SCENE II.
Enter Chief Justice and Servants.
Page.
Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed
the Prince, for striking him, about Bardolph.
Fal.
Boy, stand before me, I would not be seen.
Ch. Just.
What's he that goes there?
Serv.
Falstaff, an't please your Lordship.
Ch. Just.
He that was in question for the robbery?
Serv.
He, my Lord. But he hath since done good service,
at Shrewsbury: and, as I hear, is now going with
some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.
Ch. Just.
What, to York? call him back again.
Serv.
Sir John Falstaff.
Fal.
Boy, tell him, I am deaf.
Page.
You must speak louder, my master is deaf.
Ch. Just.
I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing
good. Go, pluck him by the elbow. I must speak with
him.
Serv.
Sir John.
Fal.
What! a young knave, and beg! are there no
wars? is there not employment? doth not the King lack
subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? though it be
a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame
to beg, than to be on the worst side, were it worse
than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
Serv.
You mistake me, Sir.
Fal.
Why, Sir. did I say you were an honest man?
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had
lied in my throat, if I had said so.
Serv.
I pray you, Sir, then, set your knighthood and
your soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you,
you do lie in your throat, if you say I am any other
than an honest man.
Fal.
I give thee leave to tell me so? I lay aside that
which grows to me? If thou gett'st any leave of me,
-- 8 --
hang me; if thou tak'st leave, thou wer't better be
hang'd: you* note hunt-counter, hence; avaunt.
Serv.
Sir, my Lord would speak with you.
Ch. Just.
Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
Fal.
My good Lord! heav'n give your Lordship good
time of day! I am glad to see your Lordship abroad;
I heard say your Lordship was sick. I hope your Lordship
goes abroad, by advice. Your Lordship, though
not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age
in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most
humbly beseech your Lordship to have a reverend care
of your health.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition
to Shrewsbury.
Fal.
If it please your Lordship I hear his Majesty is
return'd with some discomfort, from Wales.
Ch. Just.
I talk not of his Majesty: you would not
come when I sent for you?
Fal.
And I hear, moreover, his highness is fall'n into
this same whorson apoplexy.
Ch. Just.
Well, heav'n mend him! I pray let me
speak with you† note.
Fal.
This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,
an't please your Lordship, a kind of sleeping in the
blood, a whorson tingling.
Ch. Just.
What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
Fal.
It hath its original from much grief; from study
and perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of
it in Galen. It is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just.
I think you are fall'n into that disease: for
you hear not what I say to you.
Fal.
Very well, my Lord, very well: rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not list'ning, the malady
of not marking, that I am troubled with.
-- 9 --
Ch. Just.
To punish you by the heels, would amend
the attention of your ears; and I care not if I be your
physician.
Fal.
I am as poor as Job, my Lord; but not so
patient: your Lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment
to me, in respect of poverty; but how I
should be your patient, to follow your prescriptions, the
wise may make* note some dram of a scruple, or indeed, a
scruple itself.
Ch. Just.
I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to speak with me.
Fal.
As I was then advis'd by my counsel learned
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.
Ch. Just.
Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in
great infamy.
Fal.
He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in
less.
Ch. Just.
Your means are very slender, and your
waste great.
Fal.
I would it were otherwise: I would my means
were greater, and my waist slenderer† note.
Ch. Just.
You have mis-led the youthful Prince.
Fal.
The young Prince hath mis-led me. I am the
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.
Ch. Just.
Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd wound;
your day's service at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded over
your night's exploit on Gads-hill. You may thank the
unquiet time, for your quiet over-posting that action.
Fal.
My Lord?
Ch. Just.
But, since all is well, keep it so: wake not
a sleeping wolf.
Fal.
To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox.
-- 10 --
Ch. Just.
What? you are as a candle, the better part
burnt out.
Fal.
A wassel candle, my Lord; all tallow.
Ch. Just.
There is not a white hair on your face,
but should have his effect of gravity.
Fal.
No, my Lord, his effect of gravy, gravy, gravy* note
Ch. Just.
You follow the young Prince, up and down,
like his evil angel.
Fal.
My Lord, you that are old, consider not the
capacities of us that are young; you measure the heat
of our livers, with the bitterness of your galls; and we
that are in the† note va-ward of our youth, I must confess
are wags too.
Ch. Just.
Do you set down your name in the scrowl
of youth, that are written down old, with all the characters
of age? have you not a moist eye? a dry hand?
a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an
increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind
short? and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
and will you yet call yourself young? fy, fy, fy, Sir
John.
Fal.
My Lord, I was born about three of the clock,
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a
round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with hallowing
and singing of anthems. To approve my youth
further, I will not. The truth is, I am only old, in
judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with
me, for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money,
and have at him. For the box o'th' ear that the Prince
gave you, he gave it like a rude Prince, and you took it
like a sensible Lord. I have checkt him for it, and the
young lion repents: marry, not in ashes and sack-cloth,
but in new silk and old sack.
Ch. Just.
Well, heav'n send the Prince a better companion!
-- 11 --
Fal.
Heav'n send the companion a better Prince: I
cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just.
Well, the King hath sever'd you and Prince
Harry. I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster,
against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland* note.
Fal.
Yes, I thank your pretty sweet wit for it;
but look you, pray, all you that kiss my lady Pease
at home, that our armies join not, in a hot day;
for I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean
not to sweat extraordinarily: If it be a hot day, if I
brandish any thing but a bottle, would I might never
spit white again! There is not a dangerous action
can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it. Well,
I cannot last ever—but it was always the trick of our
English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it
too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man,
you should give me rest: I would to heav'n my name
were not so terrible to the enemy, as it is! I were better
to be eaten to death, with a rust, than to be scour'd to
nothing, with perpetual motion.
Ch. Just.
Well, be honest, be honest, and heav'n
bless your expedition!
Fal.
Will your Lordship lend me a thousand pound, to
furnish me forth?
Ch. Just.
Not a penny, not a penny; you are too
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well. Commend
me to my cousin Westmorland.
[Exeunt Chief Justice, and Servants.
Fal.
If I do, fillip me with a† note three-man-beetle.
A man can no more separate old age and covetousness,
than he can part young limbs and wantonness: but
the gout galls the one, and disease pinches the other;
and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy.
Page.
Sir.
Fal.
What money is in my purse?
-- 12 --
Page.
Seven groats, and two pence.
Fal.
I can get no remedy against this consumption of
the purse. Borrowing only lingers and lingers it out,
but the disease is incurable. Go, bear this letter to my
Lord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earl of
Westmorland, and this to old Mrs. Ursula, whom I have
weekly sworn to marry, since I perceived the first white
hair on my chin. About it; you know where to find
me. [Exit Page.] A plague of this gout, for it plays
the rogue with my great toe: it is no matter, if I do
halt, I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall
seem the more reasonable: a good wit will make use of
any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
York.
Enter Archbishop of York* note, Hastings, Thomas Mowbray (Earl Marshal), and Lord Bardolph.
York.
Thus have you heard our cause, and know our means:
Now, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes.
And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb.
I well allow th' occasion of our arms,
But gladly would be better satisfied
How in our means we should advance ourselves,
To look with forehead bold and big enough,
Upon the pow'r and puissance of the king?
Hast.
Our present musters grow upon the file,
To five and twenty thousand men of choice:
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
Bard.
The question, then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus;
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?
-- 13 --
Hast.
With him we may.
Bard.
Ay, marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far,
Till we had his assistance by the hand.
For in a theme, so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise,
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted.
York.
'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
It was young Hotspur's case, at Shrewsbury.
Bard.
It was, my Lord, who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the air, on promise of supply;
Flatt'ring himself with project of a power,
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts;
And so, with great imagination,
Proper to madmen, led his pow'rs to death,
And, winking, leap'd into destruction.
Hast.
But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt,
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
Bard.
Yes, if this present quality of war,
Impede the instant act; a cause on foot
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair,
That frosts will bite them.
Hast.
Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,
Should be still-born; and that we now possest
The utmost man of expectation:
I think we are a body strong enough,
Ev'n as we are, to equal with the King.
Bard.
What! is the King but five and twenty thousand?
Hast.
To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads; one pow'r against the French;
And one against Glendower; perforce a third
Must take up us: so is the unfirm King
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
York.
That he should draw his sev'ral strengths together,
-- 14 --
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast.
If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at his heels. Never fear that.
Bard.
Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
Hast.
The duke of Lancaster and Westmorland:
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth.
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
York.
Let us on,* note
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited.
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many! with what loud applause,
Didst thou beat heav'n with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be!
And now, being trimm'd up in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.† note
What trust in these times?
They, that when Richard liv'd, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O Earth, yield us that King again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurs'd!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Street in London.
Enter Hostess, with two officers, Fang and Snare.
Host.
Mr. Fang, have you enter'd the action?
Fang.
It is enter'd.
-- 15 --
Host.
Where's your yeoman? is he a lusty yeoman?
Will he stand to it?
Fang.
Sirrah, Snare.
Snare.
Here, here.
Fang.
Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.
Host.
Ay, good Mr. Snare, I have enter'd him and all.
Snare.
It may chance cost some of us our lives: he
will stab.
Host.
Alas-the-day! take heed of him; he cares not
what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out. He
will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
Fang.
If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
* note Host.
No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
Fang.
If I but fist him once; if he come but within
my† note vice.
Host.
