Persons Represented.
King Henry the Fourth.Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards King, King Henry the Fourth's son.
John, duke of Bedford [Prince John of Lancaster], King Henry the Fourth's son.
Humphrey, duke of Gloster [Prince Humphrey of Gloucester], King Henry the Fourth's son.
Thomas duke of Clarence King Henry the Fourth's son.
Earl of Northumberland, against the king.
Scroop, Archbishop of York, against the king.
Lord Mowbray, against the king.
Lord Hastings, against the king.
Lord Bardolph, against the king.
Sir John Colevile [Sir John Colville], against the king.
Travers, against the king.
Morton, against the king.
Earl of Warwick, of the king's party.
Earl of Westmoreland, 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, and Silence, country justices.
Davy, servant to Shallow.
Phang [Fang]and Snare, two serjeants.
Mouldy, recruit.
Shadow, recruit.
Wart, recruit.
Feeble, recruit.
Bullcalf, recruit.
Lady Northumberland.Lady Percy.Hostess Quickly [Mrs. Quickly].Doll Tear-sheet [Doll Tearsheet].Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c.[Rumour], [Porter], [Servant], [Drawer 1], [Drawer 2], [Drawer], [Beadle], [Groom 1], [Groom 2], [Dancer]SCENE, England.
1 note
Rum.
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 grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? 3noteRumour 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 Hotspur, and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even 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 Hotspur's sword;
And that the king before the Douglas' 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
4note
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
-- --
Where Hotspur'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, at Warkworth.The Porter at the gate; Enter lord Bardolph.
Bard.
Who keeps the gate here, ho?—Where is the earl?
Port.
What shall I say you are?
Bard.
Tell thou the earl,
That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
-- 442 --
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 comes the earl.
North.
What news, lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the 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, an heaven 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 Douglas: young prince John,
And Westmoreland, 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.
-- 443 --
Enter Travers.
North.
Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?
Tra.
My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent2note
with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloody'd horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his 3notearmed heels
Against the panting sides of his 4note
poor jade
Up to the 5noterowel-head; and, starting so,
6note
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
-- 444 --
Staying no longer question.
North.
Ha!—Again.
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur7note
, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?
Bard.
My lord, I'll tell you what;—
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a 8notesilken point
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
North.
Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers,
Give then such instances of loss?
Bard.
Who, he?
He was 9notesome hilding fellow, that had stol'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spoke at adventure. Look, here comes more news. Enter Morton.
North.
Yea, this man's brow, 1notelike to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragick volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.—
Say, Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mort.
I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
-- 445 --
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, 2note
so woe-begone,
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 would'st thou 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.
Douglas 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,
-- 446 --
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
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:
3noteYour spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thou shak'st thy head; and 5notehold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak a truth. 6noteIf he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead;
-- 447 --
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,9Q0719
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.
Bard.
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mort.
I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen:
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance7note
, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Harry 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:
8note
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
-- 448 --
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 itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur'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 Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
9note
'Gan 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 power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North.
For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physick; and these news
Having been well, that would have made me sick9Q0720,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
-- 449 --
Like strengthless hinges, 1notebuckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves9Q0721: 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
2note
The rugged'st hour that time and spight dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
3noteAnd darkness be the burier of the dead!
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.
5note
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said,—
Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
That, in the dole of blows6note
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 capable9Q0722
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 befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
-- 451 --
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 dangerous 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,—
7noteThe gentle archbishop 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 heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
8noteTells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
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, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.SCENE II.A street in London.Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his page bearing his sword and buckler.
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 myself, 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
3notemandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap,
than to wait at my heels. 4note
I was never mann'd with
-- 454 --
an agate 'till now: but I will neither set you in gold
nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again
to your master, for a jewel; 5note
the juvenal, the prince
your master, whose chin is not yet fledg'd. I will
sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand,
than he shall get one on his cheek; yet he will not
stick to say, his face is a face-royal. Heaven may
finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: 6note
he
may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall
never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing,
as if he had writ man ever since his father was a
batchelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is
almost out of mine, I can assure him.—What said
master Dombledon7note about the sattin for my short
cloak, and slops?
-- 455 --
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 whoreson Achitophel! a rascally
yea-forsooth knave! 8note
to bear a gentleman in hand,
and then stand upon security!—The whoreson smooth-pates
do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
bunches of keys at their girdles; and 9note
if a man is thorough
with them in honest taking up, then they must
stand upon—security. I had as lief they would put
ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security.
I look'd he should have sent me two and twenty yards
of sattin, 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 1note
the lightness of his wife
-- 456 --
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.
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! Is there
not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the
king lack subjects? do not the rebels want 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
-- 458 --
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 get'st any leave of
me, hang me; if thou tak'st leave, thou wert better
be hang'd: You 4note
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!—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 whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just.
Well, heaven 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 whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just.
What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
-- 459 --
Fal.
It hath its original from much grief; from
study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read the
cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just.
I think, you are fallen into the disease;
for you hear not what I say to you.
Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not listening, 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 itself.
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 advised by my learned counsel
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.
-- 460 --
Fal.
I would it were otherwise; I would my means
were greater, and my waist 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 6note
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 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.
7noteA 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.
You follow the young prince up and
down, like his ill angel.
-- 461 --
Fal.
Not so, my lord; your ill 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, 9noteI cannot tell: Virtue is of so little
regard 1note
in these coster-monger times, that true valour
is turn'd bear-herd: Pregnancy2note 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 gooseberry.
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
your wit single? and every
part about you blasted with antiquity?4note
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'the ear
that the prince gave you,—he gave it like a rude
prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have
check'd 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, heaven send the prince a better
companion!
Fal.
Heaven 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.
-- 463 --
Fal.
Yea; 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,
an I brandish any thing but my bottle, 5note
I 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: 6noteBut it was always
yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good
thing, to make it too common. If you 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 heaven
bless your expedition!
Fal.
Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound,
to furnish me forth?
you are too
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend
me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exit.
-- 464 --
Fal.
If I do, fillip me with 8notea three-man beetle.9Q0728—
A man can no more separate age and covetousness,
than he can part young limbs and lechery: but the
gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and
so both the degrees prevent9note 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 mistress Ursula,
whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceiv'd
the first white hair on my chin: About it; you know
where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout!
or, a gout of this pox! for the one, or the 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 commodity1note
.
[Exit.
-- 465 --
SCENE III.The archbishop of York's palace.Enter the archbishop of York, lord Hastings, Thomas Mowbray (earl marshal) and lord Bardolph.
York.
Thus have you heard our cause, and know our means;
And, 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 the 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 power 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.
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 2notestep 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.
-- 466 --
Bard.
It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller3note than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination,
Proper to madmen, led his powers 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.
