John Falstaff.
Fal.
Now Hal, what time of day is it, Lad?
Prince.
Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old Sack and unbuttoning
thee after Supper, and sleeping upon Benches in the afternoon,
that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou wouldst truly
know. What a Devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless
Hours were Cups of Sack, and Minutes Capons, and Clocks the Tongues
of Bawds. I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous, to demand
the time of the day.
Fal.
Indeed you came near me now, Hal. For we that take Purses,
go by the Moon and seven Stars, and not by Phœbus, he, that wandring
Knight so fair. And I pray thee sweet Wag, when thou art King,
as God save thy Grace, Majesty I should say, for Grace thou wilt have
none.
Prince.
What! none?
Fal.
No, not so much as will serve to be Prologue to an Egg and
Butter.
Prince.
Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly.
Fal.
Marry then, sweet Wag, when thou art King, let not us that are
Squires of the Nights-body, be call'd Thieves of the Days Beauty. Let
us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moon:
and let Men say, we be Men of good Government, being governed as
the Sea is, by our noble and chast Mistress the Moon, under whose
countenance we steal.
Prince.
Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for the Fortune of
us that are the Moons Men, doth ebb and flow like the Sea, being governed
as the Sea is, by the Moon: as for proof. Now a Purse of Gold
most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on
Tuesday morning; got with swearing, Laid by: And spent with crying,
-- 4 --
Bring in: Now in as low an ebb, as the foot of the Ladder; and by and
by in as high a flow as the ride of the Gallows.
Fal.
Thou say'st true, Lad: And is not my Hostess of the Tavern a
most sweet Wench?
Prince.
As is the Honey, my old Lad of the Castle: and is not a
Buff Jerkin a most sweet Robe of durance?
Fal.
How, how? how now mad Wag? What in thy quips and thy
quiddities? What a Plague have I to do with a Buff Jerkin?
Prince.
Why, what a Pox have I to do with my Hostess of the Tavern?
Fal.
Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
Prince.
Did I ever call thee for to pay thy part?
Fal.
No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
Prince.
Yea and elsewhere, so far as my Coyn would stretch, and
where it would not, I have us'd my Credit.
Fal.
Yea, and so us'd it, that were it here apparent, that thou art
Heir apparent. But I prythee sweet Wag, shall there be Gallows standing
in England when thou art King? and Resolution thus fobb'd as it
is, with the rusty curb of old Father Antick the Law? Do not thou
when thou art a King, hang a Thief.
Prince.
No, thou shalt.
Fal.
Shall I? O rare! I'll be a brave Judge.
Prince.
Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the
hanging of the Thieves, and so become a rare Hangman.
Fal.
Well, Hal, well: and in some sort it jumps with my humour,
as well as waiting in the Court, I can tell you.
Prince.
For obtaining of Suits?
Fal.
Yea, for obtaining of Suits, whereof the Hangman hath no lean
Wardrobe. I am as melancholy as a Gyb-Cat, or a lugg'd Bear.
Prin.
Or an old Lion, or a Lovers Lute.
Fal.
Yea, or the Drone of a Lingcolnshire Bagpipe.
Prin.
What say'st thou to a Hare, or the Melancholly of Moor-Ditch?
Fal.
Thou hast the most unsavoury Similes, and art indeed the most
comparative rascallest sweet young Prince. But, Hal, I prythee trouble
me no more with vanity, I would thou and I knew, where a Commodity
of good Names were to be bought: an old Lord of the Council
rated me the other day in the street about you, Sir; but I mark'd
him not, and yet he talk'd very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet
he talkt wisely, and in the street too.
Prince.
Thou didst well: for no man regards it.
Fal.
O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt
a Saint. Thou hast done much harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee
for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (if a
Man should speak truly) little better than one of the wicked. I must give
-- 5 --
over this life, and I will give it over: and I do not, I am a Villain.
I'le be damn'd for never a King's Son in Christendom.
Prin.
Where shall we take a Purse to morrow, Jack?
Fal.
Where thou wilt, Lad, I'll make one: and I do not, call me
Villain, and baffle me.
Prin.
I see a good amendment of life in thee: From Praying, to Purse-taking.
Fal.
Why, Hal, 'tis my Vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a Man to labour
in his Vocation.
Enter Poins.
Prin.
Good morrow, Ned.
Poin.
Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse?
What says Sir John Sack and Sugar, Jack? How agrees the Devil and
thee about thy Soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a
Cup of Madera, and a cold Capons leg?
Prin.
Sir John stands to his word, the Devil shall have his Bargain,
for he was never yet a Breaker of Proverbs; He will give the Devil his
due.
Poin.
Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the Devil.
Prin.
Else he had been damn'd for cozening the Devil.
Poin.
But, my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by four a Clock
early at Gads-hill, there are Pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich Offerings,
and Traders riding to London with fat Purses. I have Vizards
for you all; you have Horses for your selves: Gads hill lies to night in
Rochester, I have bespoke Supper to morrow in Eastcheap; we may do
it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your Purses full of
Crowns: If you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd.
Fal.
Hear ye Yedward, if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you
for going.
Poin.
You will, Chops.
Fal.
Hal, Wilt thou make one?
Prin.
Who, I rob? I a Thief? not I.
Fal.
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellow-ship in thee,
nor thou cam'st not of the Blood Royal, if thou dar'st not bid stand for
ten Shillings.
Prin.
Well then, once in my days I'll be a Mad cap.
Fal.
Why, that's well said.
Prin.
Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal.
I'le be a Traitor then, when thou art King.
Prin.
I care not.
Poin.
Sir John, I prethee leave the Prince and me a-lone, I will lay
him down such Reasons for this Adventure, that he shall go.
Fal.
Well, may'st thou have the spirit of Perswasion; and he the Ears
of profiting, that what thou speakest, may move; and what he hears
-- 6 --
may be believed, that the true Prince may for (recreation sake) prove
a false Thief; for the poor abuses of the time, want countenance. Farewell,
you shall find me in East-cheap.
Prin.
Farewel the latter Spring. Farewel Allhollown Summer.
[Exit Fal.
Poin.
Now, my good sweet honey Lord, ride with us to morrow. I
have a jeast to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Harvey,
Rossil, and Gads-hill, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid;
your self and I will not be there: and when they have the Booty, if
you and I do not rob them, cut this Head from my Shoulders.
Prin.
But how shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poin.
Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them
a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will
they venture upon the Exploit themselves, which they have no sooner
atchieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prin.
I, but 'tis like that they will know us by our Horses, by our Habits,
and by every other Appointment to be our selves.
Poin.
Tut, our Horses they shall not see, I'le tye them in the wood;
our Vizards we will change after we leave them: and, Sarrah, I have
Cases of Buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward Garments.
Prin.
But I doubt they will be too hard for us.
Poin.
Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred Cowards
as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees
Reason, I'le forswear Arms. The vertue of this jeast will be, the
incomprehensible lies that this fat Rogue will tell us, when we meet at
Supper; how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows,
what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this, lies the Jeast.
Prin.
Well, I'le go with thee, provide us all things necessary, and
meet me to morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'le sup. Farewel.
Poin.
Farewel, my Lord.
[Exit Poins.
Prin.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyoak'd Humour of your Idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the Sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious Clouds
To smother up his Beauty from the World;
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly Mists.
So when this loose Behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised:
By how much better than my Word I am,
Bo so much shall I falsifie mens Hopes,
And like bright Metal on a sullen groud,
My Reformation glittering o're my Fault
Shall shew more goodly, and attract more Eyes,
Than that which hath no soyl to set it off.
-- 7 --
I'll so offend, to make Offence a skill,
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
SCENE III.
Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
King.
My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these Indignities,
And you have found me; for accordingly,
You tread upon my Patience: But be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be my self,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, then my condition,
Which hath been smooth as Oyl, soft as young Down,
And therefore lost the Title of Respect,
Which the proud ne're pays, but to the proud.
Wor.
Our House (my Soveraign Liege) little deserves
The scourge of Greatness to be used on it,
And that same Greatness too, which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
Nor.
My Lord.
King.
Worcester get thee gone: for I do see
Danger and Disobedience in thine Eye.