I am undone by his going; I warrant you he is
an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Mr. Fang, hold
him sure; good Mr. Snare, let him not 'scape. He comes
continually to Pie-corner, saving your manhoods, to buy
a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubbar's-head,
in Lombard-street, to Mr. Smooth's the Silkman. I
pray ye, since my exion‡ note is enter'd, and my case so
openly known to the world, let him be brought in to
his answer. A hundred mark is a long loan for a poor
lone woman to bear; and I have born, and born, and
born: and have been fub'd off, and fub'd off, from this
day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on.
There is no honesty in such dealing, unless a woman
should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's
wrong. Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmsey-nose
knave&verbar2; note, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do
your offices: Mr. Fang, and Mr. Snare, do me, do me,
do me your offices.
-- 16 --
Enter Falstaff, Bardolph, and Boy.
Fal.
How now? whose mare's dead? what's the
matter?
Fang.
Sir John, I arrest you, at the suit of Mrs.
Quickly.
Fal.
Away, varlets; draw, Bardolph: cut me off the
villain's head: throw the quean in the kennel.
Host.
Throw me in the kennel? I'll throw thee in the
kennel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue.
Murder, murder! O thou honey-suckle* note villain, wilt
thou kill Heav'n's officers and the King's? O thou
honey-seed rogue, thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller,
and a woman-queller.
Fal.
Keep them off, Bardolph.
Fang.
A rescue, a rescue!
Host.
Good people, bring a rescue or two; thou
wo't, wo't thou; thou wo't, wo't thou, rogue; do, thou
hempseed.
Fal.
Away, you scullion, you rampallian† note, you fustilarian:
I'll tickle your catastrophe.
SCENE V.
Enter Chief Justice, and Servants.
Ch. Just.
What's the matter? keep the peace here,
hoa.
Host.
Good my Lord, be good to me. I beseech you,
stand to me.
Ch. Just.
How now, Sir John? what, are you
brawling here?
Does this become your place, your time, and business?
You should have been well on your way to York.
Stand from him, fellow, wherefore hang'st thou on him?
Host.
O my most worshipful Lord, an't please your
Grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested
at my suit.
-- 17 --
Ch. Just.
For what sum?
Host.
It is more than for some, my Lord, it is for all,
all I have; he hath eaten me out of house and home;
he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his.
Ch. Just.
How comes this, Sir John? fy, what man
of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?
are you not asham'd, to inforce a poor widow to
so rough a course to come by her own?
Fal.
What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
Host.
* noteMarry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and
the money, too. Thou didst swear to me on a parcel-gilt-goblet,
sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round
table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday in Whitsun-week,
when the Prince broke thy head for likening him to a
singing-man of Windsor; thou didst swear to me then, as
I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me
my Lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife
Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then, and call me
gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar;
telling us she had a good dish of prawns, whereby thou
didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee, they were ill
for a green wound: And didst not thou, when she was
gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity
with such poor people, saying that ere long they
should call me Madam? And didst thou not kiss me, and
bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to
thy book-oath; deny it if thou canst.
Fal.
My Lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says,
up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you.
She hath been in good case; and the truth is, poverty
hath distracted her; but for these foolish officers, I beseech
you, I may have redress against them.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted
with your manner of wrenching the true cause, the false
way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of
words, that come with such more than impudent sawciness
from you, can thrust me from a level consideration.
-- 18 --
I know you have practis'd upon the easy-yielding spirit
of this woman—
Host.
Yes, in troth, my Lord.
Ch. Just.
Pr'ythee, peace; pay her the debt you owe
her, and unpay the villainy you have done her: the one
you may do with sterling money, and the other with
current repentance.
Fal.
My Lord, I will not undergo this rebuke, without
reply. You call honourable boldness impudent
sawciness: If a man will court'sy, and say nothing, he
is virtuous. No, my Lord, my humble duty remember'd,
I will not be your suitor; I say to you, I desire
deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment
in the King's affairs.
Ch. Just.
You speak, as having power to do wrong:
but clear your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman.
Fal.
Come hither, Hostess.
[They go aside.
SCENE VI.
Enter Mr. Gower.
Ch. Just.
Master Gower, what news?
Gower.
The King, my Lord, and Henry Prince of
Wales, are at hand: the rest the paper tells.
Fal.
As I am a gentleman—
[To Hostess.
Host.
Nay, you said so before.
Fal.
As I am a gentleman—come, no more words of
it.
Host.
By this heav'nly ground I tread on, I must be
fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my dining-chambers.
Fal.
Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy
walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal,
or the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand
of these bed-hangings, and these fly-bitten tapestries:
let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, if it
were not for thy humours, there is not a better wench
in England. Go, wash thy face, and withdraw thy action:
come, thou must not be in this humour with me; come,
I know thou wast set on to this.
-- 19 --
Host.
Pr'ythee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles;
I am loth to pawn my plate, in good earnest, la.
Fal.
Let it alone, I'll make other shift; you'll be a
fool still.
Host.
Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown.
I hope you'll come to supper: you'll pay me all together.
Fal.
Will I live? go with her, with her; hook on,
hook on.
Host.
Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you, at
supper?
Fal.
No more words. Let's have her.
[Exeunt Hostess, Serjeant, &c.
Ch. Just.
I have heard better news.
Fal.
What's the news, my good Lord?
Ch. Just.
Where lay the King, last night?
Gower.
At Basingstoke, my Lord.
Fal.
I hope, my Lord, all's well. What is the news,
my Lord?
Ch. Just.
Come all his forces back?
Gower.
No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.
Fal.
Comes the King back from Wales, my noble
Lord?
Ch. Just.
You shall have letters of me, presently.
Come, go along with me, good Mr. Gower.
Fal.
Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to
dinner?
Gower.
I must wait upon my good Lord here,
I thank you, good Sir John.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, you loiter here too long, being
you are to take soldiers up in the countries, as you go.
Fal.
I fly, master Gower!
[Exeunt.* note
-- 20 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Another Street of London.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins* note.
Prince Henry.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poins.
Is it come to that? I had thought weariness
durst not have attack'd one of so high blood.
P. Henry.
It doth me, though it discolours the complexion
of my greatness to acknowledge it.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have labour'd so
hard, you should talk so idly! tell me how many good
young Princes should do so, their fathers lying so sick as
yours is.
P. Henry.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Poins.
Yes, and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Henry.
It shall serve, among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.
Poins.
Go to.
P. Henry.
Why I tell thee, it is not meet that I should
be sad, now my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee,
(as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my
friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed, too.
Poins.
Very hardly, upon such a subject.
P. Henry.
Thou think'st me as far in the devil's book,
as thou and Falstaff. Let the end try the man. But I
tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is
sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath
in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
-- 21 --
P. Henry.
What would'st thou think of me, if I should
weep?
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
P. Henry.
It would be every man's thought; and thou
art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never
a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way
better than thine; every man would think me an hypocrite,
indeed. And what excites your most worshipful
thought to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have seemed so lewd, and
so much ingrafted to Falstaff.
P. Henry.
And to thee.
Poins.
Nay by this light I am well spoken of, I can
hear it with mine own ears; the worst they can say of
me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper
fellow of my hands: and those two things, I confess, I
cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph.
P. Henry.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff; he had
him from me christian, and see if the fat villain have
not transform'd him ape.
SCENE II.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard.
Save your Grace!
P. Henry.
And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Poins.
Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool,
wherefore blush you, now? what a maidenly man at
arms are you become!
Page.
He call'd me even now, my Lord, through a
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from
the window; at last I spy'd his eyes, and methought
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new red petticoat,
and peep'd through.
P. Henry.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whorson upright rabbit, away.
Page.
Away, you rascally Hecuba's dream, away.
P. Henry.
Instruct us, boy, what dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my Lord, Hecuba dream'd she was deliver'd
of a firebrand, and therefore I call him her
dream.
-- 22 --
P. Henry.
A crown's-worth of good interpretation;
there it is, boy.
[Gives him money.
Poins.
O that this good blossom could be kept from
cankers! well, there is six-pence to preserve thee.
Bard.
If you do not make him be hang'd among you,
the gallows shall be wrong'd.
P. Henry.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my good Lord; he heard of your Grace's
coming to town; there's a letter for you.
P. Henry.
Deliver'd with good respect; and how doth
the Martlemas, your master* note?
Bard.
In bodily health, Sir.
Poins.
Marry the immortal part needs a physician; but
that moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not.
P. Henry.
I do allow this† note wen to be as familiar with
me, as my dog; and look you how he writes.
Poins. reads.
Sir John Falstaff, knight—every man
must know that, as oft as he hath occasion to name
himself: even like those that are kin to the King, for
they never prick their finger, but they say there is some
of the King's blood spilt. How comes that? says he
that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as
ready as a borrower's cap; I am the King's poor cousin,
Sir.
P. Henry.
Nay, they will be kin to us, but they
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter.
Poins.
Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the King
nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting. Why
this is a certificate.
P. Henry.
Peace. Read on.
Poins.
I will imitate the honourable Romans, in brevity.
Sure he means brevity in breath; short-winded. I
commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be
not too familiar with Poins, for he misuses thy favours
so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell.
Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewel. Thine,
by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thou usest
-- 23 --
him. Jack Falstaff with my familiars: John with my
brothers and sisters: and Sir John with all Europe* note.