Yes, in this present quality of war,
Indeed of instant action9Q0729: A cause on foot
-- 467 --
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair,
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection:
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices; or, at least,5note desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down,
And set another up) should we survey
The plot of situation, and the model;
Consent upon a sure foundation;
Question surveyors; know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or else,
We fortify in paper, and in figures,
Using the names of men instead of men:
Like one, that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds,
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast.
Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth)
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The very utmost man of expectation;
I think, we are a body strong enough,
-- 468 --
Even 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 power against the French,6note
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 several strengths together,
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast. 7noteIf he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
Bard.
Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither?
Hast.
The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland:
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth:
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
York. 8noteLet us on;
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
-- 469 --
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 heaven with blessing Bolinbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimm'd up in thine own desires,9Q0730
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is 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 the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, give us that king again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
Mowb.
Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
Hast.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt.ACT II.SCENE I.A street in London.Enter Hostess; Phang, and his boy, with her; and Snare following.
Host.
Master Phang, have you enter'd the action?
Phang.
It is enter'd.
Host.
Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman?
will a' stand to't?
-- 470 --
Phang.
Sirrah, where's Snare?
Host.
O lord, ay; good master Snare.
Snare.
Here, here.
Phang.
Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff.
Host.
Ay, good master Snare; I have enter'd him
and all.
Snare.
It may chance cost some of us our lives, for
he will stab.
Host.
Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd
me in mine own house, and that most beastly: he cares
not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out: he
will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man,
woman, nor child.
Phang.
If I can close with him, I care not for his
thrust.
Host.
No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
Phang.
An I but fist him once; 9notean he come but
within my vice;—
Host.
I am undone by his going; I warrant you,
he's an infinitive thing upon my score:—Good master
Phang, hold him sure;—good master Snare, let him
not scape. He comes continuantly to Pye-corner, (saving
your manhoods) to buy a saddle; and he's indited
to dinner to the 1notelubbar's head in Lumbart-street,
to master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my
exion is enter'd, and my case so openly known to the
world, let him be brought in to his answer. 2note
A hundred
-- 471 --
mark is a long loan for a poor lone woman3note to
bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne; 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.—
Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech
you, stand to me!
Ch. Just.
How now, sir John? what, are you brawling here?
Doth 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 East-cheap, and he is
arrested at my suit.
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:—but I will have some of it out again,
or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare.
How comes this, sir John? Fie! what
man of good temper would endure this tempest of
exclamation? Are you not asham'd, to enforce a poor
widow to so rough a course to come by her own?
Fal.
What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
Host.
Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself,
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon
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
4notefor likening his father 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 Keech5note, the
butcher's wife, come in then, and call me gossip
Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar6note
;
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 thou not,
-- 475 --
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;
7noteI know, you have practis'd upon the easy-yielding
spirit of this woman, and made her serve
your uses both in purse and person.
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.
reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent
sawciness: if a man will make curt'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 do 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 9noteanswer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy
the poor woman.
Fal.
Come hither, hostess.
[Taking her aside.Enter a Messenger.
Ch. Just.
Now, master Gower; What news?
Gower.
The king, my lord, and Henry prince of Wales
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.
Fal.
As I am a gentleman,—
Host.
Nay, you said so before.
Fal.
As I am a gentleman;—Come, no more
words of it.
Host.
By this heavenly 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 1note
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 draw thy action9Q0731: Come, thou must not be in
this humour with me; do'st not know me? Come,
come, I know thou wast set on to this.
Host.
Pray thee, 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.
I hope, my lord, all's well: What's 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 master Gower.
Fal.
My lord!
Ch. Just.
What's the matter?
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 counties as you go.
Fal.
Will you sup with me, master Gower?
Ch. Just.
What foolish master taught you these
manners, sir John?
Fal.
Master Gower, if they become me not, he was
a fool that taught them me.—This is the right fencing
grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair.
Ch. Just.
Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a
great fool.
[Exeunt.SCENE II.Continues in London.Enter prince Henry, and Poins.
P. Henry.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
-- 479 --
Poins.
Is it come to that? I had thought, weariness
durst not have attach'd one of so high blood.
P. Henry.
'Faith, it does me; though it discolours
the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it.
Doth it not shew vilely in me, to desire small beer?
Poins.
Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied,
as to remember so weak a composition.
P. Henry.
Belike then, my appetite was not princely
got; for, in troth, I do now remember the poor creature,
small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations
make me out of love with my greatness. What
a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? or to
know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz. these,
and those that were the peach-colour'd ones? or to
bear the inventory of thy shirts; as, one for superfluity,
and one other for use?—but that, the tennis-court-keeper
knows better than I; for it is a low ebb
of linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket
there; as thou hast not done a great while, because
the rest of thy low-countries have made a shift to eat
up thy holland: 5note
and God knows, whether those
-- 480 --
that bawl out the ruins of thy linen, shall inherit his
kingdom: but the midwives say, the children are
not in the fault; whereupon the world encreases, and
kindreds are mightily strengthen'd.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have labour'd
so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how many
good young princes would do so, their fathers being
so sick as yours at this time 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; I stand the push of your one thing
that you will tell.
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.
By this hand, thou think'st me as far in
the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy
and persistency: Let the end try the man. But I
tell thee,—my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father
is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou
art, hath in reason taken from me 6note
all ostentation
of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
P. Henry.
What would'st thou think of me, if I
should weep?
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
-- 481 --
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 roadway
better than thine: every man would think me
an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most
worshipful thought, to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have been so lewd,
and so much engraffed to Falstaff.
P. Henry.
And to thee.
Poins.
Nay, by this light, I am well spoken of, I
can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they
can say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that
I am a 7noteproper 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.
Come, you virtuous ass,9Q0732 you
bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush
you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you become?
Is it such a matter, to get a pottle-pot's maiden-head?
Page.
He call'd me even now, my lord, through a
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face
-- 482 --
from the window: at last, I spy'd his eyes; and, methought,
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new
petticoat,9Q0733 and peep'd through.
P. Henry.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whoreson upright rabbet, away!
Page.
Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!
P. Henry.
Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my lord, 9noteAlthea dream'd she was
deliver'd of a firebrand; and therefore I call him her
dream.
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.
An you do not make him be hang'd among
you, the gallows shall have wrong.
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.
with me as my dog: and he holds his place; for,
look you, how he writes.
Poins reads.
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, Thereis some of the king's blood spilt: How comes that? says
he, that takes upon him not to conceive: 3notethe answer
is as ready as a borrower's cap; I am the king's poorcousin, sir.
P. Henry.
Nay, they will be kin to us, or 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.
5noteI will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity:
—sure he means brevity in breath; short-winded.