O Sir, your Presence is too bold and peremptory,
And Majesty might never yet endure
The moody Frontier of a Servant brow,
You have good leave to leave us. When we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
You were about to speak.
North.
Yea, my good Lord.
Those Prisoners in your Highness Name demanded,
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were (as he says) not with such strength deny'd
As was delivered to your Majesty:
Who either through envy, or misprision,
Was guilty of this fault: and not my Son.
Hot.
My Liege, I did deny no Prisoners.
But, I remember when the fight was done,
When I was dry with Rage, and extream Toyl,
Breathless and faint leaning upon my Sword,
Came there a certain Lord, neat and trimly drest;
Fresh as a Bride-groom, and his Chin new reapt,
Shew'd like a stubble Land at Harvest home.
He was perfumed like a Milliner,
And 'twixt his Finger and his Thumb, he held
-- 8 --
A Civit-Box: which ever and anon
He gave his Nose, and took't away again:
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in Snuff. And still he smil'd and tlak'd:
And as the Soldiers bare dead Bodies by,
He call'd them untaught Knaves, Unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome Coarse
Betwixt the wind, and his Nobility.
With many Holiday and Lady terms
He question'd me: Among the rest, demanded
My Prisoners, in your Majesties behalf.
I then, all-smarting with my Wounds being cold,
(To be so pestered with a Popingay)
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer'd (neglectingly) I know not what,
He should or should not: For he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a Waiting-Gentlewoman,
Of Guns, and Drums, and Wounds: God save the mark;
And telling me, the Soveraign'st thing on Earth
Was Parmacity, for an inward Bruise:
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That Villanous Salt-peter should be digg'd
Out of the Bowels of the harmless Earth,
Which many a good tall Fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly. And but for these vile Guns,
He would himself have been a Souldier.
This bald, unjointed Chat of his (my Lord)
Made me to answer indirectly (as I said.)
And I beseech you, let not this Report
Come currant for an Accusation,
Betwixt my Love and your high Majesty.
Blunt.
The Circumstance considered, good my Lord,
What ever Harry Percy then had said,
To such a person, and in such a Place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
King.
Why yet he doth deny his Prisoners,
But with Proviso and Exception,
That we at our own Charge, shall ransom streight
His Brother-in-law the foolish Mortimer,
Who (in my Soul) hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those, that he did lead to Fight,
Against the great Magician, damn'd Glendower,
-- 9 --
Whose Daughter (as we hear) the Earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our Coffers then
Be emptied, to redeem a Traitor home?
Shall we buy Treason? and indent with Fears?
No: on the barren Mountains let him starve:
For I shall never hold that Man my Friend,
Whose Tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot.
Revolted Mortimer?
He never did fall off, my Soveraign Liege,
But by the Chance of War: to prove that true,
Needs no more but one Tongue. For all those Wounds,
Those mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's Sedgie Bank,
In single opposition hand to hand
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower:
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink
Upon agreement of swift Severn's Flood;
Who then affrighted with their Bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling Reeds,
And hid his crisped-head in a hollow Bank,
Blood-stained with these valiant Combatants.
Never did base, and rotten policy
Colour her working with such deadly Wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:
Then let him not be slander'd with Revolt.
King.
Thou do'st belye him, Percy, thou do'st belye him;
He never did encounter with Glendower:
I tell thee, he durst as well have met the Devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an Enemy.
Art thou not asham'd? But Sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your Prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displesie ye. My Lord Northumberland
We license your departure with your Son:
Send us your Prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
[Exit King.
Hot.
And if the Devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after streight
And tell him so: for I will ease my Heart,
Although it be with hazard of my Head.
Nor.
What? drunk with Choller? stay, and pause a while,
Here comes your Uncle.
-- 10 --
Enter Worcester,
Hot.
Speak of Mortimer?
Yes, I will speak of him, and let my Soul
Want mercy, if I do not joyn with him.
In his behalf, I'll empty all those Veins,
And shed my dear Blood drop by drop i'th' dust,
But I will lift the downfaln Mortimer
As high i'th' Air as this unthankful King,
And this ingrate and cankred Bullingbrook.
Nor.
Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad.
Wor.
Who strook this heat up after I was gone?
Hot.
He will (forsooth) have all my Prisoners:
And when I urg'd the Ransom once again
Of my Wives Brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my Face he turn'd an Eye of death,
Trembling even at the Name of Mortimer.
Wor.
I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd
By Richard that dead is, the next of Blood?
Nor.
He was: I heard the Proclamation,
And then it was, when the unhappy King
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon) did set forth
Upon his Irish Expedition:
From whence, he intercepted, did return
To be depos'd, and shortly murthered.
Wor.
And for whose Death, we in the Worlds wide mouth
Live so scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.
Hot.
But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then
Proclaim my Brother Mortimer,
Heir to the Crown?
Nor.
He did, my self did hear it.
Hot.
Nay then I cannot blame his Cousin King,
That wish'd him on the barren Mountains starv'd.
But shall it be, that you that set the Crown
Upon the Head of this forgetful Man,
And for his sake wore the detested Blot
Of murtherous Subornations? shall it be,
That you a world of Curses undergo,
Being the Agents, or base second Means,
The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?
O pardon, if that I descend so low,
To shew the Line, and the Predicament
Wherein you range under this subtle King.
Shall it for shame, be spoken in these Days,
-- 11 --
Or fill up Chronicles in time to come,
That Men of your Nobility and Power,
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
(As both of you, God pardon it, have done)
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely Rose,
And plant this Thorn, this Cancker Bullingbrook?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken,
That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off
By him, for whom these Shames ye underwent?
No: yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd Honours, and restore your selves
Into the good Thoughts of the World again.
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd Contempt
Of this proud King, who studies day and night
To answer all the Debt he owes unto you,
Even with the bloody Payments of your Deaths:
Therefore I say.—
Wor.
Peace, Cousin, say no more.
And now I will unclasp a secret Book,
And to your quick conveying Discontents,
I'le read your Matter, deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous Spirit,
As to o're-walk a Current, roaring loud,
On the unstedfast footing of a Spear.
Hot.
If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim:
Send danger from the East unto the West,
So Honour cross in from the North to South,
And let them grapple: The Blood more stirs
To rowze a Lyon, than to start a Hare.
Nor.
Imagination of some great Exploit,
Drives him beyond the bounds of Patience.
Hot.
By Heaven, methinks it were an easie leap,
To pluck bright Honour from the pale-fac'd Moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where Fadom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drown'd Honour by the Locks:
So he that doth redeem her thence, might wear
Without Co-rival, all her Dignities:
But out upon this half-fac'd Fellowship.
Wor.
He apprehends a world of Figures here,
But not the Form of what he should attend:
Good Cousin give me audience for a while,
And list to me.
Hot.
I cry you mercy.
Wor.
Those same Noble Scots
That are your Prisoners.
-- 12 --
Hot.
I'll keep them all.
By Heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them:
No, if a Scot would save his Soul, he shall not.
I'll keep them, by this Hand.
Wor.
You start away,
And lend no ear unto my Purposes.
Those Prisoners you shall keep.
Hot.
Nay, I will; that's flat:
He said he would not Ransom Mortimer
Forbad my Tongue to speak of Mortimer.
But I will find him when he lies a sleep,
And in his Ear Ill holla, Mortimer.
Nay, I'll have a Starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.
Wor.
Hear you, Cousin: A word.
Hot.
All Studies here I solemnly defie,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrook,
And that same Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales.
But that I think his Father loves him not,
And would be glad he met with some Mischance,
I would have poyson'd him with a pot of Ale.
Wor.
Farewell, Kinsman: I'll talk to you
When you are temperd to attend.
Nor.
Why what a wasp-tongu'd and impatient Fool
Art thou, to break into this Womans mood,
Tying thine Ear to no Tongue but thine own?
Hot.
Why look you, I am whipt and scourg'd with rods?
Netled and stung with Pismires, when I hear
Of this vile Politician Bullingbrook.
In Richard's time: What de'ye call the place?
A plague upon't, it is in Glocester-shire:
'Twas where the madcap Duke his Uncle kept,
His Uncle York, where I first bow'd my Knee
Unto the King of Smiles, this Bullingbrook:
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
Nor.
