Introductory matter

Dramatis Personæ. King Henry the Fourth. Prince Henry. Prince John of Lancaster. Humphry of Gloucester [Prince Humphrey of Gloucester]. Thomas of Clarence [Thomas]. Northumberland [Earl of Northumberland], against the King. The Archbishop of York [Scroop], against the King. Mowbray [Lord Mowbray], against the King. Hastings [Lord Hastings], against the King. Lord Bardolph, against the King. Travers, against the King. Morton, against the King. Colevile [Sir John Colville], against the King. Warwick [Earl of Warwick], of the King's Party. Westmorland [Earl of Westmoreland], of the King's Party. Surrey [Earl of Surrey], of the King's Party. Gower, of the King's Party. Harcourt, of the King's Party. Lord Chief Justice, of the King's Party. Falstaff [Sir John Falstaff], Poins, Bardolph, Pistol, Peto, and Page. Shallow, Country Justice. Silence, Country Justice. Davy, Servant to Shallow. Phang [Fang], a Serjeant. Snare, a Serjeant. Mouldy, Country Soldier. Shadow, Country Soldier. Wart, Country Soldier. Feeble, Country Soldier. Bulcalf [Bullcalf], Country Soldier. Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. Hostess Quickly [Mrs. Quickly]. Doll Tear-sheet [Doll Tearsheet]. Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c. [Porter], [Servant], [Drawer 1], [Drawer 2], [Drawer], [Messenger], [Beadle], [Groom 1], [Groom 2] ^note

5 ^noteThe Second Part of HENRY IV^{6 note}.

INDUCTION. ^{1 note}Enter Rumour, ^{2 note}painted full of Tongues.
Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The Vent of Hearing, when loud Rumour speaks?
I from the Orient to the drooping West,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce;
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of Peace, while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;
And who but Rumour, who but only, I,
Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other griefs,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant War,
And no such matter? Rumour^{3 note} is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures;
And, of so easy and so plain a stop,
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus

My well-known body to anatomize
Among my houshold? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hot-spur and his troops;
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Ev'n with the Rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the Wrath of noble Hot-spur's sword;
And that the King before the Dowglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns,
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury,
And this worm-eaten Hold of ragged stone;^{4 note}

Where Hot-spur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty sick. The Posts come tiring on;
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me. From Rumour's tongues,
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit.

ACT I. SCENE I. Northumberland's Castle. Enter Lord Bardolph; the Porter at the door.

Bardolph.
Who keeps the gate here, hoa? where is the Earl?

Port.
What shall I say you are?

Bard.
Tell thou the Earl,

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Port.
His lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard;
Please it your Honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer. Enter Northumberland.

Bard.
Here's the Earl.

North.
What news, lord Bardolph? ev'ry minute now
Should be the ^{7 note}father of some stratagem.
The times are wild: Contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

Bard.
Noble Earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

North.
Good, if heav'n will!

Bard.
As good as heart can wish.
The King is almost wounded to the death:
And in the fortune of my lord your Son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas; young Prince John,
And Westmorland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not till now, to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes!

North.
How is this deriv'd?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

Bard.
I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred, and of good name;
That freely render'd me these news for true.

North.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bard.
My lord, I over-rode him on the way,
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More than he, haply, may retail from me. SCENE II. Enter Travers.

North.
Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?

Tra.
My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost fore-spent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse;
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that Rebellion had ill luck;
And that young Harry Percy's Spur was cold:
With that he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his agile heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the ^{8 note}rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North.
Ha?—again—
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Rebellion had ill luck?

Bard.
My lord, I'll tell you;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a ^{9 note}silken point
I'll give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it.

North.
Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers,
Give then such instances of loss?

Bard.
Who he?
He was ^{1 note}some hilding fellow, that had stoll'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spake at adventure. Look, here comes more news. SCENE III. Enter Morton.

North.
Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretels the nature of a tragick volume.
So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?

Mort.
I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble Lord,
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest Mask
To fright our Party.

North.
How doth my son, and Brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, ^{2 note}so woe-be-gone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd,
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would'st say: your Son did thus, and thus;
Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas:
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;

But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with brother, son, and all are dead!

Mort.
Dowglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for my lord your son—

North.
Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath.
He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other's eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, speak,
Tell thou thy Earl, his Divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet Disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

Mort.
You are too Great, to be by me gainsaid:
^{3 note}Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North.
^{4 note}

Thou shak'st thy head, and ^{5 note}hold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak a truth. ^{6 note}If he be slain, say so.
The tongue offends not, that reports his death;
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard.
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

Mort.
I'm sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which, I would to heav'n, I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence, with life, he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his Camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;
^{7 note}

Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing, that's heavy in its self,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hot-spur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Wor'ster
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Dowglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain th' appearance of the King,
'Gan^{8 note} vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is, that the King hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy Pow'r to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmorland. This is the news at full.