—I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leavethee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thyfavours so much, that he swears, thou art to marry hissister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and sofarewel. Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to
-- 484 --
say, as thou usest him) Jack Falstaff, with my familiars;John, with my brothers and sisters; and sir John, with allEurope.
My lord I will steep this letter in sack, and make
him eat it.
a heavy descension!
it was Jove's case. 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.SCENE III.Warkworth Castle.Enter Northumberland, lady Northumberland, and lady Percy.
North.
I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs:
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
L. North.
I have given over, I will speak no more:
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
North.
Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
L. Percy.
Oh, yet, for heaven's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
-- 487 --
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,9Q0735
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; 4note
but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost; yours, and your son's.
For yours,—may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his,—it stuck upon him, as the sun5note
In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light,
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
6noteHe had no legs, that practis'd not his gait:
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those that could speak low, and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him,—O wondrous him!
O miracle of men!—him did you leave,
(Second to none, unseconded by you)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage; to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible9Q0736:—so you left him:
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong,
-- 488 --
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him; let them alone;
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go, and meet with danger there;
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.
L. North.
O, fly to Scotland,
'Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
L. Percy.
If they get ground and vantage of the king,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves: So did your son;
He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough,
7note
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.
North.
Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind,
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
-- 489 --
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back:—
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
'Till time and vantage crave my company.
[Exeunt.SCENE IV.London.The Boar's-head tavern in East-cheap.Enter two Drawers.
1 Draw.
What the devil hast thou brought there?
apple-Johns? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure
an apple-John8note
.
2 Draw.
Mass, thou say'st true: The prince once
set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him,
there were five more sir Johns: and, putting off his
hat, said, I will now take my leave of these six dry,
round, old, wither'd knights. It anger'd him to the
heart; but he hath forgot that.
1 Draw.
Why then, cover, and set them down: And
see if thou can'st find out 9note
Sneak's noise; mistress
-- 490 --
Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. 1noteDispatch:
—The room where they supp'd, is too hot; they'll
come in straight.
2 Draw.
Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master
Poins anon: and they will put on two of our jerkins,
and aprons; and sir John must not know of it: Bardolph
hath brought word.
here will be old utis: It will be
an excellent stratagem.
2 Draw.
I'll see, if I can find out Sneak.
[Exit.
-- 491 --
Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet.
Host.
Sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent
good temperality: your pulsidge beats3note
as extraordinarily
as heart would desire; and your colour,
I warrant you, is as red as any rose: But, i'faith, you
have drank too much canaries; 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.
Host.
Why, that was well said; A good heart's
worth gold. Look, here comes sir John.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
When Arthur first in court4note—Empty the jordan.—
and was a worthy king: How now, mistress Doll?
I make them! gluttony and diseases make
them; I make them not.
Fal.
If the cook help to 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.
Your brooches, pearls, and owches;—for to
serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: To
come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to
surgery bravely; to venture upon 9note
the charg'd chambers
bravely:—
-- 494 --
Dol.
Hang yourself,9Q0737 you muddy conger, hang
yourself!
Host.
Why, this is the old fashion; you two
never meet, but you fall to some discord: you are
both, in good troth, as 1note
rheumatic 2noteas two dry
toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities.
What the good-jere! one must bear, and that
must be you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say,
the emptier vessel.
[To Doll.
Dol.
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
stuff'd 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.
Re-enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, 3noteancient Pistol's below, and would
speak with you.
Dol.
Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not
-- 495 --
come hither: it is the foul-mouth'dst 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.
Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me: your ancient
swaggerer 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;—master Dumb,
our minister, was by then;—Neighbour Quickly, says
he, receive those that are civil; for, saith he, you are inan ill name;—now he said so, I can tell whereupon;
for, says he, you are an honest woman, and well thoughton; 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.
a tame cheater,
he; you may stroak him as gently as a puppy-greyhound:
-- 496 --
he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if
her feathers turn back in any shew of resistance.—
Call him up, drawer.
Host.
Cheater, call you him? 5noteI will bar no honest
man my house, nor no cheater: But I do not love
swaggering by my troth; I am the worse, when one
says—swagger: feel, masters, how I shake; look you,
I warrant you.
Dol.
So you do, hostess.
Host.
Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.
Pist.
'Save you, sir John!
Fal.
Welcome, ancient 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.
Fa.
She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend
her.
Host.
Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets:
-- 497 --
I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no
man's pleasure, I6note
.
Pist.
Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will charge
you.
Dol.
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.
Dol.
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung7note,
away! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your
mouldy chaps, 8notean you play the saucy cuttle with me.
-- 498 --
Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
jugler, you!—Since when, I pray you, sir?—9note
What,
with two 1notepoints on your shoulder? much!
Pist.
I will murder your ruff for this.
Fal.
2noteNo more, Pistol; I would not have you go
off here: discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
,
art thou not asham'd to be call'd—captain? If captains
-- 499 --
were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for
taking their names upon you before you have earn'd
them. You a captain, you slave! for what? for
tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?—He a
captain! Hang him, rogue! 4note
He lives upon mouldy
stew'd prunes, and dry'd cakes. A captain! these villains
will make the word captain 5note
as odious as the
word occupy; which was an excellent good word before
it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need look
to it.
Bard.
Pray thee, go down, good ancient.
Fal.
Hark thee hither, mistress Doll.
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
-- 500 --
lake, to the infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures
vile also. 6noteHold hook and line, say I. Down! down,
dogs! down, 7note
Feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis:
Come, give's some sack.
5note
—Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me contenta.—
-- 504 --
Fear we broad-sides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack;—and, sweet-heart, lye thou there.
[Laying down his sword. 6noteCome we to full points here; and are et cetera's nothing?
, abridge my doleful days!
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! [Snatching up his sword.
Host.
Here's goodly stuff toward!
Fal.
Give me my rapier, boy.
Dol.
I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down stairs. [Drawing, and driving Pistol out.
Host.
Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
house, before I'll be in these tirrits and frights.
So; murther, I warrant now.—Alas, alas! put up
your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
Dol.
I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone.
Ah, you whorson little valiant villain, you!
Host.
Are you not hurt i'the groin? methought, he
made a shrewd thrust at your belly.
[Re-enter Bard.
Fal.
Have you turn'd him out of doors?
-- 506 --
Bard.
Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt
him, sir, in the shoulder.
Fal.
A rascal! to brave me!
Dol.
Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor
ape, how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy
face;—come on, you whorson chops:—Ah, rogue! I
love thee.—Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy,
worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than
the nine worthies: Ah, villain!9Q0742
Fal.
A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a
blanket.
Dol.
Do, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou do'st,
I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.
Enter musick.
Page.
The musick is come, sir.
Fal.
Let them play;—Play, sirs.—Sit on my knee,
Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from
me like quicksilver.