At Berkley Castle.
Hot.
You say true:
Why what a gaudy deal of Curtesie
This fawning Gray-hound then did proffer me.
Look when his infant Fortune came to age,
And gentle Harry Percy, and kind Cousin:
O, the Devil take such Cozeners, God forgive me:
Good Uncle tell your tale, for I have done.
Wor.
Nay, if you have not, to't again,
We'll stay your leisure.
-- 13 --
Hot.
I have done, insooth.
Wor.
Then once more to your Scottish Prisoners.
Deliver them up without their Ransom streight,
And make the Dowglas Son your only mean
For Powers in Scotland: Which for divers Reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
Will easily be granted to you, my Lord.
Your Son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly in the bosom creep
Of that same noble Prelate, well belov'd,
The Arch-Bishop.
Hot.
Of York, is't not?
Wor.
True, who bears hard
His Brothers death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation,
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
Hot.
I smell it:
Upon my Life, it will do wondrous well.
Nor.
Before the game's a foot, thou still lett'st slip.
Hot.
Why it cannot choose but be a noble Plot,
And then the Power of Scotland, and of York
To joyn with Mortimer, Ha.
Wor.
And so they shall.
Hot.
In faith it is exceeding well aim'd.
Wor.
And 'tis no little Reason bids us speed,
To save our Heads, by raising of a Head:
For, bear our selves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt,
And think we think our selves unsatisfied,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And see already, how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love.
Hot.
He does, he does, we'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor.
Cousin, farewel. No further go in this,
Than I by Letters shall direct your course;
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly.
I'll steal to Glendower, and lo, Mortimer,
Where you, and Dowglas, and our Powers at once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
To bear our Fortunes in our own strong Arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
Nor.
Farewell, good Brother, we shall thrive, I trust.
-- 14 --
Hot.
Uncle, adieu: O let Hours be short,
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport.
[Exit.
ACT. II.
SCENE. I.
Enter a Carrier, with a Lanthorn in his hand.
1. Car.
Heigh ho, an't be not four by the day I'll be hang'd. Charles
wain is over the new Chimney, and yet our Horse not
pack't. What, Ostler?
Ost.
Anon, anon.
1. Car.
I prethee Tom, beat Cuts Saddle, put a few Flocks in the point:
The poor Jade is wrung in the Withers, out of all cess.
Enter another Carrier.
2. Car.
Pease and Beans are as dank here as a Dog, and this is the
next way to give poor Jades the Bots: This House is turn'd upside
down since Robin the Ostler died.
1. Car.
Poor fellow never joy'd since the price of Oats rose, it was the
death of him.
2. Car.
I think this House is the most Villanous House in all London
road for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench.
1. Car.
Like a Tench? There's ne're a King in Christendom, could be
better bit, than I have been since the first Cock.
2. Car.
Why, you will allow us ne're a Jourden, and then we leak in
your Chimney: And your Chamber-lye breeds Fleas like a Loach.
1. Car.
What Ostler, come away, and be hang'd, come away.
2. Car.
I have a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of Ginger, to be
deliver'd as far as Charing-Cross.
1. Car.
The Turkies in my Panniers are quite starv'd. What Ostler?
a plague on thee, hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear?
and 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am
a very Villain. Come and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee?
Enter Gads-hill.
Gad.
Cood morrow, Carriers. What's a Clock?
Car.
I think it be two a Clock.
Gad.
I prethee lend me thy Lanthorn to see my Gelding in the Stable.
1. Car.
Nay, soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two of that.
Gad.
I prethee lend me thine.
2. Car.
I, when, canst tell? lend me thy Lanthorn (quoth a) marry
I'll see the hang'd first.
-- 15 --
Gad.
Sirrah, Carrier: what time do you mean to come to London?
2. Car.
Time enough to go to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee.
Come Neighbour Mugges, we'll call up the Gentlemen, they will along
with company, for they have a great charge.
[Exeunt.
Enter Chamberlain.
Gad.
What ho, Chamberlain?
Cham.
At hand quoth Pick-purse.
Gad.
That's even as fair, as at hand quoth the Chamberlain: For thou
variest no more from picking of Purses, than giving direction doth from
labouring. Thou lay'st the plot, how.
Cham.
Good morrow Master Gads-hill, it holds current that I told you
yesternight. There's a Franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three
hundred Marks with him in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his Company
last night at Supper; a kind of Auditor, one that hath abundance
of Charge too, (God knows what) they are up already, and call for
Eggs and Butter. They will away presently.
Gad.
Sirrah, if they meet not with S. Nicholas Clarks, I'll give thee
this neck.
Cham.
No, I'll none of it: I prethee keep that for the Hangman, for
I know thou worship'st S. Nicholas as truely as a man of falshood may.
Gad.
What talkest thou to me of the Hangman? If I hang I'll make
a fat pair of Gollows. For if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and
thou know'st he is no Starveling. I am joyn'd with no Foot-Land-Rakers,
no Long-staff six penny strikers, such as will strike sooner than speak;
and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet I lye,
for they pray continually unto their Saint the Common-wealth; or
rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: for they ride up and down
on her; and make her their Boots.
Cham.
What, the Common-wealth their Boots? Will she hold out water
in foul way?
Gad.
She will, she will; Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal, as in
a Castle, Cock-sure: we have the receit of Fern-seed, we walk invisible.
Cham.
Nay, I think rather, you are more beholding to the Night, than
the Fern-seed, for your walking invisible.
Gad.
Give me thy hand.
Thou shalt have a share in our purpose,
As I am a true man.
Cham.
Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false Thief.
Gad.
Go to: Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the Ostler
bring the Gelding out of the Stable. Farewell, ye muddy knave.
[Exeunt.
SCENE. II.
Enter Prince, Poyns, and Peto.
Poyns.
Come shelter, shelter, I have remov'd Falstaff's Horse, and he
frets like a gumm'd Velvet.
-- 16 --
Prin.
Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Poynes, Poynes, and be hang'd, Poynes.
Prin.
Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascal, what a bawling dost thou keep?
Fal.
What Poynes, Hal?
Prin.
He is walk'd up to the top of the Hill, I'll go seek him.
Fal.
I am accurst to rob in that Thiefs Company: that Rascal hath
remov'd my Horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but
four foot by the square further a-foot, I shall break my wind. Well,
I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I escape hanging for
killing that Rogue. I have forsworn his Company hourly any time this
two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitcht with the Rogues company.
If the Rascal have not given me Medicines to make me love him,
I'll be hang'd, it could not be else: I have drunk Medicines. Poynes, Hall,
a Plague upon you both. Bardolph, Peto: I'll starve e're I rob a foot
further. And 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to turn Trueman,
and to leave these Rogues, I am the veriest Varlet that ever chewed
with a Tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten
miles a foot with me: And the stony-hearted Villains know it well enough.
A plague upon't, when Thieves cannot be true one to another.
[They whistle.
Whew, a plague light upon you all. Give me my Horse, you Rogues:
give me my Horse, and be hang'd.
Prin.
Peace ye Fat-guts, lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground,
and list if thou can hear the tread of Travellers.
Fal.
Have you any Leavers to lift me up again being down? I'll not
bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the Coyn in thy Fathers
Exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?
Prin.
Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
Fal.
I prethee good Prince Hal help me to my Horse, good Kings
Son.
Prin
Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?
Fal.
Go hang thy self in thy own heir-apparent Garters: If I be ta'ne,
I'll peach for this: and I have not Ballads made on all, and sung to filthy
tunes, let a Cup of Sack be my Poyson: when a jest is so forward,
and a-foot too, I hate it,
Enter Gads-hill.
Gad.
Stand.
Fal.
So I do against my will.
Poyn.
O 'tis our Setter, I know his voice:
Bardolf, what News?
Bar.
Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's Money of the
Kings coming down the Hill, 'tis going to the Kings Exchequer.
Fal.
You lie, you Rogue, 'tis going to the Kings Tavern.
Gad.
There's enough to make us all.
Fal.
To be hang'd.
Prin.
You four shall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I
-- 17 --
will walk lower; if they escape from your encounter, then they light
on; us.
