Wales, Lords, and others.
‡ noteKing Henry.
Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference; but be near,
For we shall presently have need of you.—
[Ex. Lords.
I know not whether heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That in his secret doom, out of my blood,
He breeds 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 heav'n,
-- 44 --
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires;
Such barren, base, 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?
P. Henry.
So please your Majesty, I wish I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
I may for some things true (wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular)
Find pardon, on my true submission.* note
K. Henry.
Heav'n 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 supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the Court, and Princes of my blood:
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
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 wonder'd at!
That men would tell their children, This is he;
Others would say, Where? which is Bolingbroke?
But now there's not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
-- 45 --
P. Henry.
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,
Be more myself.
K. Henry.
For all the world,
As thou art at this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And ev'n 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 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 rev'rend bishops on,
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got,
Against renowned Douglas!
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars, in swathing-clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises,
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once,
Enlarg'd 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,
Th' archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, and Mortimer,
Capitulate against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell this news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
For thou 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 court'sy at his frowns,
To shew how much thou art degenerate.* note
P. Henry.
Do not think so! you shall not find it so!
And heav'n forgive them that so much have sway'd
-- 46 --
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, washt away, shall scow'r 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,
T'engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.
This, in the name of heav'n, I promise here;
The which if I perform, and do survive,
I do beseech your Majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperature:
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.* note
K. Henry.
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.
Blunt.
So is the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Douglas and the English rebels met,
-- 47 --
Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a pow'rful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.
K. Henry.
The earl of Westmorland set forth, to-day,
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old.
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting
Is at Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you shall march
Thro' Glo'stershire: By which, some twelve days hence,
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away,
Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE changes to the Boar's-Head Tavern, in East-cheap.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, am not I fall'n 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 wither'd like an old apple-john. 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 pepper-corn, a
brewer's horse. The inside of a church! Company,
villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
Bard.
Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live
long.
Fal.
Why, there is it. Come, sing me a bawdy
song, to 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 borrow'd—three or four times; liv'd well,
and in good compass; and now I live out of all order,
out of all compass.
-- 48 --
Bard.
Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must
needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass,
Sir John.
Fal.
Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my
life. Thou art our admiral; he beareth the lanthorn
in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee. Thou art
the knight of the burning-lamp.
Bard.
Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
Fal.
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 hell-fire;
when thou rann'st up Gads-hill in the night, to catch
my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an Ignis
Fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no purchase in
money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting
bonfire light! Thou hast saved me many 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
cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have
maintain'd that Salamander of your's with fire, any
time this two-and-thirty years, heav'n reward me for
it!* note
Bard.
I would, my face were in your belly.
Fal.
So should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.
Enter Hostess.
How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquired
yet who pick'd my pocket?
Host.
Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John?
do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have
search'd, I have enquir'd, so has my husband, man by
man, boy by boy, servant by servant. The tythe of a
hair was never lost in my house before.
Fal.
Ye lie, Hostess! I'll be sworn my pocket was
pick'd. Go to; you are a woman, go.
-- 49 --
Host.
Who I? I defy thee. I was never call'd so in
mine own house, before.
Fal.
Go to; I know you well enough.
Host.
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.
Fal.
Dowlas, filthy dowlas! I have given them
away to bakers' wives, and they have made boulters
of them.
Host.
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 pounds.
* noteFal.
He had his part of it: let him pay.
Host.
He? alas! he is poor; he hath nothing.
Fal.
How! poor? look upon his face: what call
you rich? let him coin his nose, let him coin his
cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make
a yonker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn,
but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a seal-ring
of my grandfather's, worth forty marks.
Host.
I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not
how oft, that the ring was copper.
Fal.
How? the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup;
and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if
he would say so.
[a March.
Enter Prince Henry marching, and Peto; Falstaff meets them.
Fal.
How now, lad, is the wind in that door? must
we all march?
Bard.