Dol.
I'faith, and thou follow'd'st him like a church.
Thou whorson 2note
little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when
wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights,
and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?
Enter, behind, prince Henry and Poins, disguised like drawers.
like a death's
head; do not bid me remember mine end.
-- 507 --
Dol.
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.
Dol.
They say, Poins hath a good wit.
Fal.
He a good wit? hang him, baboon!—his wit
is as thick as 4noteTewksbury mustard; there is no more
conceit in him, than is in a mallet5note.
Dol.
Why doth the prince love him so then?
Fal.
Because their legs are both of a bigness; and
he plays at quoits well; and 6note
eats conger and fennel;
-- 508 --
and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; and
rides the wild mare with the boys; and jumps upon
joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and wears
his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg7note;
and breeds no bate with telling of 8note
discreet stories:
and such other gambol faculties he hath, that shew a
-- 509 --
weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince
admits him: for the prince himself is such another;
the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their
averdupois.
? I shall
receive money on thursday: thou shalt have a cap
to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late,
we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am
gone.
Dol.
By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an
thou say'st so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome
'till thy return.—Well, hearken the end.
Fal.
Some sack, Francis.
-- 511 --
P. Henry. Poins.
Anon, anon, sir.
Fal.
5noteHa! 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 come to draw you
out by the ears.
Host.
O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! welcome
to London.—Now heaven bless that sweet face
of thine! what, are you come from Wales?
Fal.
Thou whoreson 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 whoreson 6notecandle-mine, you, how
vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest,
virtuous, civil gentlewoman?
Host.
'Blessing o' 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.
-- 512 --
Fal.
No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse.
P. Henry.
No! to dispraise me; and 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 might not fall in love with him:—in which
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a
true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for
it. No abuse, Hal;—none, Ned, none;—no, boys,
none.
P. Henry.
See now, whether pure fear, and entire
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 wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in
his nose, of the wicked?
Poins.
Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
Fal.
The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable;
and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen,
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For
the boy,—there is a good angel about him; but the
devil out-bids him too.
P. Henry.
For the women,—
Fal.
For one of them,—she is in hell already, 7noteand
burns, poor soul! For the other,—I owe her money;
and whether she be damn'd for that, I know not.
Host.
No, I warrant you.
Fal.
No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art
quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment
upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house,
contrary to the law; for the which, I think, thou
wilt howl.
do so: What's a joint of
mutton or two, in a whole Lent?
P. Henry.
You, gentlewoman,—
Dol.
What says your grace?
Fal.
His grace says that which his flesh rebels
against.
Host.
Who knocks so loud at door? look to the
door there, Francis.
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;
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
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. More
-- 514 --
knocking at the door?—How now? what's the
matter?
Bard.
You must away to court, sir, presently; a
dozen captains stay at door for you.
Fal.
Pay the musicians, sirrah [To the Page].—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 call'd
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 Fal. and Bard.
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.
The palace.Enter king Henry in his night-gown, with a Page.
K. Henry.
Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,
-- 515 --
And well consider of them: Make good speed.—
[Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!—O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, ly'st thou in smoky 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,
2noteA 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 3note
That, with the hurly4note, death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? 5note
Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Enter Warwick, and Surrey.
It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd;
Which to its former strength may be restor'd,
With good advice, and little medicine:—
8note
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
K. Henry.
O heaven! that one might read the book of fate;
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent
(Weary of solid firmness) melt itself
Into the sea! and, other times, to see
-- 518 --
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! 9note
O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth,—viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,—
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years gone,
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and, in two years after,
Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. 1noteBut which of you was by,
(You, 2notecousin Nevil, as I may remember)
[To Warwick.
When Richard,—with his eye brim-full of tears,
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,—
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?
Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;—
-- 519 --
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent;
But that necessity so bow'd the state,
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:—
The time shall come, thus did he follow it,
The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption:—so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition,
And the division of our amity.
War.
There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd:
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds,
And weak beginnings, lie entreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
3note
And, by the necessary form of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.
Are these things then necessities?
Then let us meet them like necessities:—
And that same word even now cries out on us;
They say, the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
-- 520 --
War.
It cannot be, my lord;
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd:—Please it your grace,
To go to bed; upon my life, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance, that Glendower is dead.
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add
Unto your sickness.
K. Henry.
I will take your counsel:
And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, 5noteunto the Holy Land. [Exeunt.SCENE II.Justice Shallow's seat in Glocestershire6note.Enter Shallow meeting Silence. Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf, Servants, &c. behind.
Shal.
Come on, come on, come on; give me
your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early
-- 521 --
stirrer, 7noteby the rood. And how doth my good cousin
Silence?
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?
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, and roundly too. There was
I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black
9noteGeorge Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and 1note
swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again: and,
I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas3note
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 Norfolk4note
.
-- 523 --
Sil.
This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon
about soldiers?
Shal.
The same sir John, the very same. I saw him
break Skogan's head at the court gate5note
, when he was
a crack6note, not thus high: and the very same day I did
fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind
Gray's-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?
-- 524 --
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
lov'd him well, and betted much money on his head.
Dead!—he would have 7noteclapp'd i'the clout at
twelve score; and carry'd you a fore-hand shaft a
8notefourteen, and fourteen and a half, that it would have
done a man's heart good to see.—How a score of
ewes now?
Sil.
Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes
may be worth ten pounds.
Shal.
And is old Double dead!
Enter Bardolph and his boy.
Sil.
Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, as
I think.
Bard.
9noteGood morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech
you, which is justice Shallow?
Shal.
I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of
this county, and 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 heaven,
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?
-- 525 --
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 are surely, and ever were,
very commendable. Accommodated!—it comes of
accommodo: 1note
very good; a good phrase.
Bard.
Pardon, 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.
Enter Falstaff.
Shal.
It is very just:—Look, here comes good sir
John.—Give me your good hand, give me your worship's
good hand: By my troth, 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.9Q0745
-- 526 --
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.
Fie! this is hot weather.—Gentlemen, have
you provided me here half a dozen 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?
Moul.
Here, an't 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, an't 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 prick'd well enough before, an you
could have let me alone: my old dame will be undone
now, for one to do her husbandry, and her
drudgery: you need not to have prick'd me; there
are other men fitter to go out than I.
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?
-- 527 --
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; but not much of
the father's substance.
Shal.
Do you like him, sir John?
Fal.
Shadow will serve for summer,—prick him;
—for 2notewe have a number of shadows to fill up the
muster-book.
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, 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.
Fal.
What trade art thou, Feeble?
Feeble.
A woman's taylor, sir.
Shal.
Shall I prick him, sir?
Fal.