Peto.
But how many be of them?
Gad.
Some eight or ten.
Fal.
Will they not rob us?
Prin.
What, a Coward, Sir John Paunch?
Fal.
Indeed I am not John of Gaunt your Grandfather: but yet no
Coward, Hal.
Prin.
Well leave that to the Proof.
Poin.
Sirrah Jack, thy Horse stands behind the Hedge, when thou
need'st him, there shalt thou find him, farewel, and stand fast.
Fal.
Now I cannot strike him if I should be hang'd.
Prin.
Ned, where are our Disguises?
Poin.
Here hard by: Stand close.
Fal.
Now my Masters, happy Man be his dole, say I: every Man to
his business.
Enter Travellers.
Tra.
Come, Neighbour: The Boy shall lead our Horses down the
Hill: We'll a foot a while, and ease our Legs.
Thieves.
Stay.
Tra.
Jesu bless us.
Fal.
Strike; down with them, cut the Villains throats; a whorson Caterpillars:
Bacon-fed Knaves, they hate us Youth; down with them,
fleece them.
Tra.
O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever,
Fal.
Hang ye gorbellied Knaves, are you undone? No ye Fat Chuffs,
I would your store were here. On Bacons on, what ye Knaves? Young
men must live, you are Grand Jurors? We'll jure ye i'faith.
[Here they rob them and bind them. Enter the Prince and Poyns.
Prin.
The Thieves have bound the True-men: Now could thou and
I rob the Thieves and go merrily to London, it would be Argument for
a Week, Laughter for a Month, and a good Jeast for ever.
Poynes.
Stand close, I hear them coming.
Enter Thieves again.
Fal.
Come my Masters, let us share, and then to Horse before day;
and the Prince and Poynes be not two arrand Cowards, there's no equity
stirring. Theres no more Valour in that Poynes, than in a wild Duck.
Prin.
Your Money.
Poyn.
Villains.
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poyns set upon them. They all run away, leaving the Booty behind them.
Prince.
Got with much ease. Now merrily to Horse: The Thieves
are scattered, and possest with fear so strongly, that they dare not meet
each other: each takes his Fellow for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falstaff
sweats to death, and lards the lean earth as he walks along; wer't
not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poyn.
How the Rogue roar'd.
[Exeunt.
-- 18 --
SCENE III.
Enter Hotspur solus, reading a Letter.
But for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well contended to be there,
in respect of the love I bear your House. He could be contented: Why
is he not then? in respect of the love he bears our House. He shews in
this, he loves his own Barn better than he loves our House. Let me
see some more, The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why that's
certain: 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell
you (my Lord Fool) out of this Nettle, Danger; we pluck this Flower,
Safety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the Friends you
have named uncertain, the Time it self unsorted, and your whole Plot too
light, for the counterpoize so great an Opposition. Say you so, say you
so: I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly Hind, and you
lye. What a Lack-brain is this? I protest, our Plot is as good a Plot as
ever was laid? our Friends true and constant: A good Plot, good Friends,
and full of Expectation: An excellent Plot, very good Friends. What a
Frosty-spirited Rogue is this? Why, my Lord of York commends the Plot,
and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this
Rascal, I could brain him with his Ladies Fan. Is there not my Father,
my Uncle, and my self, Lord Edmond Mortimer, my Lord of York, and
Owen Glendower? Is there not besides, the Dowglas? Have I not all
their Letters, to meet me in Arms by the ninth of the next Month?
and are there not some of them set forward already? What a Pagan Rascal
is this? An Infidel. Ha, you shall see now in very sincerity of fear
and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our Proceedings.
O, I could divide my self, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of
skim'd Milk with so Honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell
the King we are prepared. I will set forwards to night.
Enter his Lady.
How now, Kate, I must leave you, within these two hours.
La.
O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?
For what Offence have I this fortnight been
A Banish'd Woman from my Harry's Bed?
Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy g[illeg.]en sleep?
Why dost thou bend thy Eyes upon the Earth?
And start so often when thou sitt'st alone?
O what Portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my Lord in hand,
And I must know it: else he loves me not.
Hot.
What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?
Ser.
He is, my Lord an hour agone.
Hot.
Hath Butler brought those Horses from the Sheriff?
Ser.
One Horse, my Lord, he brought even now.
-- 19 --
Hot.
What Horse? a Roan, a Crop-ear, is it not?
Ser.
It is, my Lord.
Hot.
That Roan shall be my Throne. Well, I will back him streight.
Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Park.
La.
But hear you, my Lord.
Hot.
What say'st thou, my Lady?
La.
What is it that carries you away?
Hot.
Why, my Horse (my Love) my Horse.
La.
Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazel hath not such a deal of Spleen,
as you are tost with. In sooth I'll know your business, Harry, that I
will. I fear my Brother Mortimer doth stir about his Title, and hath
sent for you to line his Enterprise. But if you go—
Hot.
So far a foot, I shall be weary, Love.
La.
Come, come, you Paraquito, answer me directly unto this Question,
that I shall ask. Indeed I'll break thy little Finger, Harry, if
thou wilt not tell me true.
Hot.
Away, away, you trifler: Love, I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no World
To tilt with Lips.
We must have bloody Noses and crack'd Crowns,
And pass them currant too. Gods me, my Horse.
What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou have with me?
La.
Do ye not love me? do you not indeed?
Well, do not then. For since you love me not,
I will not love my self. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if thou speakest in Jeast, or no.
Hot.
Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a Horse-back, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I must not have you henceforth, question me,
Whither I go: nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must: and to conclude,
This Evening must I leave thee, gentle Kate.
I know you wife, but yet no further wife
Then Harry Percies Wife. Constant you are,
But yet a Woman: and for Secrecy,
No Lady closer. For I will believe,
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
La.
How so far?
Hot.
Not an inch further. But hark you Kate,
Whether I go, thither shall you go too:
To day will I set forth, to morrow you.
Will this content you Kate?
La.
It must of force.
[Exeunt.
-- 20 --
SCENE IV.
Enter Prince and Poynes.
Prin.
Ned, prethee come out of that fat Room, and lend me thy
hand to laugh a little.
Poynes.
Where hast been, Hall?
Prin.
With three or four Logegerheads, amongst three or fourscore
Hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I
am sworn Brother to a lesh of Drawers, and can call them by their
Names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. To conclude, I am so good a proficient
in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any Tinker in his
own Language: but sweet Ned, to sweeten which name of Ned, I give
thee this penniworth of Sugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under
Skiner, one that never speak other English in his Life, then Eight
shilling and six pence, and, You are welcome: with this shrill addition,
Anon Sir, Anon Sir, Score a pint of Bastard in the Half Moon, or so.
But Ned, to drive away time till Falstaff come, I prethee do thou stand
in some by-room, while I question my puny Drawer, to what end he
gave me the Sugar, and do never leave calling Francis, that his Tale
to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and I'll shew thee a President.
Poyn.
Francis.
Prin.
Thou art perfect.
Poyn.
Francis.
Enter Drawer
Fran.
Anon, anon Sir; look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralf.
Prince.
Come hither, Francis.
Fran.
My Lord.
Prince.
Hoa long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran.
Forsooth five years, and as much as to—
Poyn.
Francis.
Fran.
Anon, anon Sir.
Prin.
Five years; Berlady a long Lease for the clinking of Pewter.
But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the Coward with thy
Indenture, and shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran.
O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the Books in England, I
could find in my Heart.
Poyn.
Francis.
Fran.
Anon, anon, Sir.
Prin.
How old art thou, Francis?
Fran.
Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be—
Poyn.
Francis.
Fran.
Anon Sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord.
Prin.
Nay but hark you Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest me, 'twas
a penniworth, was't not?
Fran.
O Lord Sir, I would it had been two.
Prin.
I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou
wilt, and thou shalt have it.
Poyn.
Francis.
Fran.
Anon, anon.
Prin.
Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis,
on Thursday: or indeed Francis, when thou wilt. But Francis.
-- 21 --
Fran.
My Lord.
Prin.
Away you Rogue, dost thou hear them call?
[Here they both call, the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.
Enter Vintner.