My Lord, I will steep this latter in sack, and make him
eat it.
P. Henry.
That's to make him eat plenty of his
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry
your sister?
Poins.
May the wench have no worse fortune! But I
never said so.
P. Henry.
Well, thus we play the fool with the time,
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us:
is your master here in London?
Bard.
Yes, my Lord.
P. Henry.
Where sups he?
Bard.
At the old place, my Lord, in East-cheap.
P. Henry.
What company?
Page.
Ephesians, my Lord, of the old church.
P. Henry.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my Lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and
Mrs. Doll Tear-sheet.
P. Henry.
What Pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.
P. Henry.
Even such kin, as the parish heifers are
to† note the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at
supper?
Poins.
I am your shadow, my Lord: I'll follow you.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word
to your master that I am yet come to town. There's
for your silence.
Bard.
I have no tongue, Sir.
Page.
And for mine, Sir, I will govern it.
P. Henry.
Fare ye well: go. [Exit Bard. and Page.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself, to-night, in
his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?
Poins.
Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table, like drawers.
-- 24 --
P. Henry.
From a Prince to a prentice! a low transformation;
that shall be mine: for in every thing, the
purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
[Exeunt.* note
SCENE III.
A Tavern.
Enter Hostess and Doll.
Host.
Sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent
good temperality; your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily
as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant
you, is as red as any nose: but you have drank too much
canary, and that's a marvellous searching wine; and it
perfumes the blood, ere we can say what's this? How
do you, now?
Dol.
Better than I was: hem.
-- 25 --
Host.
Why, that was well said: a good heart's worth
gold. Look, here comes Sir John.
SCENE IV.
Enter Falstaff, and Page.
Fal.
When Arthur first in court—fill a cup of sack
—and was a worthy King: how now, Mrs. Doll?
Host.
Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.
Fal.
So is all her sex, if they be once in a calm, they
are sick.
Doll.
You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you
give me?
Fal.
You make fat rascals, Mrs. Doll.
Doll.
I make them! gluttony and diseases make them,
I make them not.
Fal.
If the cook make the gluttony, you help to make
the diseases, Doll; we catch of you, Doll, we catch of
you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that.
Doll.
Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!
Host.
By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two
never meet, but you fall to some discord; you are both,
in good troth, as rheumatick as two dry toasts, you cannot
one bear with another's confirmities. What the
good-year? one must bear, and that must be you: you
are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel.
[To Doll* note.
Doll.
Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full
hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux
stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk better stuft
in the hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou
art going to the wars, and whether I shall ever see thee
again or no, there is nobody cares.
-- 26 --
SCENE V.
Enter Page.
Page.
Sir, ancient Pistol is below, and would speak
with you.
Doll.
Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come
hither; it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.
Host.
If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by
my faith: I must live amongst my neighbours, I'll no
swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the very
best: shut the door, there comes no swaggerers here:
I have not liv'd all this while, to have swaggering now;
shut the door, I pray you.
Fal.
Dost thou hear, hostess—
Host.
Pray you pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes
no swaggerers here.
Fal.
Dost thou hear—it is mine ancient.
Host.
* noteTilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me, your ancient
swaggerers comes not in my doors. I was before
master Tisick the deputy, the other day; and as he
said to me—it was no longer ago than Wednesday last—
Neighbour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil;
for saith he, you are in an ill name: now he said so, I
can tell whereupon; for, says he, you are an honest
woman, and well thought on, therefore take heed what
guests you receive: receive, says he, no swaggering
companions—There comes none here. You would bless
you to hear what he said. No, I'll no swaggerers.
Fal.
He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'
faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppey-greyhound;
he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her
feathers turn back, in any shew of resistance. Call him
up, boy.
[Exit Page.
Host.
Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man
my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering;
I am the worse when one says swagger; feel,
masters, how I shake, look you, I warrant you.
-- 27 --
Doll.
So you do, hostess.
Host.
Do I? yea, in very truth do I, as if it were an
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.
SCENE VI.
* noteEnter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.
Pist.
Save you, Sir John.
Fal.
Welcome, antient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge
you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine
hostess.
Pist.
I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two
bullets.
Fal.
She is pistol proof, Sir, you shall hardly offend
her.
Host.
Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: I
will drink no more than will do me good, for no man's
pleasure, I.
Pist.
Then to you, Mistress Dorothy, I will charge
you.
Doll.
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion!
what? you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
mate; away, you mouldy rogue, away: I am meat for
your master.
Pist.
I know you, mistress Dorothy.
Doll.
Away, you cut-purse bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt
stale jugler you. Since when, I pray you, Sir?
Pist.
I will murder your head-gear for this.
[They fight.
Host.
No, good captain Pistol: not here, sweet captain.
Doll.
Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, art
thou not asham'd to be call'd captain? if captains were
of my mind, they would truncheon you out of taking
-- 28 --
their names upon you, before you have earn'd them.
You a captain! you slave! for what?
Bard.
Pray thee go down, good antient.
Pist.
Not I: I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph, I
could tear her: I'll be reveng'd on her.
Page.
Pray thee go down.
Pist.
I'll see her damn'd first, to Pluto's damned lake,
to the infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures vile also.
Hold hook and line, I say: down! down, dogs; down,
fates: have we not Hiren here?
Host.
Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late: I
beseech you now, aggravate your choler.
Pist.
These be good humours, indeed. Shall packhorses
And hollow-pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cæsars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar:
Shall we fall foul for toys* note?
Host.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter
words.
Bard.
Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a
brawl, anon.
Pist.
Die men like dogs: give crowns like pins: have
we not Hiren here?
Host.
On my word, captain, there's none such here.
What the good-year? do you think I would deny her? I
pray be quiet.
Pist.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come,
give me some sack. Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me
contenta.
Fear we broad sides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack:
Fal.
Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist.
Sweet knight, I kiss thy† note neif: what! we have
seen the seven stars.
-- 29 --
Doll.
Thrust him down stairs, I cannot endure such a
fustian rascal.
Pist.
Thrust him down stairs! know we not galloway
nags* note?
Fal.
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he
shall be nothing here.
Bard.
Come, get you down stairs.
Pist.
What shall we have incision? shall we embrew?
then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days: why
then let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds, untwine the
sisters three: come, Atropos, I say.
[Drawing his sword.
Fal.
Give me my rapier, boy.
Doll.
I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down stairs.
[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.
A rascal! to brave me!
Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal, bragging slave! the
rogue fled from me, like quick-silver† note.
Doll.
I'faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church.
ah! Jack, Jack, when wilt thou leave fighting, and
patch up thine old body for heaven?
SCENE VII.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins, disguis'd.
Fal.
Peace, good Doll, do not speak like a death's-head;
do not bid me remember of mine end.
Doll.
Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?
Fal.
A good shallow young fellow: he would have
made a good pantler, he would have chipp'd bread
well.
Doll.
They say, Poins hath a good wit.
Fal.
He a good wit? hang him, baboon, his wit is as
thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in
him, than is in a mallet.
-- 30 --
Doll.
Why doth the Prince love him so, then?
Fal.
Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he
plays at quoits well, and jumps upon joint stools, and
swears with a good grace, and wears his boot very
smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and such other
gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and
an able body, for the which the Prince admires him;
for the Prince himself is such another: the weight of
an hair, will turn the scales between their Averdupois.
P. Henry.
Would not this nave of a wheel have his
ears cut off* note?
Poins.
Let us beat him before his whore.
P. Henry.
Look, if the wither'd elder hath not his
poll claw'd, like a parrot.
Poins.
Is it not strange that desire should so many
years out-live performance?
Fal.
Kiss me, Doll† note.
P. Henry.
Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction!
what says the almanack to that?
Poins.
And look, whether the fiery Trigon his man,
be not lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book,
his counsel-keeper?
Fal.
Thou dost give me flattering busses.
Doll.
By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant
heart.
Fal.
I am old, Doll, I am old.
Doll.
I love thee better than I do e'er a scurvy young
boy of them all.
Fal.
What stuff wilt thou have a gown of? I shall
receive money, on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap, tomorrow.
A merry song, come: it grows late, we will
to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I am gone.
Doll.
By my troth, thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou
say'st so: prove that ever I drest myself handsome till
thy return.—Well, hearken the end.
-- 31 --
Fal.
Some sack, Francis.
P. Henry. Poins.
Anon, anon, Sir.
Fal.
Ha! a bastard son of the King's! and art not
thou Poins, his brother?
P. Henry.
Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what
a life dost thou lead?
Fal.
A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou
art a drawer.
P. Henry.
Very true, Sir; and I am come to draw
you out by the ears.
Host.
Oh, the Lord preserve thy good Grace! Welcome
to London. Now heav'n bless that sweet face of
thine! what, are you come from Wales?
Fal.
Thou whorson-mad compound of Majesty, by
this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
[Leaning his hand upon Doll.
Dol.
How! you fat fool? I scorn you.
Poins.
My Lord, he will drive you out of your revenge,
and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the
heat.
P. Henry.
You whorson candle-mine you, how vilely
did you speak of me, even now, before this honest, virtuous,
civil gentlewoman?
Host.
Blessing on your good heart! and so she is, by
my troth.
Fal.
Didst thou hear me?
P. Henry.
Yes; and you knew me as you did when
you ran away by Gads-hill, you knew I was at your
back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.
Fal.
No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast
within hearing.