You may: but if he had been a man's taylor,
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 taylor! well said,
-- 528 --
courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse.—Prick
the woman's taylor well, master Shallow; deep, master
Shallow.
Feeble.
I would, Wart might have gone, sir.
Fal.
I would, thou wert a man's taylor; that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot
put him to a private soldier, that is the leader
of so many thousands: Let that suffice, most forcible
Feeble.
Feeble.
It shall suffice, sir.
Fal.
I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.—Who
is next?
Shal.
Peter Bull-calf of the green!
Fal.
Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.
Bull.
Here, sir,
Fal.
Trust me, a likely fellow!—Come, prick me
Bull-calf, 'till he roar again.
Bull.
Oh! good my lord captain,—
Fal.
What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?
Bull.
O lord, sir! I am a diseas'd man.
Fal.
What disease hast thou?
Bull.
A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I
caught with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his coronation
day, sir.
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 call'd than your number,
you must have but four here, sir;—and so, I pray
you, go in with me to dinner.
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 wind-mill in saint George's fields?
Fal.
No more of that, good master Shallow, no
more of that.
-- 529 --
Shal.
Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane
Night-work alive?
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 9note
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, that we have;
in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word was,
Hem, boys!—Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to
dinner:—O, the days that we have seen!—Come,
come.
[Exeunt Falstaff, and Justices.
Bull.
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
-- 530 --
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.
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Moul.
And good master corporal captain, for my
old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody
to do any thing about her, when I am gone; and she is
old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir.
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Feeble.
I care not;—a man can die but once;—we
owe God a death;—I'll ne'er bear a base mind:—
an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so: No man's
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'rt a good fellow.
Feeble.
'Faith, I'll bear no base mind.
[Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices.
Fal.
Come, sir, which men shall I have?
Shal.
Four of which you please.
Bard.
Sir, a word with you:—1noteI have three pound
to free Mouldy and Bull-calf.
Fal.
Go to; well.
Shal.
Come, sir John, which four will you have?
Fal.
Do you chuse for me.
Shal.
Marry then,—Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and
Shadow.
Fal.
Mouldy, and Bull-calf:—For you, Mouldy,
stay at home 'till you are past service2note
:—and, for your
part, Bull-calf,—grow, 'till you come unto it; I will
none of you.
-- 531 --
Shal.
Sir John, sir John, do not yourself 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 thewes3note
, the
stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man4note? 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; come off, and on, 5noteswifter than he that gibbet's-on
the brewer's bucket. 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 pen-knife: And, for a
retreat,—how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's
taylor, run off? O, give me the spare men, and spare
me the great ones.—Put me a 6note
caliver into Wart's
hand, Bardolph.
-- 532 --
Bard.
Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.
Fal.
Come, manage me your caliver. So:—very
well:—go to:—very good:—exceeding good.—O,
give me always a little, lean, old, chopp'd, 7notebald
shot.—Well said, Wart; thou'rt a good scab: hold,
there's a tester for thee.
Shal.
He is not his craft's-master, he doth not do it
right. I remember at Mile-end green8note, when I lay at
Clement's-inn9Q0747, (9note
I was then sir Dagonet in Arthur's
-- 533 --
show) there was a little quiver fellow, and 'a would
manage you his piece thus: and 'a would about, and
-- 534 --
about, and come you in, and come you in: rah, tah,
tah, would 'a say; bounce, would 'a say; and away
again would 'a go, and again would 'a come;—I shall
never see such a fellow.
Fal.
These fellows will do well, master Shallow.—
God keep you, 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 renew'd: 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, gentle gentlemen.—On,
Bardolph; lead the men away.—[Exeunt Bardolph, Recruits, &c.]—As I return, I will fetch off these
justices: I do see the bottom of justice Shallow.
Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to this
vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done
nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth,
and the feats he hath done 9note
about Turnbull-street;
-- 535 --
and every third word a lie, duer 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 fork'd radish, with a head fantastically carv'd
upon it with a knife: he was so forlorn, that his dimensions
to any thick sight 1notewere invisible: he was
the very Genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey,
and the whores call'd him—mandrake2note
: he came
-- 536 --
ever in the rear-ward of the fashion; and sung those
tunes to the 3note
over-scutcht huswives, that he heard the
carmen whistle, and sware—they were his 4notefancies, or
his good-nights.9Q07495note
And now is this vice's dagger become
-- 537 --
a squire; and talks as familiarly of John of
Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him: and
I'll be sworn he never saw him but once in the Tiltyard;
and then 6note
he burst his head, for crouding
among the marshal's men. I saw it; and told John
of Gaunt, he 7notebeat his own name: for you might
have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin;
the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for
him, a court: 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 8note
philosopher's
-- 538 --
two stones to me: 9noteIf 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 an end.
[Exeunt.
-- 539 --
ACT IV.SCENE I.A forest in Yorkshire.Enter the archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and others.
York.
What is this forest call'd?
Hast.
'Tis Gualtree forest1note, an't shall please your grace.
York.
Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth,
To know the numbers of our enemies.
Hast.
We have sent forth already.
York.
'Tis well done.
My friends, and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland;
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus:—
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance with his quality,
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers,
That your attempts may over-live the hazard,
And fearful meeting of their opposite.
Mowb.
Thus do the hopes we had in him touch ground,
And dash themselves to pieces.
-- 540 --
Enter a Messenger.
Hast.
Now, what news?
Mess.
West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy:
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.
Mowb.
The just proportion that we gave them out.
2note
Let us sway on, and face them in the field. Enter Westmoreland.
guarded 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, lord archbishop,—
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd;
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd;
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd;
Whose white investments figure innocence6note
,
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,—
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself,
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?
Turning your books to 7note
[unresolved image link]
graves, your ink to blood,
-- 542 --
Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet, and a point of war?
York. 8noteWherefore 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 Westmoreland,
-- 543 --
I take not on me here as a physician;
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men:
But, rather, shew a while like fearful war,
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness;
And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. 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 see which way the stream of time doth run,
9note
And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere
By the rough torrent of occasion:
And 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,
1noteWe are deny'd access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood) and the examples
Of every minute's instance, (present now)
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms:
-- 544 --
2noteNot to break peace, or any branch of it;
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.
West.
When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by the king?
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you?
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine,
3note
My brother-general, the common-wealth,
To brother born an household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.
West.
There is no need of any such redress;
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb.
Why not to him, in part; and to us all,
That feel the bruises of the days before;
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?
West.
O my good lord Mowbray,9Q0750 5noteConstrue the times to their necessities,
And you shall say indeed,—it is the time,
-- 546 --
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
6noteEither from the king, or in the present time,
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on: Were you not restor'd
To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories,
Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's?
Mowb.
What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me?