Vint.
What stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the
Guest within: My Lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more, are at
the Door: shall I let them in?
Prin.
Let them alone a while, and then open the Door, Poynes.
Enter Poynes.
Poyn.
Anon, anon Sir.
Prin.
Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the Thieves are at the Door, shall
we be merry?
Poyn.
As merry as Crickets my Lad. But hark ye, what cunning
match have you made with this jeast of the Drawer? Come, what's the
issue?
Prin.
I am now of all humors, that have shewed themselves humors,
since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil Age of this present
twelve a Clock at midnight. What's a clock Francis?
Fran.
Anon, anon Sir.
Prin.
That ever this Fellow should have fewer Words then a Parret,
and yet the Son of a Woman. His industry is up-stairs and down-stairs,
his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind,
the Hotspur of the North, he that kills me some six or seven dozen
of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his Wife: Fie upon
this queir Life, I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many
hast thou kill'd to Day? Give my Roan Horse a dranch (says he,)
and answers, some fourteen, an hour after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee
call in Falstaff, I'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn shall play Dame
Mortimer his Wife. Rivo, says the Drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in
Tallow.
Enter Falstaff.
Poyn.
Welcome Jack, where hast thou been?
Fal.
A plague of all Cowards I say, and a vengeance too, marry and
Amen. Give me a cup of Sack, Boy. E're I lead this life long, I'le
sow nether stocks, and mend them too. A plague of all Cowards.
Give me a Cup of Sack, Rogue. Is there no virtue extant?
Prin.
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of Butter, pitiful hearted
Titan that melted at the sweet Tale of the Sun? If thou didst, then
behold that compound.
Fal.
You Rogue, here's Lime in this Sack too: there is nothing but
Roguery to be found in Villanous Man; yet a Coward is worse than a
Cup of Sack with Lime. A villanous Coward, go thy ways old Jack,
die when thou wilt, if Manhood, good Manhood be not forgot upon
the Face of the Earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there lives not three
good Men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old,
God help the while, a bad World I say. I would I were a Weaver, I
could sing all manner of Songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still.
-- 22 --
Prin.
How now Woolsack, what mutter you?
Fal.
A Kings Son? If I do not beat thee out of thy Kingdom with
a Dagger of Lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of
Wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales?
Prin.
Why you horson round man? what's the matter?
Fal.
Are you not a Coward? answer me to that, and Poynes there?
Prin.
Ye fat Paunch, and ye call me Coward, I'll stab thee.
Fal.
I call thee Coward? I'll see thee damn'd e're I call thee Coward:
but I would give a thousand Pound I could run as fast as thou canst.
You are streight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your
back: Call you that backing of your Friends? a Plague upon such backing:
give me them that will face me. Give me a Cup of Sack, I am a
Rogue if I drunk to day.
Prin.
O Villain, thy Lips are scarce wip'd, since thou drunk'st last.
Falst.
All's one for that.
[He drinks.
A plague of all Cowards still, say I.
Prin.
What's the matter?
Falst.
What's the matter? here be four of us, have ta'ne a thousand
pound this Morning.
Prin.
Where is it, Jack? where is it!
Falst.
Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four
of us.
Prin.
What, a hundred, man?
Falst.
I am a Rogue, if I were not at half Sword with a dozen of
them two hours together; I have escaped by miracle. I am eight times
thrust through the Doublet, four through the Hose, my Buckler cut
through, my Sword hack'd like a Hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt
better since I was a man: all would not do. A Plague of all Cowards:
let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are Villains,
and the Sons of darkness.
Prin.
Speak Sirs, how was it?
Gad.
We four set upon some dozen.
Falst.
Sixteen, at least, my Lord.
Gad.
And bound them.
Peto.
No, no, they were not bound.
Falst.
You Rogue they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.
Gad.
As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.
Falst.
And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.
Prin.
What, fought ye with them all?
Falst.
All? I know not what ye call all: but if I fought not with
fifty of them, I am a Bunch of Radish: if there were not two or three
and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd Creature.
Poin.
Pray Heaven, you have not murthered some of them.
Falst.
Nay, that's past Praying for. I have pepper'd two of them:
Two I am sure I have payed, two Rogues in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee
what, Hall, if I tell thee a Lye, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou
-- 23 --
knowest my old word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four
Rogues in Buckrom let drive at me:
Prince.
What, four? thou said'st but two, even now.
Falst.
Four Hal, I told thee four.
Poin.
I, I, he said four.
Falst.
These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me; I made
no more ado, but took all their seven points in my Target, thus.
Prince.
Seven? why there were but four, even now.
Falst.
In Buckrom.
Poin.
I, four, in Buckrom Sutes.
Falst.
Seven, by these Hilts, or I am a Villain else.
Prin.
Prithee let him alone; we shall have more anon.
Falst.
Doest thou hear me, Hal?
Prin.
I, and mark thee too, Jack.
Falst.
Do so, for it is worth the listning too: these nine in Buckrom
that I told thee of.
Prin.
So, two more already.
Falst.
Their Points being broken.
Poin.
Down fell his Hose.
Falst.
Began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in
foot and hand; and with a thought seven of the eleven I pay'd.
Prin.
O monstrous! eleven Buckrom men grown out of two?
Falst.
But as the Devil would have it, three mis-begotten Knaves, in
Kendal Green, came at my Back, and let drive at me; for it was so
dark, Hal, that thou could'st not see thy Hand.
Prin.
These Lyes are like the Father that begets them, gross as a Mountain,
open, palpable. Why thou Clay-braind Guts; thou Knotty paited
Fool, thou Horson obscene greasie Tallow Catch.
Falst.
What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?
Prin.
Why, how could'st thou know these men in Kendal Green,
when it was so dark, thou could'st not see thy hand? Come, tell us your
Reason; what say'st thou to this?
Poin.
Come, your Reason Jack, your Reason.
Falst.
What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the Strappado, or
all the Racks in the World, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give
you a Reason on compulsion? If Reasons were as plenty as Black-berries;
I would give no man a Reason upon compulsion, I.
Prin.
I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine Coward, this
Bed-presser, this Horse-back-breaker, this huge Hill of Flesh.
Falst.
Away you Starveling, you Elf-skin, you dried Neats-tongue,
Bulls-pissel, you Stock-fish: O for breath to utter. What is like thee
You Tailors Yard, you Sheath, you Bow case, you vile standing Tuck.
Prin.
Well, breathe a-while, and then to't again; and when thou hast
tyr'd thy self in base Comparisons, hear me speak but thus
Poin.
Mark Jack.
Prin.
We two, saw you four set on four and bound them, and were
-- 24 --
Masters of their Wealth: mark now, how a plain Tale shall put you
down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, out-fac'd
you from your Prize, and have it: yea, and can shew it you in the House.
And Falstaff, you carried your Guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity,
and roared for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever I heard
Bull-Calf. What a Slave art thou, to hack thy Sword as thou hast done,
and then say it was in fight. What trick? what device? what starting
hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent
shame?
Poin.
Come, let's hear Jack: What trick hast thou now?
Falst.
I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why hear ye my Masters,
was it for me to kill the Heir apparent? Should I turn upon the
true Prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware
instinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: Instinct is a great
matter. I was a Coward on Instinct: I shall think the better of my self,
and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true
Prince. But Lads, I am glad you have the Money: Hostess, clap to the
doors: watch to Night, pray to Morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boys, Hearts
of Gold, all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What, shall we
be merry? shall we have a Play extempore.
Prin.
Content, and the argument shall be, thy running away.
Falst.
A, no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.
Enter Hostess.
Host.
My Lord the Prince?
Prin.
How now, my Lady the Hostess, what say'st thou to me?
Host.
Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble-man of the Court at door
would speak with you: he says he comes from your Father.
Prin.
Give him as much as will make him a Royal man, and send
him back again to my Mother.
Falst.
What manner of man is he?
Hostess.
An old man.
Falst.
What doth Gravity out of his Bed at Midnight? Shall I give
him his answer?
Prin.
Prethee do, Jack.
Falst.
Faith, and I'le send him packing.
[Exit.
Prince.