P. Henry.
I shall drive you then to confess the wilful
abuse, and then I know how to handle you.
Fal.
No abuse, Hal; on my honour, no abuse.
P. Henry.
Not to call me pantler, and bread-chipper,
and I know not what?
Fal.
No abuse, Hal.
Poins.
No abuse!
Fal.
No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none.
I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked
-- 32 --
might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I have
done the part of a careful friend, and true subject, and
thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal.
None, Ned, none; no, boys, none.* note
P. Henry.
See now, whether pure fear and intire
cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman,
to close with us? is she of the wicked? is
thine hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy of the
twicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
nose, of the wicked?
Poins.
Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
[A knocking.
Host.
Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door
there, Francis.
[Exit Bard.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Peto.
P. Henry.
Peto, how now? what news?
Peto.
The king your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the North; and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
P. Henry.
By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time;
Give me my sword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.
Fal.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night,
and we must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking.]
More knocking at the door? how now? what's the
matter?
Enter Bardolph.
Bard.
You must away to court, Sir, presently; a dozen
captains stay at door for you.
Fal.
Farewel, Hostess; farewel, Doll. You see, my
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after; the
undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is
-- 33 --
called on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not sent
away post, I will see you again, ere I go.
Dol.
I cannot speak, if my heart be not ready to burst
—well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
Fal.
Farewel, farewel.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.
Host.
Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these
twenty-nine years, come pescod-time; but an honester
and truer-hearted man—well, fare thee well.
Bard.
Mrs. Tear-sheet.
(Within.)
Host.
What's the matter?
Bard.
Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master.
Host.
O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.
[Exeunt.* note
note
ACT III.* [Footnote:
SCENE I.
A hall in Justice Shallow's house.
† noteEnter Shallow and Silence, Justices.
Shallow.
Come on, come on, come on; give me your
hand, Sir; an early stirrer, by the‡ note rood. And
how doth my good cousin Silence?
Sil.
Good-morrow, good cousin Shallow.
Shal.
And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow?
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter
Ellen?
Sil.
Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.
Shal.
By yea and nay, Sir; I dare say my cousin
William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still;
is he not?
-- 34 --
Sil.
Indeed, Sir, to my cost.
Shal.
He must then to the inns of court, shortly: I
was once of Clement's-inn; where, I think, they will
talk of mad Shallow yet.
Sil.
You were call'd lusty Shallow then, cousin.
Shal.
I was call'd any thing, and I would have done
any thing, indeed, too; and roundly too. There was I,
and little John Dott of Staffordshire, and black George
Bure, and Francis Pickbone, and Will. Squeele, a Cot'swold
man, you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the
inns of court again; and I may say to you, we knew
where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them
all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff (now
Sir John) a boy and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk.
Sil.
This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon,
about soldiers?
Shal.
The same Sir John, the very same: I saw him
break Schoggan's head, at the court gate, when he was a
crack, not thus high; and the very same day I did fight
with one Samson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays-inn.
O the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many
of mine old acquaintance are dead!
Sil.
We shall all follow, cousin.
Shal.
Certain, 'tis certain, very sure, very sure; death
(as the Psalmist saith) is certain to all; all shall die. How
a good yoke of bullocks, at Stamford fair?
Sil.
Truly, cousin, I was not there.
Shal.
Death is certain. Is old Double of your town
living yet?
Sil.
Dead, Sir.
Shal.
Dead! see, see—he drew a good bow: and
dead? he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him
well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! he
would have clapt in the clowt at twelve score* note, and
carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and
a half, that it would have a man's heart good to see.
How a score of ewes, now?† note
-- 35 --
Sil.
Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may
be worth ten pounds.
Shal.
And is old Double dead?
SCENE II.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Sil.
Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as I
think.
Shal.
Good-morrow, honest gentlemen.
Bard.
I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?
Shal.
I am Robert Shallow, Sir, a poor Esquire of this
county, one of the King's Justices of the peace: what
is your good pleasure with me?
Bard.
My captain, Sir, commends him to you: my
captain, Sir John Falstaff; a tall gentleman, by heav'n!
and a most gallant leader.
Shal.
He greets me well. Sir, I knew him a good
back-sword man. How doth the good knight? may I
ask how my lady his wife doth?
Bard.
Sir, pardon, a soldier is better accommodated
than with a wife.
Shal.
It is well said, Sir; and it is well said, indeed,
too: better accommodated—it is good, yea indeed is
it; good phrases surely are, and ever were, very commendable.
Accommodated—it comes of accommodo;
very good, a good phrase.
Bard.
Pardon me, Sir, I have heard the word. Phrase,
call you it? by this day, I know not the phrase: but I
will maintain the word, with my sword, to be a soldier-like
word, and a word of exceeding good command.
Accommodated, that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated;
or, when a man is, being whereby he
may be thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing* note.
-- 36 --
SCENE III.
Enter Falstaff.
Shal.
It is very just: look, here comes good Sir John.
Give me your hand, give me your worship's good hand:
trust me, you look well, and bear your years very well.
Welcome, good Sir John.
Fal.
I am glad to see you well, good master Robert
Shallow: master Sure-card; as I think?
Shal.
No, Sir John, it is my cousin Silence; in commission
with me.
Fal.
Good master Silence, it well befits you should be
of the peace.
Sil.
Your good worship is welcome.
Fal.
Fy, this is hot weather, gentlemen; have you
provided me here half a dozen of sufficient men?
Shal.
Marry have we, Sir: will you sit?
Fal.
Let me see them, I beseech you.
Shal.
Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's
the roll? let me see, let me see, let me see: so, so, so,
so: yea, marry, Sir. Ralph Mouldy: let them appear
as I call: let them do so, let them do so. Let me see,
where is Mouldy?
Enter Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, Wart, and Shadow.
Moul.
Here, if it please you.
Shal.
What think you, Sir John? a good limb'd fellow:
young, strong, and of good friends.
Fal.
Is thy name Mouldy?
Moul.
Yea, if it please you.
Fal.
'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha; most excellent, i'faith. Things
that are mouldy, lack use: very singular good. Well
said, Sir John, very well said.
Fal.
Prick him.
Moul.
I was prickt well enough before, if you could
have let me alone: my old dame will be undone, now,
for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery; you
-- 37 --
need not to have prickt me, there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
* note Fal.
Go to: peace, Mouldy, you shall go, Mouldy;
it is time you were spent.
Moul.
Spent?
Shal.
Peace, fellow, peace: stand aside: know you
where you are? For the other, Sir John—Let me see:
Simon Shadow.
Fal.
Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: he's
like to be a cold soldier.
Shal.
Where's Shadow?
Shad.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Shadow, whose son art thou?
Shad.
My mother's son, Sir.
Fal.
Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy father's
shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow
of the male: it is often so, indeed.
Shal.
Do you like him, Sir John?
Fal.
Shadow will serve for a summer! prick him; for
we have a number of shadows to fill up the musterbook.
Shal.
Thomas Wart.
Fal.
Where's he?
Wart.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Is thy name Wart?
Wart.
Yea, Sir.
Fal.
Thou art a very ragged wart.
Shal.
Shall I prick him down, Sir John?
Fal.
It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon
his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins:
prick him no more.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha, you can do it, Sir; you can do it:
I commend you well. Francis Feeble.
Feeble.
Here, Sir.
Shal.
What trade art thou, Feeble?
Feeble.
A woman's tailor, Sir.
-- 38 --
Shal.
Shall I prick him, Sir?
Fal.
You may: but if he had been a man's tailor, he
would have prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes
in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a woman's
petticoat?
Feeble.
I will do my good will, Sir; you can have no
more.
Fal.
Well said, good woman's tailor; well said, courageous
Feeble: thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful
dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's
tailor well, master Shallow; deep master Shallow.
Feeble.
I would Wart might have gone, Sir.
Fal.
I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot
put him to be a private soldier, that is the leader of so
many thousands. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
Feeble.
It shall suffice.
Fal.
I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is
the next?
Shal.
Peter Bulcalf of the green.
Fal.
Yea, marry, let us see Bulcalf.
Bul.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Trust me, a likely fellow. Come, prick me
Bulcalf, till he roar again.
Bul.
Oh, good my Lord Captain.
Fal.
What, dost thou roar before thou'rt prick'd?
Bul.
Oh, Sir, I am a diseased man.
Fal.
What disease hast thou?
Bul.
A whorson cold, Sir; a cough, Sir, which I
caught with ringing in the King's affairs, upon his
coronation day, Sir.* note
Fal.
Come, thou shalt go to the wars, in a gown: we
will have away thy cold; and I will take such order, that
thy friends shall ring for thee. Is here all?
Shal.
There is two more called than your number,
you must have but four here, Sir; and so, I pray you,
go in with me to dinner.
-- 39 --
Fal.
Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth,
master Shallow.
Shal.
O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay
all night in the windmill, in Saint George's-fields?
Fal.
No more of that, good master Shallow, no more
of that.
Shal.
Ha! it was a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork
alive?
Fal.
She lives, master Shallow.
Shal.
She never could away with me.
Fal.
Never, never: she would always say, she could
not abide master Shallow.
Shal.
By the mass, I could anger her to the heart:
she was then a Bona-Roba. Doth she hold her own well?
Fal.
Old, old, master Shallow.
Shal.
Nay, she must be old, she cannot chuse but be
old; certain she's old, and had Robin Night-work by old
Night-work, before I came to Clement's-inn.