The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him:
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he,—
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
7noteTheir armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel8note,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw:
Then threw he down himself; and all their lives,
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword,
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
West.
You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not what:
The earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman;
-- 547 --
Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
But, if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cry'd hate upon him; and all their prayers, and love,
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
9note
And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than 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,
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb.
But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
West.
Mowbray, you over-ween, to take it so;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies;
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good:—
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.
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.
Hast.
Hath the prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
-- 548 --
To hear, and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
That is intended in the general's name:
I muse, you make so slight a question.
York.
Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, 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 insinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true 2notesubstantial form;
And present execution of our wills
3note
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,
5note
In sight of both our battles we may meet:
And either end in peace, which heaven so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.
York.
My lord, we will do so. [Exit West.
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 upon6note,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb.
Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall, to the king, taste of this action:
7note
That, were our loyal faiths martyrs in love,
-- 550 --
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind,
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.
York.
No, no, my lord; Note this,—the king is weary
8note
Of dainty and such picking grievances:
For he hath found,—to end one doubt by death,
Revives two greater in the heirs of life.
And therefore will he 9notewipe his tables clean;
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance: For full well he knows,
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife,
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes;
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.
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 power, 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.
-- 551 --
Mowb.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. Re-enter Westmoreland.
West.
The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your lordship,
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies?
Mowb.
Your grace of York, in heaven's name then set forward.
York.
Before, and greet his grace:—my lord, we come. [Exeunt.SCENE II.Another part of the forest.Enter on one side Mowbray, the Archbishop, Hastings, and others: from the other side, Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, officers, &c.
Lan.
You are well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray:—
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop;—
And so to you, lord Hastings,—and to all.—
My lord of York, it better shew'd with you,
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text;
Than now to see you here an iron man1note,
Chearing a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword2note
, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart,
-- 552 --
And ripens in the sun-shine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop,
It is even so:—Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deep you were within the books of God?
To us, the speaker in his parliament;
To us, the imagin'd voice of heaven itself;9Q0752
The very opener, and intelligencer,
Between the grace, 3note
the sanctities of heaven,
And our dull workings: O, who shall believe,
But you misuse the reverence of your place;
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? 4noteYou have taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And, both against the peace of heaven and him,
Have here up-swarm'd them.
York.
Good my lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time mis-order'd doth, 5note
in common sense,
Crowd 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,
-- 553 --
With grant of our most just and right desires;
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:
6noteAnd so, success of mischief shall be born;
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
Whiles 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.—
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my life, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers7note unto 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.
York.
I take your princely word for these redresses.
Lan.
I give it you, and will maintain my word:
-- 554 --
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.
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 Captain.
York.
To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland.
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 you
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 merry8note;
But heaviness fore-runs the good event.
West. 9noteTherefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus,—Some good thing comes tomorrow.
York.
Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowb.
So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shout.
Lan.
The word of peace is render'd; Hark, how 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.
Lan.
Go, my lord,
-- 555 --
And let our army be discharged too.—
[Exit West.
And, good my lord, so please you, 1notelet 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.
Lan.
I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.—
Re-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. Re-enter Hastings.
Hast.
My lord, our army is dispers'd already:
Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
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.
Mowb.
Is this proceeding just and honourable?
West.
Is your assembly so?
York.
Will you thus break your faith?
Lan.
I pawn'd thee none:
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
-- 556 --
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 here2note
, and foolishly sent hence.—
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray;
Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.—
Some guard these traitors to the block of death;
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath.
3note[Exeunt.[Alarum. Excursions.SCENE III.Another part of the forest.Enter Falstaff, and Colevile, meeting.
Fal.
What's your name, sir? of what condition are
you; and of what place, I pray?
I am a knight, sir; and my name is—Colevile
of the dale.
-- 557 --
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 dale5note.
Cole.
Are not you 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 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.
Fal.
I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any
other word but my name. An I had but a belly of
any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow
in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb undoes
me.—Here comes our general.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland.
Lan. 6noteThe heat is past, follow no farther now;—
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.—
[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,
-- 558 --
an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither
with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have
founder'd nine-score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted
as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour,
taken sir 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 7notehook-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 book'd 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 enforced, 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,
-- 559 --
That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me,
You 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; and I
thank thee for thee.
Re-enter Westmoreland.
Lan.
Have you left pursuit?
West.
Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
Lan.
Send Colevile, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution.—
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
[Exeunt some with Colevile.
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 Glostershire: and, when you come to court,
8note
I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit.
-- 560 --
Fal.
I would, you had but the wit; 'twere better
than your dukedom.—Good faith, 1notethis same young
sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor 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 2notesherris-sack hath
a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the
brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and
crudy vapours3note which environ it: makes it apprehensive4note
,
quick, forgetive5note, full of nimble, fiery, and
-- 561 --
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 cowardice: but the sherris warms it,
and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme.
It illumineth 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 puff'd up with this retinue,
doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of
sherris: So that skill in the weapon is nothing, without
sack; for that sets it a-work: and learning, a mere
hoard of gold kept by a devil6note; 'till sack commences
it7note
, 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 tilled,
with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good
store of fertile sherris; 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.
-- 562 --
Enter Bardolph.
How now, Bardolph?
Bard.
The army is discharged all, and gone.
Fal.
Let them go. I'll through Glocestershire;
and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire:
8note
I have him already tempering between my finger
and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him.
Come away.
[Exeunt.SCENE IV.The palace at Westminster.Enter king Henry, Warwick, Clarence, and Gloster, &c.
K. Henry.
Now, lords, if heaven doth give successful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctify'd.
9note
Our navy is address'd, our power collected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested,
And every thing lies level to our wish:
Only, we want a little personal strength;
And pause us, 'till these rebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.
-- 563 --
War.
Both which, we doubt not but your majesty
Shall soon enjoy.
K. Henry.
Humphrey, my son of Gloster,
Where is the prince your brother?
Glo.
I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.
K. Henry.
And how accompanied?
Glo.
I do not know, my lord.
K. Henry.
Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
Glo.
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;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As 1note
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 aconitum3note
K. Henry.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
Cla.
He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
-- 565 --
K. Henry.
And how accompanied? can'st thou tell that?
Cla.
With Poins, and other his continual followers.
K. Henry.
Most subjects is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, the unguided days,
And rotten times, that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall 5notehis affections fly
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!
War.
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,
6note
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.
-- 566 --
K. Henry. 7note'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.—Who's here? Westmoreland? Enter Westmoreland.
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 every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here, at more leisure, may your highness read;
With every course, 8note
in his particular.
K. Henry.
O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. Enter Harcourt.
Har.
From enemies heaven 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 Bardolph,
With a great power of English, and of Scots,
-- 567 --
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
The manner and true order of the fight,
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
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 are 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. [Sinks down.