Now Sirs: you fought fair; so did you Peto, so did you Bardol:
You are Lions too, you ran away upon instinct: You will not
touch the true Prince; no, fie.
Bard.
'Faith I ran when I saw others run.
Prin.
Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaffs's Sword so hackt?
Peto.
Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and said, he would swear
truth out of all England: but he would make you believe it was done
in fight, and perswaded us to do the like.
Bard.
Yea, and tickle our Noses with Spear-grass, to make them
bleed, and then beslubber our Garments with it, and swear it was the
Bloud of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I
blusht to hear his monstrous devices.
-- 25 --
Prin.
O Villain, thou stolest a Cup of Sack eighteen years ago, and
wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blusht extempore:
thou hadst Fire and Sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away:
what instinct hadst thou for it?
Bard.
My Lord, do you see these Meteors? do you behold these Exhalations?
Prin.
I do.
Bard.
What think you they portend?
Prin.
Hot Livers, and cold Purses.
Bard.
Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.
Prin.
No, if rightly taken, Halter.
Enter Falstaff.
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now my sweet
Creature of Bombast, how long is't ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thine
own Knee?
Falst.
My own Knee? When I was about thy years, (Hal) I was not
an Eagles Talon in the Waste, I could have crept into any Aldermans
Thumb-Ring: a plague of sighing and grief, it blows a Man up like a
Bladder. There's villanous News abroad: Here was Sir John Braby from
your Father; you must go to the Court in the Morning. The same mad
fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the
Bastinado, and made Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Devil his true
Liege-man upon the Cross of a Welsh-hook; what a Plague call you
him?
Poin.
O, Glendower.
Falst.
Owen, Owen; the same, and his Son in Law Mortimer, and
old Northumberland, and the sprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runs
a Horse-back up a Hill perpendicular.
Prin.
He that rides at high speed, and with a Pistol kills a Sparrow
flying.
Falst.
You have hit it.
Prin.
So did he never the Sparrow.
Falst.
Well, that Rascal hath good metal in him, he will not run.
Prin.
Why, what a Rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running?
Falst.
A Horse-back, (ye Cuckow) but a-foot he will not budge a
foot.
Prin.
Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Falst.
I grant ye, upon instinct: Well, he is there too, and one Mordake,
and a thousand blew-Caps more, Worcester is stoln away by Night:
thy Fathers Beard is turn'd white with the News: you may buy Land
now as cheap as stinking Mackerel.
Prin.
Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sun, and this civil buffetting
hold, we shall buy Maindenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the
hundreds.
Falst.
By the Mass, Lad, thou say'st true, it is like we shall have
good trading that way. But tell me, Hall, art not thou horrible afear'd?
thou being Heir apparent, could the World pick thee out three such
Enemies again as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that Devil
Glendower? Art thou not horrible afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at
it?
-- 26 --
Prin.
Not a whit: I lack some of thy instinct.
Falst.
Well, thou wilt be horrible chid to morrow, when thou comest
to thy Father: if thou do love me, practise an answer.
Prin.
Do thou stand for my Father, and examine me upon the particulars
of my Life.
Falst.
Shall I? content: This Chair shall be my State, this Dagger
my Scepter, and this Cushion my Crown.
Prin.
Thy State is taken for a Joyn'd-Stool, thy Golden Scepter for
a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crown for a pitiful bald Crown.
Falst.
Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt
thou be moved. Give me a Cup of Sack to make mine Eyes look red,
that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I
will do it in King Cambyses vein.
Prin.
Well, here is my Leg.
Falst.
And here is my speech: stand aside Nobility.
Hostess.
This is excellent sport, i'faith.
Falst.
Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendest thy time; but
also, how thou are accompanied: For though the Camomil, the more
it is trodden, the faster it grows; yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the
sooner it wears. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard
of, and it is known to many in our Land, by the name of Pitch: this
Pitch (as ancient Writers do report) doth defile; so doth the company
thou keepest: for Harry, now I do not speak to thee in Drink, but in
Tears; not in Pleasure, but in Passion; not in Words only, but in Woes
also: and yet there is a vertuous Man, whom I have often noted in thy
company, but I know not his Name.
Prin.
What manner of Man, and it like your Majesty?
Fal.
A goodly portly Man i'faith, and corpulent, of a chearful Look,
a pleasing Eye, and a most noble Carriage, and as I think, his Age some fifty,
or (by'rlady) inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his
Name is Falstaff: If that Man should be lewdly given, he deceives me;
for Harry, I see Vertue in his Looks. If then the Tree may be known
by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I speak it,
there is Vertue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And
tell me now, thou naughty Varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this
Month?
Prin.
Do'st thou speak like a King? Do thou stand for me, and I'll
play my Father.
Falst.
Depose me: if thou do'st it half so gravely, so majestically,
both in Word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a Rabbet-sucker,
or a Poulters Hare.
Prin.
Well, here I am set.
Falst.
And here I stand: judge, my Masters.
Prin.
Now Harry, whence come you?
Falst.
My Noble Lord, from East-cheap.
Prin.
The Complaints I hear of thee, are grievous.
Falst.
I'faith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young
Prince.
-- 27 --
Prin.
Swearest thou, ungracious Boy? henceforth ne're look on me,
thou art violently carried away from Grace: there's a Devil haunts thee,
in the likeness of a fat old man; a Tun of Man is thy Companion: Why,
that Reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that Father Ruffian, that Vanity
in years, wherein is he good, but to taste Sack and drink it? wherein
neat and cleanly, but to carve a Capon and eat it? wherein Cunning,
but in Craft? wherein Crafty, but in Villany? wherein Villanous, but
in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?
Falst.
I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means
your Grace?
Prin.
That villanous abominable mis-leader of Youth Falstaff, that
old white-bearded Sathan.
Falst.
My Lord, the man I know.
Prin.
I know thou do'st.
Falst.
But to say, I know more harm in him than in my self, were to
say more than I know. That he is old (the more's the pity) his white
hairs do witness it: But that he is (saving your Reverence) a Whore-master,
that I utterly deny. If Sack and Sugar be a fault, Heaven help
the wicked: if to be old and merry, be a sin, then many a Host that I
know is damn'd: if to be fat, to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean Kine are
to be loved. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish
Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,
valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack
Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and
banish all the World.
Prin.
I do, I will.
Enter Bardolph running
Bard.
O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a most monstrous
Watch, is at the door.
Falst.
Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I have much to say in the
behalf of that Falstaff.
Enter the Hostess.
Host.
O, my Lord, my Lord.
Falst.
Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a Fiddle-stick: what's the
matter?
Host.
The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the door: they are come
to search the House, shall I let them in?
Falst.
Do'st thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of Gold a Counterfeit:
thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.
Prin.
And thou a natural Coward, without instinct.
Falst.
I deny your Major; if you will deny the Sheriff, so: if not,
let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a plague
on my bringing up: I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a Halter,
as another
Prince.
Go hide thee behind the Arras, the rest walk up above. Now
my Masters, for a true Face and good Conscience.
Falst.
Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore
I'll hide me.
-- 28 --
Prin.
Call in the Sheriff.
[Exit.
Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.
Prince.
Now Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
She.
First, pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath followed certain
men unto this House.
Prin.
What Men?
She.
One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, a gross fat Man.
Car.
As fat as Butter.
Prin.
The man, I do assure you is not here,
For I my self at this time have imploy'd him:
And Sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,
That I will by to morrow Dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any Man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal:
And so let me intreat you, leave the House.
She.
I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen
Have in this Robbery lost three hundred Marks.
Prin.
It may be so: If he have robb'd these Men,
He shall be answerable: And so farewel.
She.
Good Night, my Noble Lord.
Prin.
I think it is Good Morrow, is is not?
She.
Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a Clock.
[Exit.
Prin.
This oyly Rascal is known as well as Pauls: go call him forth.
Peto.
Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the Arras, and snorting like a
Horse.
Prin.
Hark, how hard he fetches his breath: Search his Pockets.
He searcheth his Pockets, and findeth certain Papers.
Prin.
What hath thou found?
Peto.
Nothing but Papers, my Lord.
Prin.
Let's see, what be they? read them.
Peto.
Item, a Capon. ii s. ii d.
Item, Sawce. iiii d.