Sil.
That's fifty-five years ago.
Shal.
Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that
that this Knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I
well?
Fal.
We have heard the chimes at midnight, master
Shallow.
Shal.
That we have, that we have, in faith, Sir John, we
have: our watch-word was, Hem, boys. Come, let's to
dinner; oh the days that we have seen! come, come.
Bul.
Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my friend,
and here is four Harry ten shillings, in French crowns,
for you: in very truth, Sir, I had as lief be hang'd,
Sir, as go; and yet, for mine own part, Sir, I do not care,
but rather because I am unwilling, and for mine own
part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, Sir,
I did not care for mine own part so much.
[Aside to Bard.
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Mould.
And, good master corporal captain, for my old
dame's sake, stand my friend: she hath nobody to do
any thing about her, when I am gone; and she's old and
cannot help herself: you shall have forty, Sir.
-- 40 --
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Feeble.
I care not; a man can die but once; we owe
heav'n a death, I will never bear a base mind: if it be
my destiny, so; if it be not, so. No man is too good
to serve his prince; and let it go which way it will, he
that dies this year, is quit for the next.
Bard.
Well said; thou art a good fellow.
Feeble.
'Faith, I will bear no base mind.
Fal.
Come, Sir, which men shall I have?
Shal.
Four of which you please.
Bard.
Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to
free Mouldy and Bulcalf.
Fal.
Go to; well.
Shal.
Come, Sir John, which four will you have?
Fal.
Do you chuse for me.
Shal.
Marry then, Mouldy, Bulcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.
Fal.
Mouldy and Bulcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at
home till you are past service: and for your part, Bulcalf,
grow till you come unto it: I will none of you.
Shal.
Sir John, Sir John, do not your self wrong:
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd
with the best.
Fal.
Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to chuse
a man? care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature,
bulk, and big semblance of a man? Give me the spirit,
master Shallow. Here's Wart, you see what a ragged
appearance it is: he shall charge you and discharge you
with the motion of a pewterer's hammer. And this
same half-fac'd fellow Shadow, give me this man, he
presents no mark to the enemy; the foe-man may with as
great aim level at the edge of a penknife: and, for a retreat,
how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor,
run off. O, give me the spare men, and spare me the
great ones. Put me a musket into Feeble's hand, Bardolph.
Bard.
Hold, Feeble, traverse; thus, thus.
Fal.
Come, manage me your caliver: so, very well,
go to, very good, exceeding good. Well said, Feeble,
thou art a good scab; hold, there's a tester for thee.
-- 41 --
Shal.
He is not his craft-master, he doth not do it
right. I remember, at Mile-end Green, when I lay at
Clement's-inn; I was then Sir Dagonet; in Arthur's show,
there was a little quiver fellow, and he would manage
you his piece, thus; and he would about, and about,
and come you in, and come you in: rah, tah, tah,
would he say: bounce, would he say, and away again
would he go, and again would he come: I shall never
see such a fellow.
Fal.
These fellows will do well. Master Shallow,
heav'n keep you; farewel, master Silence. I will not use
many words with you; fare you well, gentlemen both.
I thank you, I must a dozen mile, to-night. Bardolph,
give the soldiers coats.
Shal.
Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your affairs,
and send us peace! As you return, visit my house.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peradventure I
will with you to the court.
Fal.
I would you would, master Shallow.
Shal.
Go to: I have spoke at a word. Fare you well.
[Exeunt Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Fare you well, gentlemen. On, Bardolph; lead
the men away [Exeunt Bardolph and Recruits].
* note I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. How
subject we old men are to this vice of lying! this same
starv'd Justice hath done nothing but prated to me of
the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done
about Turnbal-street; and every third word a lye, more
duly paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do
remember him at Clement's-inn, like a man made after
supper of a cheese-paring. When he was naked, he
was for all the world like a forked radish, with a head
fantastically carved upon it with a knife. He was so
forlorn, that his dimensions, to any thick sight were
invisible. He was the very Genius of famine, yet
letcherous as a monkey, and the whores call'd him
-- 42 --
Mandrake: he came ever in the rereward of the fashion,
and sung those tunes that he heard the carmen whistle,
and sware they were his Fancies, or his Good-nights.
And now is this* note vice's dagger become a Squire; and
now hath he land and beeves. Well, I will be acquainted
with him, if I return; and it shall go hard,
but I will make him a philosopher's stone to me. If
the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason,
in the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let
time shape, and there's an end.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
An open Country, in Yorkshire.
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and Colevile, meeting Westmorland.† note
West.
Health and fair greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.
York.
Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace:
What doth concern your coming?
West.
Then, my Lord,
Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, goaded with rage,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary;
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend Father, and these noble Lords,
Had not been here to dress the ugly form,
Of base and bloody insurrection,
With your fair honours. You, my Lord Archbishop,
-- 43 --
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd;* note
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?
York.
Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.
Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd,
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours,
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it: of which disease
Our late King Richard, being infected, dy'd.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmorland,
I take not on me here as a physician,
Nor do I as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men:
Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to shew in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
We are deny'd access unto his person,
Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong† note.
West.
When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely General,
To know your griefs, to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
-- 44 --
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb.
Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley.
West.
That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.
York.
Then take, my Lord of Westmorland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances:
Each several article herein redress'd,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form;
And present executions of our wills,
To us, and to our purposes confin'd;
We come within our awful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
West.
This will I shew the General. Please you, Lords,
In sight of both our battles, we may meet
And either end in peace; which heav'n so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords,
Which must decide it.
York.
My Lord, we will do so.
[Exit West.
SCENE V.
Mowb.
There is a thing within my bosom tells me,
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast.
Fear you not that: if we can make our peace,
Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall insist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb.
Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That ev'ry slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action.
York.
No, no, my Lord, note this; the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
-- 45 --
That plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
Hast.
Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his pow'r, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.
York.
'Tis very true:
And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my Lord of Westmorland.
Enter Westmorland.
West.
The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your Lordship
To meet his Grace, just distance 'tween our armies?
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Bosworth Field.
A Parley of Drums and Trumpets.
Enter York, Mowbray, Hastings, &c. meeting Westmorland, and Prince John of Lancaster.
Lan.
You're well encounterd here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, my gentle Lord Archbishop,
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, I grieve to see you here.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sun-shine of his favour,
Would he abuse the count'nance of the King,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
It is ev'n so. Are you not, my Lord,
To us, the Speaker in his Parliament:
To us, th' imagin'd voice of Heav'n itself;
-- 46 --
The very opener and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heav'n,
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the rev'rence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n,
As a false favourite doth his Prince's name,
In deeds dishon'rable? You've taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of heav'n,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And both against the peace of heav'n and him,
Have here upswarm'd them.
York.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my Lord of Westmorland,
The time mis-order'd doth in common sense
Croud us and crush us to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court:
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,
With grant of our most just and right desire;
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
Stoop tamely to the foot of Majesty.
Mowb.
If not, we ready are to try our fortunes,
To the last man.
Hast.
And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt:
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them.
And so success of mischief shall be borne,
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
While England shall have generation.
Lan.
You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
West.
Pleaseth your Grace, to answer them directly,
How far forth you do like their articles?
Lan.
I like them all, and do allow them well:
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
-- 47 --
My Lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my life they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your pow'rs into their several counties,
As we will ours; and here between the armies
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love and amity. Some wine.
York.
I take your Princely word, for these redresses.
Lan.
I give it you; and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
[Drinks.
Hast.
Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part:
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain.
[Exit Colevile.
York.
To you, my noble Lord of Westmorland.
[Drinks.
West.
I pledge your Grace: and if you knew what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
Shall shew itself more openly, hereafter.
York.
I do not doubt you.
West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord and gentle cousin Mowbray.
Mowb.
You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.
York.
Against ill chances men are ever merry,
But heaviness fore-runs the good event.
Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowb.
So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
[A Shout.
Lan.
The word of peace is render'd; hark! they shout.
Mowb.
This had been chearful, after victory.
York.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither party loser* note.
-- 48 --
Lan.
Go, my Lord.
And let our army be discharged too;
[Exit West.
And good my Lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.
York.
Go, good Lord Hastings:
And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
[Exit Hastings.
SCENE VII
Enter Westmorland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
West.
The leaders having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
Lan.
They know their duties well.
[A Shout.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast.
My Lord, our army is dispers'd, already:
Like youthful steers unyok'd they took their course,
East, west, north, south: or, like a school broke up,
Each hurries towards his home and sporting-place.
West.
Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:
And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray;
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Enter Guards.
Mowb.
Is this proceeding just and honourable?
York.
Will you thus break your faith?
Lan.
* note I pawn'd you none:
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain: which by mine honour
I will perform with a most christian care.
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
-- 49 --
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray,
Heav'n and not we have safely fought, to-day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Falstaff and Colevile.
Fal.
What's your name, Sir? of what condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?
Cole.
I am a Knight, Sir: and my name is Colevile
of the dale.
Fal.
Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is
your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place; a place deep enough: so shall you
still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole.
Are you not Sir John Falstaff?
Fal.
As good a man as he, Sir, whoe'er I am: do ye
yield, Sir, or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat, they
are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole.
I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmorland.
Lan.
The heat is past, follow no farther now,
Call in the pow'rs, good cousin Westmorland.
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been, all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.
Fal.