Glo.
Comfort, your majesty!
Cla.
O my royal father!
West.
My sovereign lord, chear up yourself, look up!
War.
Be patient, princes; you do know these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.
Cla.
No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs:
The incessant care and labour of his mind
9note
“The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
“Lets in the light thro' chinks which time has made.”
Steevens.Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in,
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.
-- 568 --
Glo. 1noteThe people fear me; for they do observe
2noteUnfather'd heirs, and loathly births of nature:
3noteThe seasons change their manners; as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over.
Cla.
The river hath thrice flow'd4note, no ebb between:
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
Say, it did so a little time before
That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and dy'd.
War.
Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.
Glo.
This apoplexy will, certain, be his end.
K. Henry.
I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber: softly, pray.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
5note
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
-- 569 --
War.
Call for the music in the other room.
K. Henry.
Set me the crown upon my pillow here6note
.
Cla.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War.
Less noise, less noise. [They convey the King to an inner part of the room.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?
-- 570 --
Glo.
Exceeding ill.
P. Henry.
Heard he the good news yet?
Tell it him.
Glo.
He alter'd much upon the hearing it.
P. Henry.
If he be sick
With joy, he will recover without physic.
War.
Not so much noise, my lords:—sweet prince, speak low;
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep.
Cla.
Let us withdraw into the other room.
War.
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 prince Henry.
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bed-fellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber7note 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 bound8note
,
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 scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
-- 571 --
Perforce must move.—My gracious lord! my father!—
This sleep is sound, indeed; this is a sleep,
That from 9note
this golden rigol 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,—
[Putting it on his head.
Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me: This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! Re-enter Warwick, and the rest.
Cla.
Doth the king call?
War.
What would your majesty? How fares your grace?
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:
He is not here.
War.
This door is open; he is gone this way.
Glo.
He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.
-- 572 --
K. Henry.
Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?
War.
When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
K. Henry.
The prince hath ta'en it hence:—go, seek him out.
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose
My sleep my death?—
Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.—
This part of his conjoins with my disease,
And helps to end me.—See, sons, what things you are!
How quickly nature falls into revolt,
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleeps with thought,9Q0755 their brains with care,
Their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
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, 1notetolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets;
Our thighes pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees,
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste
2noteYield his engrossments to the ending father.—
-- 573 --
Re-enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
'Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me?
War.
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 quaff'd 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?
Re-enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes.—Come hither to me, Harry:—
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt lords, &c.
P. Henry.
I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Henry.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine 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 stol'n that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and, at my death,
Thou hast 3noteseal'd up my expectation:
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
-- 574 --
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts;
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at 4note
half an hour of my 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 bedew my hearse,
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head:
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,
Harry the fifth is crown'd:—Up, vanity!
Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence!
And to the English court assemble now,
From every 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 no more:
5note
England shall double gild his treble guilt;
-- 575 --
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 in every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do 6note when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
-- 576 --
P. Henry.
O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears,
[Kneeling.
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had fore-stall'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,
7noteLet me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most 8notetrue and inward-duteous spirit
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending!
Heaven 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,
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; Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. Other, less fine in carrat, is more precious, Preserving life 9note
in med'cine potable:
-- 577 --
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most 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 heaven 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!
Heaven 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 bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
I met this crown; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it sat upon my head:
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the 1notesoil of the atchievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me,
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel, and to blood-shed,
2note
Thou see'st, with peril I have answered:—
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
4note
Changes the mode: for what in me was purchas'd,9Q0757
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort,
So thou the garland wear'st 5notesuccessively.
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all thy friends6note
, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd: which to avoid,
I cut them off; and had a purpose now
7note
To lead out many to the Holy Land;
-- 579 --
Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near into my state.9Q0758 Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly deny'd me.
8noteHow 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. Enter lord John of Lancaster, Warwick, &c.
K. Henry.
Look, look, here comes my 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 Warwick?
P. Henry.
My lord of Warwick!
-- 580 --
K. Henry.
Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
War.
'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
K. Henry.
Laud be to God!—even there my life must end9note.
It hath been prophesy'd to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem;
Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land:—
But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt.ACT V.SCENE I.Shallow's seat in Glostershire.Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page.
By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away
to-night.—What, Davy, I say!
Fal.
You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.
-- 581 --
Shal.
2noteI will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd;
excuses shall not be admitted; there is no
excuse shall serve; you shall not be excus'd.—Why,
Davy!
Enter Davy.
Davy.
Here, sir.
Shal.
Davy, Davy, Davy,—let me see, Davy; let
me see:—yea, marry, William cook3note
, bid him come
hither.—Sir John, you shall not be excus'd.
-- 582 --
Davy.
Marry, sir, thus;—4notethose precepts cannot
be serv'd: and, again, sir,—Shall we sow the headland
with wheat?
Shal.
With red wheat, Davy. But for William
cook;—Are there no young pigeons?
Davy.
Yes, sir.—Here is now the smith's note,
for shoeing, and plough-irons.
Shal.
Let it be cast, and paid:—sir John, you shall
not be excus'd.
Davy.
Now, 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 Hinckley fair?
Shal.
He shall answer it:—Some pigeons, 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' the court is better than a penny in purse5note
. Use his
-- 583 --
men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will
backbite.
Davy.
No worse than they are back-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, God 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 a 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. 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.
Fal.
I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow.
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Shallow, Bardolph, &c.]—If I were saw'd into quantities, I should
make four dozen of such 6notebearded hermit's-staves as
. It is a wonderful thing, to see the
semblable coherence of his men's 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 serving-man: 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 Harry in continual
laughter, the wearing-out of six fashions, (which is
four terms, or 8notetwo actions) and he shall laugh without
intervallums. O, it is much, that a lie, with a
slight oath, and a jest with a sad brow, will do with
a 9notefellow 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.
Shal. [within]
Sir John!
Fal.
I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shallow.
[Exit Falstaff.
-- 585 --
SCENE II.The court, in London.Enter the earl of Warwick, and the lord Chief Justice.
War.
How now, my lord chief justice? whither away?
Ch. Just.
How doth the king?
War.
Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.
Ch. Just.
I hope, not dead.
War.
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.
War.
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 hideously upon me
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. Enter lord John of Lancaster, Gloster, and Clarence, &c..
War.
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!
Ch. Just.
Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd.
Lan.
Good morrow, cousin Warwick.
Glo. Cla.
Good morrow, cousin.
Lan.
We meet like men that had forgot to speak.
War.
We do remember; but our argument
Is all too heavy to admit much talk.
-- 586 --
Lan.
Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!
Ch. Just.
Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!
Glo.
O, good my lord, you have lost a friend, indeed:
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own.
Lan.