Item, Sack, two Gallons. v s. viii d.
Item, Anchoves and Sack after Supper. ii s. vi d.
Item, Bread. ob.
Prince.
O monstrous, but one half penny-worth of Bread to this intolerable
deal of Sack? What there is else, keep close, we'll read it at
more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the Court in the
Morning: We must all to the Wars, and thy place shall be honorable.
I'll procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot, and I know his death will
be a March of Twelve-score. The Money shall be pay'd back again
with advantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning: And so good
morrow Peto.
Peto.
Good morrow, good my Lord.
[Exeunt.
-- 29 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.
Mort.
These Promises are fair, the Parties sure,
And our Induction full of prosperous hope.
Hotsp.
Lord Mortimer, and Cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And Uncle Worcester; a plague upon it,
I have forgot the Map.
Glend.
No, here it is;
Sit Cousin Percy, sit good Cousin Hotspur:
For by that Name, as oft as Lancaster doth speak of you,
His Cheeks look pale, and with a rising sigh,
He wisheth you in Heaven.
Hotsp.
And you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glend.
I cannot blame him: At my Nativity,
The front of Heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning Creslets: and at my Birth,
The frame and foundation of the Earth
Shak'd like a Coward.
Hotsp.
Why so it would have done at the same Season, if your Mothers
Cat had but kitten'd, though your self had never been born.
Glend.
I say the Earth did shake when I was born.
Hotsp.
And I say the Earth was not of my mind:
If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook
Glen.
The Heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.
Hotsp.
Oh, then the Earth shook.
To see the Heavens on fire.
And not in fear of your Nativity.
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange Eruptions: And the teeming Earth
Is with a kind of Cholick pinch'd and vext,
By the imprisoning of unruly Wind
Within her Womb: which for enlargment striving,
Shakes the old Beldam Earth, and tumbles down
Steeples, and moss-grown Towers. At your Birth,
Our Grandam Earth, having this Distemperature,
In passion shook.
Glen.
Cousin: Of many Men
I do not bear these Crossings: Give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my Birth
The front of Heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The Goats ran from the Mountains, and the Heards
Were strangly clamorous to the frighted fields:
-- 30 --
These Signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the Courses of my life do shew,
I am not in the Roll of common Men.
Where is the Living, clipt in with the Sea,
That chides the Banks of England, Scotland and Wales,
Which calls me Pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but Womans Son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of Art,
And hold me pace in deep Experiments.
Hotsp.
I think there's no Man speaks better Welsh?
I'll to dinner.
Mort.
Peace, Cousin Percy, you will make him mad.
Glend.
I can call Spirits from the vastie Deep.
Hotsp.
Why so can I, or so can any Man:
But will they come, when you do call for them?
Glend.
Why, I can teach thee, Cousin, to command the Devil.
Hotsp.
And I can teach thee, Cousin, to shame the Devil,
By telling Truth. Tell Truth, and shame the Devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.
Oh, while you live, tell Truth, and shame the Devil.
Mort.
Come, come, no more of this unprofitable Chat.
Glend.
Three times hath Henry Bullingbrook made head
Against my power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,
And Sandy-bottom Severn, have I sent him,
Bootless home, and Weather-beaten back.
Hot.
Home, without Boots,
And in foul Weather too,
How scapes he Agues in the Devil's name?
Glend.
Come, her's the Map:
Shall we divide our Right,
According to our threefold order ta'ne?
Mort.
The Arch-Deacon hath divided it
Into three Limits, very equally:
England, from Trent, and Severn hitherto,
By South and East is to my part assign'd:
All Westward, Wales, beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile Land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower: and dear Couze, to you
The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.
And our Indentures Tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed enterchangeably,
(A business that this Night may execute)
To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,
And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your Father, and the Scottish Power,
As is appointed us at Shrewsbury.
-- 31 --
My Father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:
Within that space, you may have drawn together
Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen.
Glend.
A short time shall send me to you, Lords:
And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave,
For there will be a world of Water shed,
Upon the parting of your Wives and you.
Hotsp.
Methinks my moity, North from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See, how this River comes me cranking in,
And cuts me from the best of all my Land,
A huge half Moon, a monstrous Cantle out.
I'll have the Current in this Place damn'd up,
And here the smug, and Silver Trent shall run,
In a new Channel, fair and evenly:
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glend.
Not wind? it shall, it must, you see it doth.
Mort.
Yea, but mark how he bends his course,
And runs me up, with like advantage on the other side,
Gelding the opposing Continent as much,
As on the other side it takes from you.
Worc.
Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,
And on this North side win this Cape of Land,
And then he runs straight and even.
Hotsp.
I'll have it so, a little Charge will do it.
Glend.
I'll not have it alter'd.
Hotsp.
Will not you?
Glend.
No, nor you shall not.
Hotsp.
Who shall say me nay?
Glend.
Why, that will I.
Hotsp.
Let me not understand you then, speak it in Welsh.
Glend.
I can speak English, Lord, as well as you:
For I was train'd up in the English Court:
Where, being but young, I framed to the Harp,
Many an English Ditty, lovely well,
And gave the Tongue a helpful Ornament;
A Vertue that was never seen in you.
Hotsp.
Marry, and I am glad of it with all my Heart,
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,
Than one of these same meeter-Ballad-mongers:
I had rather hear a Brazen Candlestick tun'd,
Or a dry Wheel grate on the Axle-tree,
And that would set my teeth on Edge,
Nothing so much as mincing Poetrie;
-- 32 --
'Tis like the forc'd gate of a shuffling Nag.
Glend.
Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hotsp.
I do not care: I'll give thrice so much Land
To any well-deserving Friend;
But in the way of Bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a Hair.
Are the Indentures drawn; shall we be gone?
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.
King.
Lords, give us leave:
The Prince of Wales, and I,
Must have some private Conference,
But be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you.
[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether Heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing Service I have done;
That in his secret Doom, out of my Blood,
He'll breed Revengement, and a Scourge for me:
But thou dost in thy passages of Life,
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd
For the hot Vengeance, and the Rod of Heaven
To punish my Mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lew'd, such mean Attempts,
Such barren Pleasures, rude Society,
As thou art match'd withall, and grafted too,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy Princely heart?
Prince.
So please your Majesty, I would I could
Quit all Offences with as clear excuse,
As well as I am doubtless I can purge
My self of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wandred, and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
King.
Heaven pardon thee:
Yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy Affections, which do hold a Wing
Quite from the flight of all thy Ancestors,
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger Brother is supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the Hearts
Of all the Court and Princes of my blood.
-- 33 --
The Hope and Expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the Soul of every man
Prophetically do fore-think thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my Presence been,
So common hackney'd in the ways of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar Company;
Opinion, that did help me to the Crown,
Had still kept loyal to Possession,
And left me in reputeless Banishment,
A Fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But like a Comet, I was wondred at.
That Men would tell their Children, This is he:
Others would say, where? which is Bullingbrook?
But now there's not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more:
Which now doth, that I would not have it do,
Make blind it self with foolish tenderness.
Prince.
I shall heareafter, my thrice gracious Lord,
Be more my self.
King.
For all the World,
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France set forth at Ravenspurg;
And even as I was then, is Percy now:
Now by my Scepter, and my Soul to boot,
He hath more worthy Interest to the State
Than thou the Shadow of Succession;
For of no Right, nor Colour like to Right,
He doth fill Fields with Harness in the Realm,
Turns Head against the Lyon's armed Jaws;
And being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient Lords, and reverend Bishops on
To bloody Battels, and to bruising Arms.
What never-dying Honour hath he got,
Against renowned Dowglas?
Thrice hath the Hotspur Mars, in swathing Cloaths,
This infant-Warriour, in his Enterprises,
Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'ne him once,
Enlarged him, and made a Friend of him,
To fill the Mouth of deep Defiance up,
And shake the Peace and Safety of our Throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The Arch-Bishops Grace of York, Dowglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell this News to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my Foes,
-- 34 --
Which art my near'st and dearest Enemy?
Thou art like enough, through Vassal Fear,
Base Inclination, and the start of Spleen,
To fight against me under Percie's Pay,
To dog his Heels, and courtsie at his Frowns.
