
Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see
Danger^{8 note}

North.
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 deliver'd to your majesty:
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

Hot.
My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home^{2 note}

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them—untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms^{5 note}
He question'd me; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay^{6 note}

Out of my grief^{7 note} and my impatience,
Answer'd 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 sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti^{8 note}, for an inward bruise^{9 note};
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd

So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns^{1 note},
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And, I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Blunt.
The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
Whatever Harry Percy then had said,
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now^{2 note}
.

K. Hen.
Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners;
But with proviso, and exception,—
That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer^{3 note}

Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower;
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears^{4 note}

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.

Hot.
Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war^{5 note}
;—To prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds^{6 note}

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^{7 note} with great Glendower:
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink^{8 note},
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then, affrighted^{9 note} with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head^{1 note}

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy^{2 note}

K. Hen.
Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him,
He never did encounter with Glendower;
I tell thee,
He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art thou not^{2 note} 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 you son:
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train.

Hot.
And 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,
Although it be with hazard of my head.

North.
What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile;
Here comes your uncle. Re-enter Worcester.

Hot.
Speak of Mortimer?
'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him:
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

North.
Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. [To Worcester.

Wor.
Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

Hot.
He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale;
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death^{3 note}

Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

Wor.
I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim'd,
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood^{4 note}
?

North.
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 depos'd, and shortly, murdered.

Wor.
And for whose death, we, in the world's wide mouth
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.

Hot.
But, soft, I pray you; Did king Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown^{5 note}