I would be sorry, my Lord, but it should be
thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the
reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow,
or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I speeded hither with the
very extremest inch of possibility. I have founder'd
ninescore and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I
am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir
-- 50 --
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious Knight, and
valorous enemy: but what of that? he saw me, and
yielded: that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow
of Rome, I came, saw, and overcame.
Lan.
It was more of his courtesy, than your deserving.
Fal.
I know not; here he is, and here I yield him;
and I beseech your Grace, let it be booked with the rest
of this day's deeds; or by the lord I will have it in a
particular ballad, else; with mine own picture on the
top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course
if I be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine
you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the element, which shew like pins heads to her; believe
not the word of the noble. Therefore let me have
right, and let desert mount.
Lan.
Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal.
Let it shine, then!
Lan.
Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal.
Let it do something, my good Lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?
Cole.
It is, my Lord.
Lan.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal.
And a famous true subject took him.
Cole.
I am, my Lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been rul'd by me,
* noteYou should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they sold themselves; but thou,
like a kind fellow, gav'st thyself away, gratis; and I
thank thee for thee.
SCENE IX.
Enter Westmorland and Soldiers.
Lan.
Now have you left pursuit?
-- 51 --
West.
Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
Lan.
Send Colevile then, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution.
[Exit Colevile, guarded.
And now dispatch we toward the court, my Lords;
I hear the King, my father, is sore sick:
Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear, to comfort him:
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal.
My Lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
through Glo'stershire; and when you come to court, pray,
stand in your good report, my Lord.
Lan.
Fare you well, Falstaff; I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
[Exit.
Fal.
I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than
your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded
boy doth not love me; a man cannot make
him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine.
There's never any of these demure boys come to any
proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind
of male green-sickness; and then when they marry,
they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards;
which some of us should be, too, but for inflammation.
A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation
in it; it ascends me into the brain, dries me there
all the foolish, dull, and crudy vapours which environ it;
makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble,
fiery, and delectable shapes; which, deliver'd o'er to the
voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent
wit. The second property of your excellent sherris, is
the warming of the blood, which before, cold and settled,
left the liver white and pale; which is the badge
of pusillanimity and cowardise; but the sherris warms
it, and makes it course from the inwards, to the parts
extreme; it illuminateth the face, which, as a beacon,
gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man,
to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty
spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart; who
great, and puft up with this retinue, doth any deed of
-- 52 --
courage: and this valour comes of sack. So that
skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack, for that sets
it a work; and learning a meer hoard of gold, kept by a
devil, till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use.
Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant; for the
cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath,
like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and
till'd, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and
good store of fertile sack, that he is become very hot
and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human
principle I would teach them, should be, to forswear thin
potations, and to addict themselves to sack.
[Exeunt.* note
ACT IV.
Scene
SCENE, the Palace.
King Henry discovered, with Lords.
King Henry.
If Humphrey my son of Glo'ster be not gone
To rest—bid him attend us.
Lord.
My Lord, I shall.
[Exit.
[The King waves his hand, and exeunt Lords.
† noteK. Henry.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects,
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle sleep,
-- 53 --
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness!
Why rather, sleep, ly'st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody.
O thou dull god! why ly'st thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry shroud,
That, with the hurley, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude?
And in the calmest, and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot;
Deny it to a King! Then, happy lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown* note.
SCENE II.
Enter Gloucester, Clarence, and Chief Justice.
Glou.
What would your Majesty?
K. Henry.
Humphry, my son of Glo'ster,
Where is the Prince your brother?
Glou.
I think he is gone to hunt, my Lord, at Windsor.
K. Henry.
And how accompanied?
-- 54 --
Glou.
I do not know, my Lord.
K. Henry.
Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him?
Glou.
No, my good Lord; he is in presence here.
Cla.
What would my Lord and father?
K. Henry.
Nothing, but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection,
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou may'st effect,
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd:
* noteHe hath a tear, for pity; and a hand.
Open as day, for melting charity:
Yet, notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden,
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper therefore must be well observ'd:
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But being moody, give him line and scope,
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood,
(Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As force—perforce, the age will pour it in)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As Aconitum, or rash gun-powder.
Cla.
I shall observe him with all care and love.
-- 55 --
K. Henry.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
Cla.
He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
K. Henry.
And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?
Cla.
With Poins, and other his continual followers.
K. Henry.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds:
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is over-spread with them; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
* noteThe blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th' unguided days,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon,
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his head-strong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
Oh, with what wings shall his affection fly
Tow'rds fronting peril and oppos'd decay?
Ch. Just.
My gracious Lord, you look beyond him, quite:
The Prince but studies his companions,
Like a strange tongue; wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd; which once attain'd,
Your Highness knows, comes to no farther use,
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his Grace must mete the lives of others;
Turning past evils to advantages.
K. Henry.
'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb,
In the dead carrion† note. Who's there? Westmorland?
-- 56 --
SCENE III.
Enter Westmorland.
West.
Health to my sovereign, and new happiness,
Added to that, which I am to deliver.
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand:
Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your law;
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
But peace puts forth her olive, ev'ry where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here at more leisure may your highness read,
With every course, in his particular.
[Gives a Letter.
K. Henry.
O Westmorland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting-up of day.
Enter Gower.
Look, here's more news.
Gower.
From enemies heav'n keep your Majesty!
And when they stand against you, may they fall,
As those that I am come to tell you of!
The Earl Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolf,
With a great pow'r of English and of Scots,
Are by the Sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
The manner and true order of the fight,
This packet, please it you, contains, at large.
[Gives a Packet.
K. Henry.
And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
She either gives a stomach, and no food;
(Such are the poor in health) or else a feast,
And takes away the stomach; such the rich;
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news.
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
O me! come near me, now I am much ill!
Glou.
Comfort your Majesty!
-- 57 --
Cla.
Oh, my royal father!
West.
Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits
Are with his Highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air: he'll soon be well.
Cla.
No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs.
West.
Speak lower, Princes; for the King recovers.
K. Henry.
I pray you take me up, and bear me to my bed:
Softly, pray.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
Unless some slow and favourable hand
Will whisper musick to my weary spirit.
West.
Call for the musick in the other room.
K. Henry.
Set me the crown upon my pillow, here.
Cla.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
West.
Less noise, less noise.
[Soft Music.
SCENE IV.
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Henry.
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
Cla.
I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
P. Henry.
How now! rain within doors, and none abroad?
How doth the King?
Glou.
Exceeding ill.
P. Henry.
Heard he the good news, yet?
Tell it him.
Glou.
He alter'd much upon the hearing it.
P. Henry.
If he be sick with joy,
He'll recover without physick.
West.
Not so much noise, my Lords; sweet Prince, speak low;
The King, your father, is dispos'd to sleep.
Glou.
Let us withdraw into the other room.
West.
Will't please your Grace to go along with us?
P. Henry.
No; I will sit, and watch here by the King.
[Exeunt all, but P. Henry.
* noteWhy doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bed-fellow?
-- 58 --
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide,
To many a watchful night: sleep with it, now!
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet,
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound,
Snores out the watch of night. O Majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious Lord! my father!
This sleep is sound, indeed; this is a sleep,
That from this golden circle hath divorc'd
So many English Kings. Thy due from me
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood,
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,
[Puts it on.
Which heav'n shall guard: and put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me.
[Exit. note
SCENE V.
Enter Gloucester, and Clarence.
K. Henry.
Gloucester! Clarence!
Glou. and Cla.
Doth the King call?
Enter Westmorland.
West.
What would your Majesty? how fares your Grace?
-- 59 --
K. Henry.
Why did you leave me here alone, my Lords?
Cla.
We left the Prince, my brother, here, my Liege;
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
K. Henry.
The Prince of Wales! where is he? let me see him.
West.
The door is open, he is gone that way.
Glou.
He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.
K. Henry.
Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?
West.
When we withdrew, my Liege, we left it here.
K. Henry.
The Prince hath ta'en it hence; go seek him out.
[They help the King to his chair.
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose
My sleep my death? Find him, my Lord of Westmorland,
And chide him hither strait [Exit Westmorland]; this part of his
Conjoins with my disease, and helps to end me.
See, sons, what things you are; how quickly nature
Falls to revolt, when gold becomes her object!
For this, the foolish, over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleeps with thought, their brains with care,
Their bones with industry: for this engross'd
The canker'd heaps of strange-atchieved gold:
For this, they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises:
When, like the bee, culling from ev'ry flow'r'
Our thighs are packt with wax, our mouths with honey* note,
We bring it to the hive, and like the bees,
Are murder'd for our pains! This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments to the dying father.
Enter Westmorland.
Now where is he, that will not stay so long,
Till his friend, sickness, hath determin'd me?
-- 60 --
West.
My Lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow,
That tyranny, which never quaft but blood,
Would by beholding him have wash'd his knife,
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Henry.
But wherefore did he take away the crown?
Enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exit West.
P. Henry.
I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Henry.
* noteThy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:
I stay too long for thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours,
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity,
Is held from falling, with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou hast stoln that, which after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my frail life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then, get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear,
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should dedew my hearse,
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head;
-- 61 --
Only compound me with forgotten dust,
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Henry the Fifth is crown'd: up, vanity!
Down, royal state!* note All you sage counsellors, hence:
And to the English court assemble now,
From ev'ry region, apes of idleness:
Now, neighbour-confines, purge you of your scum:
Have you a ruffian that will swear? drink? dance?
