SCENE I.
The archdeacon of Bangor's house in Wales.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, lord Mortimer, and Owen Glendower.
Mor.
These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our 2 note
induction full of prosperous hope.
-- 347 --
Hot.
Lord Mortimer,—and cousin Glendower,—
Will you sit down?—
And, uncle Worcester:—A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.
Glend.
No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur:
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and, with
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven.
Hot.
And you in hell, as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glend.
I cannot blame him: 3 noteat my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets4 note
note house in Bishopsgate street.” Again, in the Stately
Moral of the Three Lords of London, 1590:
“Watches in armour, triumphs, cresset-lights.”
The cresset-lights were lights fixed on a moveable frame or cross,
like a turnstile, and were carried on poles, in processions. I
have seen them represented in an ancient print from Van Velde.
Steevens.
; and, at my birth,
The frame and the foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot.
Why, so it would have done
-- 348 --
At the same season, if your mother's cat
Had but kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Glend.
I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot.
And I say, the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.
Glend.
The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
Hot.
O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
5 noteDiseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth6 note
, and topples down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.
Glend.
Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again,—that, at my birth,
-- 349 --
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.9Q0692
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do shew,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living9Q0693,—clipp'd in with the sea,
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,—
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
Or hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hot.
I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh:—
I will to dinner.
Mort.
Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
Glend.
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot.
Why, so can I; or so can any man:
But will they come, when you do call for them?
Glend.
Why, I can teach thee, cousin, to command
The devil.
Hot.
And I can teach thee, cousin, to shame the devil,
By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.—
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil.
Mort.
Come, come,
No more of this unprofitable chat.
Glend.
Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
Against my power: thrice, from the banks of Wye,
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him,9Q0694
Booteless home7 note, and weather-beaten back.
-- 350 --
Hot.
Home without boots, and in foul weather too!
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?
Glend.
Come, here's the map; Shall we divide our right,
According to our three-fold order taken?
Mort.
The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits, very equally:
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,9Q0695
By south and east, is to my part assign'd:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower:—and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed interchangeably,
(A business that this night may execute)
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your father, and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:—
Within that space, you may have drawn together
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
[To Glendower.
Glend.
A shorter time shall send me to you, lords,
And in my conduct shall your ladies come:
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave;
For there will be a world of water shed,
Upon the parting of your wives and you.
Hot.
Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here,9Q0696
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See, how this river comes me cranking in8 note
,
-- 351 --
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle9 note
out.
I'll have the current in this place damn'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glend.
Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it doth.
Mort.
Yea, but mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up
With like advantage on the other side;
Gelding the opposed continent as much,
As on the other side it takes from you.
Wor.
Yea, but a little charge will trench him here,
And on this north side win this cape of land;
And then he runs straight and even.
Hot.
I'll have it so; a little charge will do it.
Glend.
I will not have it alter'd.
Hot.
Will not you?
Glend.
No, nor you shall not.
Hot.
Who shall say me nay?
Glend.
Why, that will I.
Hot.
Let me not understand you then,
Speak it in Welsh.
Glend.
I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
-- 352 --
For I was train'd up in the English court1 note:
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty, lovely well,
And gave 2 notethe tongue a helpful ornament;
A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hot.
Marry, and I'm glad on't with all my heart;9Q0697
I had rather be a kitten, and cry—mew,
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers:
I had rather hear 3 note
a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
And that would nothing set my teeth on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend.
Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot.
I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?
Glend.
The moon shines fair, you may away by night:
-- 353 --
4 note
(I'll haste the writer) and, withal,
Break with your wives of your departure hence:
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer.
[Exit.
Mort.
Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
Hot.
I cannot chuse: sometimes he angers me,
With telling me 5 note
of the moldwarp and the ant,
Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies;
And of a dragon, and a finless fish,
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff6 note
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,—
He held me last night at the least nine hours,
In reckoning up the several devils' names7 note,
-- 354 --
That were his lacqueys: I cry'd, hum,—and well,—go to,—
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious
As is a tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house:—I had rather live
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far;
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom.
Mort.
In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and 8 note
profited
In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,
And wond'rous affable; and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive,
Might so have tempted him, as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Wor.
In faith, my lord, you are 9 note
too wilful-blame;
And, since your coming hither, have done enough
To put him quite beside his patience.
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
Though sometimes it shew greatness, courage, blood,
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you)
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
-- 355 --
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain:
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
Beguiling them of commendation.
Hot.
Well, I am school'd; Good manners be your speed!
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Re-enter Glendower, with the ladies.
Mort.
This is the deadly spight that angers me,—
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend.
My daughter weeps; she will not part with you,
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Mort.
Good father, tell her,—she, and my aunt Percy,
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.
Glend.
She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry, one
That no persuasion can do good upon.
[Lady speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.
Mort.
I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens,
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
In such a parly should I answer thee.
[The lady again in Welsh.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
'Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glend.
Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[The lady speaks again in Welsh.
-- 356 --
Mort.
O, I am ignorance itself in this1 note
.
Glend.