North.
For this, I shall have time enough to mourn;
In poison there is physick, and this news,
That would, had I been well, have made me sick,
Being sick, hath in some measure made me well.
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle^{9 note} under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now inrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice crutch;

A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand. And hence, thou sickly quoif,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
^{1 note}

Bard.
^{3 note}This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord!
Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

Mort.
The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
^{4 note}

And summ'd th' account of chance, before you said,
Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop;
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er;
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable
Of wounds and scars; and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;
Yet did you say, Go forth. And none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than That being, which was like to be?

Bard.
We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew, that we ventur'd on such dang'rous seas,
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one;
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd,
Choak'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'er-set, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

Mort.
'Tis more than time; and my most noble lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth:
^{5 note}The gentle Arch-bishop of York is up
With well-appointed Powers. He is a man,
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord, your son, had only but the corps,
But shadows, and the shews of men to fight;
For that same word, Rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls,

And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls,
This word, Rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now, the Bishop
Turns Insurrection to Religion;
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind,
And doth enlarge his Rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his cause;
Tells them, he doth ^{6 note}bestride a bleeding land
Gasping for life, under great Bolingbroke,
And more, and less, do flock to follow him.

North.
I knew of this before, but to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me, and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety and revenge.
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never so few, nor never yet more need. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to a Street in London. Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler.

Fal.

Sirrah, you, giant! what says the doctor to my water?

Page.

He said, Sir, the water it self was a good healthy water. But for the party that own'd it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal.

Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me.

The brain of this foolish-compounded-clay, Man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in my self, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why, then I have no judgment. Thou whorson mandrake^{7 note}, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. ^{8 note}

Page.

He said, Sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph; he would not take his bond and yours, he lik'd not the security.

Fal.

Let him be damn'd like the Glutton, may his tongue be hotter. A whorson Achitophel, a rascally yea-forsooth-knave, to bear a gentleman in^{1 note} hand, and then stand upon security.—The whorson-smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up^{2 note}, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satten, as I am a true Knight, and he sends me Security. Well, he may sleep in security, for he hath the horn of abundance. And ^{3 note}the lightness of his wife shines through it, and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph?

Page.

He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horse.

Fal.

^{4 note}I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield. If I could get me but a wife in the Stews, I were mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.

SCENE V. Enter Chief Justice, and Servants.

Page.

Sir, here comes the Nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him, about Bardolph.

Fal.

Wait close, I will not see him.

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 not 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 knight-hood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so.

Serv.

I pray you, Sir, then set your knight-hood and your soldiership aside, and give me leave to tell you, you 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, hang me, if thou tak'st leave, thou wert better be hang'd. You * ^notehunt-counter, hence; avaunt.

Serv.

Sir, my lord would speak with you.

Ch. Just.

Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

Fal.

My good lord! God 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 fallen into this same whorson apoplexy.

Ch. Just.

Well, heav'n mend him! I pray, let me speak with you.

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 fallen into that disease: for you hear not what I say to you.

Fal.

^{5 note}

please you, it is the disease of not list'ning, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

Ch. Just.

To punish you by the heels, would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become 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 some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple it self.

Ch. Just.

I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come 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 is great.

Fal.

I would it were otherwise; I would, my means were greater, and my waste slenderer.

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.^{6 note}

Ch. Just.

Well, I'm 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 o'er-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.

Ch. Just.

What? you are as a candle, the better part burnt out.

Fal.

^{7 note}A wassel candle, my lord; all tallow; but if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth.

Ch. Just.

There is not a white hair on your face, but should have his effect of gravity.

Fal.

His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.—

Ch. Just.

You follow the young Prince up and down, like his^{8 note} ill angel.

Fal.

Not so, my lord, your angel is light: but I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without weighing; and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go; I cannot* ^note tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these^{9 note} coster-mongers' days, that true valour is turned bear-herd; pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings; all the other

gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a goose-berry. 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 vaward 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? your chin double? ^{1 note}your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? fie, fie, fie, 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!

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.

Fal.

Yes, I thank your pretty sweet wit for it; but look you, pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, 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 yet 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 God, 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.

Fal.

If I do, fillip me with ^{8 note}a three man beetle— A man can no more separate age and covetousness, than he can part young limbs and letchery; but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other, and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy,—

Page.

Sir?

Fal.

What money is in my purse?

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 Westmoreland, 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. A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one, or t'other, 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.