Revel the night? rob? murder? and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you know more:
England shall give him office, honour, might:
For the Fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom! sick with civil blows:
When that my care could not with-hold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants.
P. Henry.
O pardon me, my Liege! but for my tears,
[Kneeling.
(The moist impediments unto my speech,)
I had forstall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And he that wears the crown immortally,
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more,
Than as your honour, and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most true and inward duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending.
Heav'n witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
-- 62 --
O let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to shew the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my Liege, to think you were)
I spake unto the crown, as having sense,
And thus upbraided it—The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father,
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, Royal Liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it as with an enemy,
That had before my face murder'd my father)
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did, with the least affection of a welcome,
Give entertainment to the might of it;
Let heav'n for ever keep it from my head,
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Henry.
O my son!
Heav'n put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my side,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel,
That ever I shall breathe. Heav'n knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
I met this crown; and I myself know well
How troublesome it sate upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation:
For all the soil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear,
To be again displac'd; which to avoid
-- 63 --
I cut them off, and had a purpose now,
To lead out many to the Holy Land;
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near into my state. Therefore, my Harry.
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds,
With foreign wars; that action, hence born out,
May waste the memory of former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Henry.
My gracious Liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be;
Which I with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
K. Henry.
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
Enter Lord John of Lancaster.
Lan.
Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!
K. Henry.
Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John.
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown,
From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight,
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my Lord of Westmorland?
P. Henry.
My Lord of Westmorland.
Enter Westmorland.
K. Henry.
Doth any name particular belong
Unto the chamber where I first did swoon?
West.
'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble Lord.
K. Henry.
Laud be to heav'n! ev'n there my life must end.
It hath been prophesied to me, many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem:
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.
-- 64 --
But bear me to that chamber, there I'll lye:
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
[Exeunt* note.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Gloucestershire. A Hall in Justice Shallow's House.
* noteEnter Shallow, Silence, Falstaff, Bardolph, Page, and Davy.
Shallow.
By cock and pye, Sir, you shall not away to-night.
What! Davy, I say.
Fal.
You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.
Shal.
I will not excuse you: you shall not be excused.
Excuses shall not be admitted: there is no excuse shall
serve: you shall not be excus'd. Why, Davy.
Davy.
Here, Sir,
Shal.
Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, Davy, let me see!
William Cook, bid him come hither.—Sir John, you
shall not be excus'd,
Davy.
Marry, Sir, thus: those precepts cannot be
serv'd; and, again, Sir, shall we sow the head-land with
wheat?
Shal.
With red wheat, Davy. But for William Cook;
are there no young pidgeons?
Davy.
Yea, Sir—Here is now the smith's note for
shooing, and plow-irons.
Shal.
Let it be cast, and paid—Sir John, you shall not
be excus'd.
-- 65 --
Davy.
Sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had,
And, Sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages,
about the sack he lost, the other day, at Hinckly fair?
Shal.
He shall answer it. Some pidgeons, Davy, a
couple of short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any
pretty little tiny kickshaws: tell William Cook.
Davy.
Doth the man of war stay all night, Sir?
Shal.
Yes, Davy, I will use him well. A friend i'th'
court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men
well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite.
Davy.
No worse than they are bitten, Sir; for they
have marvellous foul linen.
Shal.
Well conceited, Davy. About thy business,
Davy.
Davy.
I beseech you, Sir, to countenance William Visor,
of Woncot, against Clement Perkes, of the hill.
Shal.
There are many complaints, Davy, against that
Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge.
Davy.
I grant your worship that he is a knave, Sir:
but yet, heav'n forbid, Sir, but a knave should have some
countenance, at his friend's request. An honest man,
Sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not.
I have serv'd your worship truly, Sir, these eight years;
and if I cannot, once or twice in a quarter, bear out a
knave against an honest man, I have but very little credit
with your worship. The knave is mine honest
friend, Sir; therefore I beseech your worship let him be
countenanc'd.
Shal.
Go to, I say he shall have no wrong: look
about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, Sir John?
come, off with your boots. Give me your hand, master
Bardolph.
Bard.
I am glad to see your worship.
Shal.
I thank thee with all my heart, kind master
Bardolph; and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the Page.]
Come, Sir John.
[Exit Shallow.
Fal.
I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow.
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exit Bard.]—If I were
saw'd into quantities, I should make four dozen of such
-- 66 --
bearded-hermit staves as master Shallow. It is a wonderful
thing to see the semblable coherence of his mens
spirits and his: they, by observing of him, do bear
themselves like foolish justices: he, by conversing with
them, is turn'd into a justice-like servingman. Their
spirits are so married in conjunction, with the participation
of society, that they flock together in consent,
like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to master
Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation
of being near their master: If to his men, I would
curry with master Shallow, that no man could better
command his servants. It is certain that either wise
bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caught, as men take
diseases one of another: therefore let men take heed
of their company. I will devise matter enough out of
this Shallow, to keep Prince Henry in continual laughter,
the wearing out of six fashions, which is four terms, or
two actions; and he shall laugh without Intervallums.
O, it is much, that a lye with a slight oath, and a jest
with a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never had
the ache in his shoulders. O, you shall see him laugh,
till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up* note.
Shal. [Within.]
Sir John.
Fal.
I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shallow.
SCENE II.
A Street in London.
Enter Hostess Quickly, Doll Tear-sheet, and Beadles.
Host.
No, thou arrant knave, I would I might die,
that I might have thee hang'd! thou hast drawn my
shoulder out of joint.
Bead.
The constables have deliver'd her over to me,
and she shall have whipping cheer enough, I warrant
her. There hath been a man or too kill'd about her.
Doll.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lye: come on; I'll
tell thee what, thou tripe-visag'd rascal, if the child
-- 67 --
I go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst
struck thy mother, thou paper-fac'd villain.
Host.
O that Sir John were come! he would make this
a bloody day to somebody.
Bead.
Come, I charge you both go with me, for the
man is dead, that you and Pistol beat among you.
Doll.
I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer;
I will have you as soundly swindg'd for this, you blue-bottle
rogue: you filthy famish'd correctioner, if you be
not swindg'd, I'll forswear half kirtles.
Bead.
Come, come, you she knight-arrant, come.
Host.
O, that right should thus o'ercome might!
Well, of sufferance comes ease.
Doll.
Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.
Host.
Yes, come, you starv'd blood-hound!
Doll.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
Host.
Thou atomy, thou!
Doll.
Come, you thin thing: come, you rascal!
Bead.
Very well.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Gloucestershire. An Orchard.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the Page, and Davy.
Shal.
Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where in an
arbour we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing,
with a dish of carraways, and so forth: come, cousin
Silence; and then to bed.
Fal.
You have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich.
Shal.
Barren, barren, barren: beggars all, beggars all,
Sir John; marry, good air. Spread, Davy; spread,
Davy; well said, Davy.
Fal.
This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your
servingman, and your husbandman.
Shal.
A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet,
Sir John. By th' mass, I have drank too much sack, at
supper. A good varlet. Not sit down, now sit down:
come, cousin.
Sil.
Ah, sirrah, quoth-a:
-- 68 --
We shall do nothing but eat and make good cheer,
[Singing.
And praise heav'n for the merry year;
When flesh is cheap, and females dear,
And lusty lads roam here and there;
So merrily, and ever among, so merrily, &c.
Fal.
There's a merry heart, good master Silence. I'll
give you a health for that, anon.
Shal.
Give Mr. Bardolph some wine, Davy.
Davy.
Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon, most
sweet sir, sit. Master Page, sit: good master Page, sit:
proface. What you want in meat, we'll have in drink;
but you must bear; the heart's all.
[Exit.
Shal.
Be merry, Mr. Bardolph; and my little soldier
there, be merry.
Sil. [Singing.]
Be merry, be merry, my wife has all,
For women are shrews, both short and tall;
'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all,
And welcome merry Shrovetide.
Be merry, be merry.
Fal.
I did not think master Silence had been a man of
this mettle.
Sil.
Who I? I have been merry, twice and once, ere
now.
Enter Davy.
Davy.
There is a dish of leather-coats for you.
Shal.
Davy.
Davy.
Your worship—I'll be with you streight.
A cup of wine, Sir?
Sil. [Singing.]
A cup of wine,
That's brisk and fine.
And drink unto the leman mine;
And a merry heart lives long-a.
Fal.
Well said, master Silence.
Sil.
If we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet of
the night.
Fal.
Health and long life to you, master Silence.
Sil.
Fill the cup, and let it come. I'll pledge you, wer't
a mile to the bottom.
-- 69 --
Shal.
Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st any
thing and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome,
my little tiny thief, and welcome, indeed, too: I'll drink
to master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes about
London.
Dav.
I hope to see London, ere I die.
Bard.
If I might see you there, Davy—
Shal.
You'll crack a quart together? ha, will you not,
master Bardolph?
Bard.
Yes, Sir, in a pottle pot.
Shal.
By God's liggens I thank thee; the knave will
stick by thee, I can assure thee that. He will not out,
he is true bred.
Bard.
And I'll stick by him, Sir.
[One knocks at the door.
Shal.
Why, there spoke a King: lack nothing, be
merry. [Exit Davy.] Look, who's at door there, ho;
who knocks?
Fal.
Why now you have done me right.