She bids you,
2 note
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
3 note
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
4 noteMaking such difference betwixt wake and sleep,
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Mort.
With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing:
By that time will 5 noteour book, I think, be drawn.
Glend.
Do so;
6 note
And those musicians that shall play to you,
-- 357 --
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
Yet straight they shall be here9Q0699: sit, and attend.
Hot.
Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:
Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy
lap.
Lady.
Go, ye giddy goose.
[The music plays.
Hot.
Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh;
And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous.
By'r-lady, he's a good musician.
Lady.
Then should you be nothing but musical; for
you are altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still,
ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.
Hot.
I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in
Irish.
Lady.
Would'st have thy head broken?
Hot.
No.
Lady.
Then be still.
Hot.
7 note
Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.9Q0700
Lady.
Now God help thee!
Hot.
To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady.
What's that?
-- 358 --
Hot.
Peace! she sings.
[Here the lady sings a Welsh song.
Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.
Lady.
Not mine, in good sooth.
Hot.
Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear
like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth;
and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mend me;
and, As sure as day: and givest such sarcenet surety
for thy oaths, as if thou never walk'dst further than
Finsbury8 note.
Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth,
And such protests of pepper ginger-bread9 note,
To 1 note
velvet guards, and sunday-citizens.9Q0701
Come, sing.
-- 359 --
Lady.
I will not sing.
Hot.
2 note
'Tis the next way to turn tailor9Q0702, or be
Red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn,
I'll away within these two hours; and so come in when
ye will.
[Exit.
Glend.
Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as slow,
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this, our book3 note is drawn; we will but seal,
And then to horse immediately.
Mort.
With all my heart.
[Exeunt.
-- 360 --
SCENE II.
The presence-chamber in Windsor.
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lords, and others.
K. Henry.
Lords, give us leave; the prince of Wales and I,
Must have some private conference: But be near
At hand, for we shall presently have need of you.—
[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it so,
4 noteFor some displeasing service I have done,
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me:
But thou dost, 5 notein thy passages of life,
Make me believe,—that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate, and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, 9 note
such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,
-- 361 --
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
P. Henry.
So please your majesty, I would, I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
7 noteYet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,—
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,—
By smiling pick-thanks8 note
and base news-mongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
K. Henry.
Heaven pardon thee!—yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost9 note,
Which by thy younger brother is supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
-- 362 --
Had still kept 1 noteloyal to possession;
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at:
That men would tell their children, This is he;
Others would say,—Where? which is Bolingbroke?
2 note
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dress'd myself in such humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom, but sumptuous, shewed like a feast;
And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters, and 3 note
rash bavin wits,
-- 363 --
Soon kindled, and soon burnt: 4 note
carded his state;
Mingled his royalty with carping fools5 note
;
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
-- 364 --
6 noteAnd gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gybing boys, and stand the push
7 note
Of every beardless vain comparative:
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity8 note:
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,9Q0704
They surfeited with honey; and began
To loath the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes,
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes:
But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries;
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou:
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege,
With vile participation; not an eye
-- 365 --
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
P. Henry.
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
Be more myself.
K. Henry.
For all the world,
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And even as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
9 note
He hath more worthy interest to the state,
Than thou, the shadow of succession:
For, of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm;
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on,
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority,
And military title capital,
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ?
Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing cloaths,
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
-- 366 --
The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate1 note against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and 2 notedearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough,—through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,—
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels, and curt'sy at his frowns,
To shew how much thou art degenerate.
P. Henry.
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
And heaven forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
3 note
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
-- 367 --
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
K. Henry.
A hundred thousand rebels die in this:—
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein.
Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt.
So is the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word4 note,—
-- 368 --
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met,
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.
K. Henry.
The earl of Westmoreland set forth today;
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old:—
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward:
On Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The Boar's-head tavern in East-cheap.
Enter Falstaff, and Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle?
why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose
gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well,
I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some
liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I
shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten
what the inside of a church is made of, I am a
-- 369 --
pepper-corn, 5 note
a brewer's horse; the inside of a
church9Q0705:—Company, villainous company, hath been
the spoil of me.
Bard.
Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live
long.
Fal.
Why, there is it:—come, sing me a bawdy
song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given,
as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore
little; dic'd, not above seven times a week; went to a
bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter—of an
hour; paid money that I borrow'd, three or four times;
liv'd well, and in good compass: and now I live out
of all order, out of all compass.
Bard.
Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you
must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable
compass, sir John.
Fal.
Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my
life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lanthorn
in the poop,—but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art
6 note
the knight of the burning lamp.
-- 370 --
Bard.
Why, sir John, my face does you no harm.
Fal.
No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it
as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento
mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire,
and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his
robes, burning, burning.—If thou wert any way
given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath
should be, By this fire7 note: but thou art altogether given
over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face,
the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill
in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think
thou had'st been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire,
there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual
triumph, an everlasting bonfire light! Thou hast saved
me a thousand marks in links and torches8 note
, walking
with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but
the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought
-- 371 --
me lights as 9 note
good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in
Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours
with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven
reward me for it!
Bard.
'Sblood, I would my face were in your
belly!