Though 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 the impartial conduct1note of my soul;
And never shall you see, that I will beg
2note
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.
War.
Here comes the prince.
-- 587 --
Enter King Henry.
Ch. Just.
Good morrow; and heaven save your majesty!
K. 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, 3notenot 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 heaven, 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.
Lan. &c.
We hope no other from your majesty.
K. Henry.
You all look strangely on me:—and you most;
[To the Ch. Just.
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.
Ch. Just.
I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
K. Henry.
No! How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
-- 588 --
The immediate heir of England! 4noteWas this easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten?
Ch. Just.
I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me:
And, in the administration of his law,
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your highness pleased to forget my place,
The majesty and power of law and justice,
The image of the king whom I presented,
And struck me in my very seat of judgment5note
;
-- 589 --
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority,
-- 590 --
And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought;
To pluck down justice from your awful bench;
6noteTo trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person:
Nay, more; to spurn at your most royal image,
7noteAnd mock your workings in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son8note
:
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd,
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
Behold yourself so by a son disdained;
And then imagine me taking your part,
And, in your power, so silencing your son9note
:—
After this cold considerance, sentence me;
And, as you are a king, speak 1notein your state,—
What I have done, that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.
-- 591 --
K. 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 encrease,
'Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words;—
Happy am I, that have a man so bold, That dares do justice on my proper son: And not less happy, having such a son, That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice.—2note
You did commit me:
For which, I do commit into your hand
The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear;
With this 3noteremembrance,—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;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practis'd, wise directions.—
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you;—
4note
My father is gone wild into his grave,
For in his tomb lie my affections;
-- 592 --
And with his spirit 5notesadly I survive,
To mock the expectations of the world;
To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, 'till now:
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea;
Where it shall mingle with 6note
the state of floods,
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament:
And let us chuse 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 the lord Chief Justice.
Our coronation done, we will accite,
As I before remember'd, all our state:
-- 593 --
And (heaven consigning to my good intents)
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,—
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day.
[Exeunt.SCENE III.Shallow's seat in Glostershire.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 1note
a dish of carraways, and so forth;—
come, cousin Silence;—and then to bed.
-- 594 --
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 serving-man, and your husband-man.
Shal.
A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good
varlet, sir John.—By the mass2note
, I have drank too
much sack at supper:—a good varlet. Now sit
down, now sit down:—come, cousin.
Sil.
Ah, sirrah! quoth-a,—
We shall do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,
[Singing.
And praise heaven for the merry year;
When flesh is cheap and females dear3note
,
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 master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
-- 595 --
Davy.
Sweet sir, sit;—I'll be with you anon;—
most sweet sir, sit.—Master page, good master page,
sit: 4note
Be merry, master 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 all6note
,
And welcome merry shrove-tide.9Q0760
Be merry, be merry, &c.
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.
Re-enter Davy.
Davy.
There is a dish of leather-coats for you.
[Setting them before Bardolph.
Shal.
Davy,—
Davy.
Your worship?—I'll be with you straight.—
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.
An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet
of the night.9Q0761
Fal.
Health and long life to you, master Silence!
Sil. 7noteFill the cup, and let it come;
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.
-- 597 --
Shal.
Honest Bardolph, welcome: If thou want'st
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart.—
Welcome, my little tiny thief [to the Page]; and welcome,
indeed, too.—I'll drink to master Bardolph,
and to all the 8notecavaleroes about London.
Davy.
I hope to see London once ere I die.
Bard.
An 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.
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. Look who's at door there: Ho! who
knocks?
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?
3note
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof.
Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John4note.[Sings.
Pist.
Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.
Shal.
Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
Pist.
Why then, lament therefore.
Shal.
Give me pardon, sir,—If, sir, 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.
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 6note
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, chuse 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?
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.
-- 602 --
Happy are they which have been my friends;
and woe to my lord chief justice!
Pist.
Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
7note
Where is the life that late I led, say they:
Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days. [Exeunt.SCENE IV.A street in London.Enter hostess8note 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 two, lately,
kill'd about her.
It will be two o'clock ere they come
from the coronation: Dispatch, dispatch.
[Exeunt Grooms.Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and the Boy.
Fal.
Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; I
will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon
him, as 'a 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 pound I borrow'd of you. [To Shallow.]But 'tis no matter; this poor show doth
better: this doth infer the zeal I had to see him.
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 else in oblivion; as if there were
nothing else to be done, but to see him.
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 most mechanical and dirty hand:—
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.
Pist.
There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. The trumpets sound. Enter the King, and his train.
Fal.
God save thy grace, king Hal! my royal Hal1note!
King.
My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man.
Ch. Just.
Have you your wits? know you what 'tis you speak?
Fal.
My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
King.
I 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 3noteprofane;
But, being awake, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; 4note
know, the grave doth gape
-- 608 --
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 heaven 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 misleaders,—
5note
Not to come near our person by ten miles.
-- 609 --
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 it your charge, my lord,
To see perform'd the tenor of our word.—
Set on.
[Exit King, &c.
Fal.
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.
Shal.
Ay, marry, sir John; which I beseech you to
let me have home with me.
Fal.
That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not
you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to him:
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.
-- 610 --
Fal.
Fear no colours; go with me to dinner.
Come, lieutenant Pistol;—come, Bardolph:—I shall
be sent for soon at night.
Re-enter the Chief Justice, Prince John, &c.
Ch. Just. 1noteGo, 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 tormenta, spero me contenta.[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 all 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.
I will lay odds,—that, ere this year expire,
We bear our civil swords, and native fire,
As far as France: I heard a bird so sing2note
,
Whose musick, to my thinking, pleas'd the king.
Come, will you hence3note
First, my fear; then, my court'sy: last, my speech.
My fear is, your displeasure; my court'sy, my duty;
and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for a good
speech now, you undo me: for what I have to say, is of
mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say, will,
I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose,
and so to the venture.—Be it known to you (as it is very
well) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to
pray your patience for it, and to promise you a better.
I did mean, indeed, to pay you with this; which if, like
an ill venture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you,
my gentle creditors, lose. Here, I promised you, I would
be, and here I commit my body to your mercies: bate me
some, and I will pay you some, and, as most debtors do,
promise you infinitely.
If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you
command me to use my legs? and yet that were but light
payment,—to dance out of your debt. But a good conscience
will make any possible satisfaction, and so will I. 5noteAll
the gentlewomen here have forgiven me; if the gentlemen
will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the
gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an
assembly.
One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much
cloy'd with fat meat, our humble author will continue
the story, with Sir John in it, and make you merry with
-- --
fair Katharine of France6note: where, for any thing I know,
Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be kill'd with
your hard opinions; 7note
for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this
is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are
too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down before
you;—but, indeed, to pray for the queen8note