Sil. [Singing.]
Do me right, and dub me knight, Samingo.
Is't not so?
Fal.
'Tis so.
Sil.
Is't so? why then say an old man can do somewhat.
Enter Davy.
Davy.
If it please your worship, there's one Pistol,
come from the court, with news.
Fal.
From the court? let him come in.
SCENE IV.
Enter Pistol.
How now, Pistol?
Pist.
Sir John; save you, Sir.
Fal.
What wind blew you hither, Pistol?
Pist.
Not the ill wind which blows no man good,
sweet Knight: thou art now one of the greatest men
in the realm.
Sil.
Indeed I think he be, but goodman Puff of
Barson.
-- 70 --
Pist.
Puff?
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend;
And helter skelter have I rode to thee;
And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
And golden times, and happy news of price.
Fal.
I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world.
Pist.
A foutra for the world and worldlings base!
I speak of Africa, and golden joys.
Fal.
O base Assyrian Knight, what is thy news?
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.
Sil.
And Robin Hood, Scarlet and John.
Pist.
Shall dunghill curs confrout the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Fury's lap.
Shal.
Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
Pist.
Why then lament therefore.
Shal.
Give me pardon, Sir. If you come with news
from the court, I take it there is but two ways, either
to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, Sir, under
the King, in some authority.
Pist.
Under which King? Bezonian, speak or die.
Shal.
Under King Harry.
Pist.
Harry the Fourth? or Fifth?
Shal.
Harry the Fourth.
Pist.
A foutra for thine office!
Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King,
Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth.
When Pistol lies, do this, and fig me, like
The bragging Spaniard.
Fal.
What! is the old King dead?
Pist.
As nail in door: the things I speak are just.
Fal.
Away, Bardolph, saddle my horse; master Robert
Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land,
'tis thine. Pistol, I will double charge thee with dignities.
Bard.
O joyful day! I would not take a knighthood
for my fortune.
Pist.
What? I do bring good news?
-- 71 --
Fal.
Carry master Silence to bed: master Shallow, my
Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's steward.
Get on thy boots, we'll ride all night. Oh, sweet Pistol!
away Bardolph: come, Pistol, utter more to me; and
withal devise something to do thyself good. Boot,
boot, master Shallow. I know the young King is sick
for me. Let us take any man's horses: the laws of England
are at my commandment. Happy are they which
have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief
Justice!
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
An Anti-chamber in the Palace.
Enter Westmorland, meeting Lord Chief Justice.
West.
How now, my Lord Chief Justice, whither away?
Ch. Just.
How doth the King?
West.
Exceeding well: his cares are now all ended.
Ch. Just.
I hope not dead.
West.
He's walk'd the way of nature,
And to our purposes he lives no more.
Ch. Just.
I would his Majesty had call'd me with him;
The service that I truly did his life,
Hath left me open to all injuries.
West.
Indeed I think the young King loves you not.
Ch. Just.
I know he doth not, and do arm myself,
To welcome the condition of the time,
Which cannot look more hideous on me,
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.
West.
Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry:
O, that the living Harry had the temper,
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen!
How many nobles then should hold their places,
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Gloucester, and Clarence.
Ch. Just.
Alas, I fear all will be overturn'd.
Lan.
Good-morrow, cousin Westmorland.
-- 72 --
Glou.
Good morrow, cousin.
O, good my Lord, you've lost a friend, indeed.
And I dare swear you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow: it is sure your own.
Lan.
Tho' no man be assur'd what grace to find,
You stand in coldest expectation.
I am the sorrier: would 'twere otherwise!
Cla.
Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair,
Which swims against your stream of quality.
Ch. Just.
Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour,
Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul;
And never shall you see that I will beg
A ragged and forestall'd remission.
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
I'll to the King my master that is dead,
And tell him who hath sent me after him.
West.
Here comes the King.
SCENE VI.
Enter Prince Henry.
Ch. Just.
Heav'n save your Majesty!
P. Henry.
This new and gorgeous garment, Majesty,
Sits not so easy on me, as you think.
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear:
This is the English, not the Turkish court;
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
But Harry, Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you:
Sorrow so royally in you appears,
That I will deeply put the fashion on,
And wear it in my heart. Why then be sad;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
Than a joint-burthen laid upon us all.
For me, by heav'n, I bid you be assur'd,
I'll be your father, and your brother too:
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares:
Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I.
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears
By number into hours of happiness.
-- 73 --
Lan. &c.
We hope no other from your Majesty.
P. Henry.
You all look strangely on me; and you most.
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.
[To the Chief Justice.
Ch. Just.
I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
P. Henry.
No! might a Prince of my great hopes, forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison,
Th' immediate heir of England! was this easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten?
* noteCh. Just.
I then did use the person of your father
The image of his power lay then in me:
And in th' administration of his law,
While I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your Highness pleased to forget my place;
The majesty and pow'r of law and justice,
The image of the King whom I presented;
And struck me in the very seat of judgment:
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority,
And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son;
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd;
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted;
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd:
And then imagine me taking your part,
And in your pow'r soft silencing your son.
After this cold consid'rance, sentence me;
And as you are a King, speak in your state,
What I have done that misbecame my place,
My person, or my Liege's sovereignty.
-- 74 --
P. Henry.
You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well,
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword:
And I do wish your honours may increase,
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did:
You committed me;
For which I do commit into your hand,
Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear,
With this remembrance that you use the same,
With the like bold, just and impartial spirit,
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand
You shall be as a father to my youth:
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear.
Now call we our high courts of parliament,
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
That the great body of our state may go,
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
That war or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us,
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
[To Lord Chief Justice.
Our coronation done, we will accite
(As I before remember'd) all our state,
And (heav'n consigning to my good intents)
No Prince, no peer, shall have just cause to say,
Heav'n shorten Harry's happy life one day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
A Street in London.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph and Page.
Fal.
Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow, I will
make the King do you grace; I will leer upon him as
he comes by, and do but mark the countenance that he
will give me.
Pist.
Bless thy lungs, good Knight.
Fal.
Come here, Pistol, stand behind me. O, if I
had had time to have made new liveries, I would have
bestow'd the thousand pounds I borrow'd of you; but
-- 75 --
it is no matter, this poor shew doth better: this doth
infer the zeal I had to see him.
Shal.
It doth so.
Fal.
It shews my earnestness of affection.
Pist.
It doth so.
Fal.
My devotion.
Pist.
It doth, it doth, it doth.
Fal.
As it were, to ride day and night, and not to
deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to
shift me.
Shal.
It is most certain.
Fal.
But to stand stained with travel, and sweating
with desire to see him, thinking of nothing else, putting
all affairs in oblivion, as if there were nothing else
but to see him.
Pist.
'Tis semper idem; for absque hoc nihil est. 'Tis
all in every part.
Shal.
'Tis so, indeed.
Pist.
My Knight, I will enflame thy noble liver, and
make thee rage.
Thy Doll and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
Is in base durance and contagious prison;
Haul'd thither by mechanick dirty hands.
Rouze up Revenge from ebon den, with fell Alecto's snake,
For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.
Fal.
I will deliver her.
Pistol.
There roar'd the sea; and trumpet-clangour
sounds.
SCENE VIII.
The Trumpets sound. Enter the King and his train.
Fal.
Heav'n save thy Grace, King Hal, my royal Hal!
Pist.
The heav'ns thee guard and keep, most royal
imp of fame!
Fal.
Heav'n save thee, my sweet boy!
King.
My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.
Ch. Just.
Have you your wits? know you what 'tis you speak?
-- 76 --
Fal.
My King, my Jove, I speak to thee, my heart.
King.
* noteI know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers:
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane;
But being awake, I do despise my dream.
Know, the grave doth gape
For thee, thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest,
Presume not that I am the thing I was:
For heav'n doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self,
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots;
Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my mis-leaders,
Not to come near our person, by ten miles.
For competence of life, I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
And as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strength and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be't your charge, my Lord,
To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
Set on.
[Trumpets sound. Exit King, &c.
SCENE IX.
Fal.
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.
Shal.
Ah marry, Sir John, which I beseech you to
let me have home with me.
Fal.
That can hardly be, Mr. Shallow. Do not you
grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to him:
-- 77 --
look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear not
your advancement. I will be the man yet that shall
make you great.
Shal.
I cannot perceive how, unless you give me
your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I beseech
you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred of my
thousand.
Fal.
Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that
you heard was but a colour.
Shal.
A colour, I fear, that you will die in, Sir John.
Fal.
Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: come,
lieutenant, Pistol; come Bardolph. I shall be sent for
soon at night.
Enter Chief Justice, and Prince John, &c.
Ch. Just.
Go carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet.
Take all his company along with him.
Fal.
My Lord, my Lord.
Ch. Just.
I cannot now speak, I will hear you soon.
Take them away.
Pist.
Si fortuna me tormento, spera me contento.
[Exeunt.
Manent Lancaster and Chief Justice.
Lan.
I like this fair proceeding of the King's.
He hath intent his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for;
But they are banish'd, till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.
Ch. Just.
And so they are.
Lan.
The King hath call'd his parliament, my Lord.
Ch. Just.
He hath.
Lan.
* noteI will lay odds, that ere this year expire,
We bear our civil swords and native fire,
-- 78 --
As far as France. I heard a bird so sing,
Whose musick, to my thinking, pleas'd the King.
[Exeunt.