Fal.
God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.
Enter Hostess.
How now, 1 notedame Partlet the hen? have you enquir'd
yet, who pick'd my pocket?
-- 372 --
Host.
Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John?
Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have
search'd, I have enquir'd, so has my husband, man by
man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a
hair was never lost in my house before.
Fal.
You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shav'd, and lost
many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was pick'd:
Go to, you are a woman, go.
Host.
Who I? I defy thee: I was never call'd so in
mine own house before.
Fal.
Go to, I know you well enough.
Host.
No, sir John; you do not know me, sir
John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money,
sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me
of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.
Fal.
Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them
away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters
of them.
Host.
Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir
John, for your diet, and by-drinkings; and money
lent you, four and twenty pounds.
Fal.
He had his part of it; let him pay.
Host.
He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
Fal.
How! poor? look upon his face; 2 noteWhat call
you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his
cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make
3 note
a younker of me? 4 note
shall I not take mine ease in
-- 373 --
mine inn, but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I
have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty
mark.
Host.
O, I have heard the prince tell him, I know
not how oft, that the ring was copper.
Fal.
How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and,
-- 374 --
if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he
would say so.
Enter Prince Henry, and Poins, marching; and Falstaff meets them, playing on his truncheon, like a fife.
Fal.
How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith?
must we all march?
Bard.
Yea, two and two, 5 noteNewgate-fashion.
Host.
My lord, I pray you, hear me.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou, mistress Quickly? How
does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest
man.
Host.
Good my lord, hear me.
Fal.
Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou, Jack?
Fal.
The other night I fell asleep here behind the
arras, and had my pocket pick'd: this house is
turn'd bawdy-house, they pick pockets.
P. Henry.
What didst thou lose, Jack?
Fal.
Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four
bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my
grandfather's.
P. Henry.
A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
Host.
So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard
your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most
vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is; and
said, he would cudgel you.
P. Henry.
What! he did not?
Host.
There's neither faith, truth, nor woman-hood
in me else.
Fal.
6 note
There's no more faith in thee than in a stew'd
-- 375 --
prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in 7 note
a drawn
fox; and for woman-hood, 8 note
maid Marian may be the
deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go.
-- 376 --
Host.
Say, what thing? what thing?
Fal.
What thing? why, a thing to thank God on.
-- 377 --
Host.
I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou
should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife: and,
setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call
me so.
Fal.
Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast
to say otherwise.
Host.
Say, what beast, thou knave thou?
Fal.
What beast? why, an otter.
P. Henry.
An otter, sir John? why an otter?
-- 378 --
Fal.
Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh9 note; a man
knows not where to have her.
Host.
Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou
or any man knows where to have me, thou knave
thou!
P. Henry.
Thou say'st true, hostess; and he slanders
thee most grossly.
Host.
So he doth you, my lord; and said this other
day, you ought him a thousand pound.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal.
A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love
is worth a million; thou ow'st me thy love.
Host.
Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and said,
he would cudgel you.
Fal.
Did I, Bardolph?
Bard.
Indeed, sir John, you said so.
Fal.
Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.
P. Henry.
I say, 'tis copper: Dar'st thou be as
good as thy word now?
Fal.
Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but
man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as
I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.
P. Henry.
And why not, as the lion?
Fal.
The king himself is to be fear'd as the lion:
Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father?
nay, an if I do, let my girdle break!9Q0706
P. Henry.
O, if it should, how would thy guts fall
about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith,
truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is all fill'd
up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman
with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent,
1 noteimboss'd rascal, if there were any thing in
-- 379 --
thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of
bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy
to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket
were enrich'd with any other injuries but these2 note, I
am a villain. 3 noteAnd yet you will stand to it; you
will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not asham'd?
Fal.
Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st, in the
state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor
Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest,
I have more flesh than another man; and therefore
more frailty.—You confess then, you pick'd my
pocket?
P. Henry.
It appears so by the story.
Fal.
Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast;
love thy husband, look to thy servants, and
cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any
honest reason: thou seest, I am pacify'd.—Still?—Nay,
I pr'ythee, be gone.
[Exit Hostess.
Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery,
lad,—How is that answer'd?
P. Henry.
O my sweet beef, I must still be good
angel to thee:—The money is paid back again.
Fal.
O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double
labour.
P. Henry.
I am good friends with my father, and
may do any thing.
Fal.
Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou
do'st, and 4 note
do it with unwash'd hands too.
-- 380 --
Bard.
Do, my lord.
P. Henry.
I have procur'd thee, Jack, a charge of
foot.
Fal.
I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I
find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of
two and twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided.
Well, God be thanked for these rebels,
they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I
praise them.
P. Henry.
Bardolph,—
Bard.
My lord.
P. Henry.
Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster,
My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland.—
Go, 5 note
Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I,
Have thirty miles to ride ere dinner-time.—
Jack,
Meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall
At two o'clock i'the afternoon:
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
Money, and order for their furniture.
The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either they, or we, must lower lie.
[Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bard.
Fal.
Rare words! brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast; come:—
O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum!
[Exit.
-- 381 --
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