Yea; two and two, Newgate-fashion.
Host.
My Lord, I pray you hear me.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? how
-- 50 --
does your husband? I love him well; he is an honest
man.
Host.
Good my Lord, hear me.
Fal.
Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou, Jack?
Fal.
The other night I fell asleep here behind the
arras, and had my pocket pickt. This house is turn'd
bawdy-house; they pick pockets.
P. Henry.
What didst thou lose, Jack?
Fal.
Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds,
of forty pounds apiece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.
P. Henry.
A trifle, some eight-penny matter!
Host.
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-mouth'd man as he is, and said, he
would cudgel you.
P. Henry.
What! he did not?
Host.
There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood, in
me else.
Fal.
There's no more faith in thee, than in a stew'd
prune; no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox;
and for womanhood, maid Marian may be a deputy's
wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go!
Host.
Say, what thing! what thing!
Fal.
What thing? why a thing to thank heaven on.
Host.
I am nothing to thank heaven on, I would
thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife;
and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to
call me so.
Fal.
Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast
to say otherwise.
Host.
A beast!—say what beast, thou knave, thou?
Fal.
What beast? why, an otter.
P. Henry.
An otter, Sir John, why an otter?
Fal.
Why she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows
not where to have her.
Host.
Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or
any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou
-- 51 --
P. Henry.
Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders
thee most grossly.
Host.
So he doth you, my Lord, and said, this other
day, you ow'd him a thousand pound.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal.
A thousand pound, Hal! a million; thy love is
worth a million: thou ow'st me thy love.
Host.
Nay, my Lord, he call'd you Jack, and said
he would cudgel you.
Fal.
Did I, Bardolph?
Bard.
Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal.
Yea, if he said my ring was copper.
P. Henry.
I say 'tis copper. Dar'st thou be as good
as thy word, now?
Fal.
Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but a man,
I dare; but as thou art a prince, I fear thee, as I fear
the roaring of a lion's whelp.
P. Henry.
And why not as the lion?
Fal.
The king himself is to be fear'd as the lion:
dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay,
if I do, let my girdle break!
P. Henry.
O, if it should, how would thy guts fall
about thy knees! why, thou whorson, impudent, imboss'd* note
rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket
but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses,
and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy, to make thee
long-winded; and yet you will stand to it, you will not
pocket up wrongs. Art thou not asham'd?
Fal.
Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st, 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 pickt my pocket?
P. Henry.
It appears so by the story.
Fal.
Hostess, I forgive thee. Go, make ready
breakfast, love thy husband, look to thy servants, and
cherish thy guests; thou shalt find me tractable to any
-- 52 --
honest reason; thou seest I am pacify'd still. Nay,
I pr'ythee be gone.
[Exit Hostess.
Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery,
lad—how is that answer'd?
P. Henry.
The money is paid back again.
Fal.
O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double
labour.
P. Henry.
I am good friends with my father, and
may do any thing.
Fal.
Rob me the Exchequer, the first thing thou dost,
and do it with unwash'd hands too.
Bard.
Do, my Lord.
P. Henry.
I have procur'd thee, Jack, a charge of
foot.
Fal.
I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I
find one that can steal well? O, for a fine thief, of
two-and-twenty, or thereabout! I am heinously unprovided.
Well, heaven be thank'd for these rebels, they
offend none but the virtuous! I laud them, I praise
them.
P. Henry.
Bardolph.
Bard.
My Lord?
P. Henry.
Go, bear this letter to Lord John of
Lancaster, to my brother John; this to my lord of
Westmoreland. Jack, meet me, to-morrow, in the
Temple-hall, at two o'clock in the afternoon; there
shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive money
and order for their furniture.
The land is burning, Percy stands on high,
And either they, or we, must lower lie.
Fal.
Rare words! brave world! hostess, my breakfast, come:
Oh! I could wish this tavern were my drum.
[Exeunt.
note
-- 53 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