To shew how much thou art degenerate.
Prince.
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
And Heaven forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your Majesties good Thoughts away from me:
I will redeem all this on Percie's Head,
And in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your Son,
When I will wear a Garment all of Blood,
And stain my Favours in a bloody Mask:
Which washt away, shall scowre my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, when e're it lights,
That this same Child of Honour and Renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised Knight,
And your unthought of Harry, chance to meet:
For every Honour sitting on his Helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my Head
My Shames redoubled. For the time will come,
That I shall make this Northern Youth exchange
His Glorious Deeds for my Indignities:
Percy is but my Factor.
Or I will tear the Reckoning from his Heart.
This, in the the Name of Heaven, I promise here:
The which, if I promise, and do survive,
I do beseech your Majesty, may salve
The long-grown Wounds of my intemperature:
If not, the end of Life cancels all Bands,
And I will dye a hundred thousand deaths,
E'er break the smallest parcel of this Vow.
King.
A hundred thousand Rebles die in this:
Thou shalt have Charge, and Soveraign Trust herein.
Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt.
So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Dowglas and the English Rebels met
The eleventh of this Month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful Head they are,
(If promises be kept on every hand)
As ever offered foul play in a State.
King.
The Earl of Westmerland set forth to day:
With him my Son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For his Advertisement is five days old.
-- 35 --
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward:
On Thursday, we our selves will march.
Our meeting is Bridgenorth: And Harry, you shall march
Through Glocester-shire: By which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence,
Our general Forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: Let's away,
Advantage feeds them fat, while Men delay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Falstaff, and Bardolph.
Falst.
Bardolph, am I not faln away vilely, since this last action? Do
I not hate? do I not dwindle? Why my skin hangs about me like
an old Ladies loose Gown: I am withered like an old Apple John.
Well I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking: I shall
be out of Heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent.
And I have not forgotten what the in-side of a Church is made of, I am
a Pepper Corn, a Brewers Horse: The in-side of a Church. Company,
villanous Company hath been the spoil of me.
Bard.
Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.
Falst.
Why there it is: Come, sing me a bawdy Song, make me merry:
I was as virtuously given, as a Gentleman need to be; virtuous enough,
swore little, Dic'd not above seven times a week, went to a
Bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour, paid money that
I borrowed three or four times: lived well, and in good compass: And
now I live out of all order, out of compass.
Bard.
Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of
all compass; out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
Falst.
Do thou amend thy Face, and I'll amend my Life. Thou art
our Admiral, thou bearest the Lantern in the Poop, but 'tis in the Nose
of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lamp.
Bard.
Why, Sir John, my Face does you no harm.
Falst.
No, I'll be sworn: I make as good use of it, as many a Man
doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I never see thy Face, but
I think upon Hell Fire, when thou rann'st up Gads-hill in the night to
catch my Horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an Ignis fatuus, or a
Ball of Wild-fire, there's no purchase in Money. O, thou art a perpetual
Triumph, an everlasting Bone-fire-light, thou hast saved me a thousand
Marks in Links and Torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt
Tavern and Tavern: But the Sack that thou hast drunk me, would
have bought me light as good cheap, at the dearest Chandlers in Europe.
I have maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time
this two and thirty years, Heaven reward me for it.
Bard.
I would my Face were in your belly.
Falst.
So should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.
-- 36 --
Enter Hostess.
How now, Dame Parlet the Hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd
my Pocket?
Hostess.
Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think
I keep Thieves in my House? I have search'd, I have enquir'd, so has
my Husband. Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Servant by Servant: The
tight of a Hair was never lost in my House before.
Falst.
Ye lye, Hostess: Bardolph was shav'd, and lost many a Hair;
and I'll be sworn my Pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a Woman,
go.
Hostess.
Who I? I defie thee. I was never so call'd so in mine own
House before.
Falst.
Go to, I know you well enough.
Hostess.
No, Sir John: You do not know me, Sir John; I know you,
Sir John: You owe me Money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel
to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your back.
Falst.
Dowlas, filthy Dowlas: I have given them away to Bakers
Wives, and they have made Boulters of them.
Hostess.
Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight shillings an
Ell: You owe Money here besides, Sir John, for your Diet, and by-Drinkings,
and Money lent you, four and twenty pounds.
Falst.
He had his part of it, let him pay.
Hostess.
He? alas! he is poor, he hath nothing.
Falst.
How? poor? look upon his face: What call you rich? Let
him coyn his Nose, let him coyn his Cheeks, I'll not pay a Denier. What,
will you make a Yonker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inn,
but I shall have my Pocket pick'd? I have lost a Seal-Ring of my Grand-fathers,
worth forty Mark.
Hostess.
I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that
that Ring was Copper.
Falst.
How? the Prince is a Jack, a Sneak-Cup: and if he were here,
I would cudgel him like a Dog, if he would say so.
Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaff meets him, playing on his Trunchion like a Fife.
Falst.
How now, Lad? is the wind in that Door? Must we all march?
Bard.
Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
Host.
My Lord, I pray you hear me.
Prince.
What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How does thy Husband?
I love him well, he is an honest Man.
Hostess.
Good, my Lord, hear me.
Falst.
Prethee let her alone, and list to me.
Prince.
What say'st thou, Jack?
Falst.
The other night I fell asleep here behind the Arras, and had
my Pocket pickt: This House is turn'd Bawdy-house, they pick Pockets.
Prince.
What didst thou lose, Jack?
Falst.
Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four Bonds of forty pound
a piece, and a Seal-Ring of my Grand-fathers.
-- 37 --
Prince.
A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
Host.
So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your Grace say
so: And (my Lord) he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd
Man as he is, and said he would cudgel you.
Prince.
What, he did not?
Host.
There's neither Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hood in me else.
Fal.
There's no more faith in thee than in a stude Prune; nor no more
truth in thee than in a drawn Fox: and for Woman-hood, Maid-Marian
may be the Deputies Wife of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing,
go.
Host.
Say, what thing? what thing?
Falst.
What thing? why a thing to thank Heaven on.
Host.
I am nothing to thank Heaven on, I would thou shouldst know
it: I am an honest Man's Wife: and setting thy Knighthood aside, thou
art a Knave to call me so.
Falst.
Setting thy Womanhood aside, thou art a Beast to say otherwise.
Host.
Say, what Beast, thou Knave thou?
Fal.
What Beast? Why an Otter.
Prin.
An Otter, Sir John, why an Otter?
Fal.
Why? she's neither fish nor flesh, a Man knows not where to
have her.
Host.
Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou, or any Man knows
where to have me, thou Knave thou.
Prin.
Thou say'st true, Hostess, and he slanders thee most grosly.
Host.
So he doth you, my Lord, and said this other day, you ow'd
him a thousand pound.
Prince.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal.
A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million:
thou ow'st me thy love.
Host.
Nay, my Lord, he call'd you Jack, and said he would cudgel
you.
Fal.
Did I, Bardolph?
Bar.
Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal.
Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper.
Prin.
I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou be as good as thy word now?
Fal.
Why, Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I dare; but as
thou art a Prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the Lyons Whelp.
Prin.
And why not as the Lyon?
Fal.
The King himself is to be feared as the Lyon: Do'st thou think
I'll fear thee, as I fear thy Father? nay if I do, let my Girdle break.
Prin.
O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees. Why
thou horson impudent, imbost Rascal, if there were any thing in thy
Pocket but Tavern Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdy-Houses, and one
poor penny-worth of Sugar-candy to make thee long-winded: And yet
you will stand to it, you will not Pocket up Wrongs. Art thou not
asham'd?
-- 38 --
Fal.
Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou know'st in the state of Innocency,
Adam fell; and what would poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of Villany?
Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man, and therefore,
frailty. You confess then you pickt my Pocket?
Prin.
It appears so by the Story.
Fal.
Hostess, I forgive thee:
Go make ready Breakfast, love thy Husband,
Look to thy Servants, and cherish thy Guests:
Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest Reason:
Thou seest, I am pacified still.
Nay, I preethee be gone.
[Exit Hostess.
Now, Hal, to the news at Court for the Robbery, Lad?
How is that answered?
Prin.
O my sweet Beef:
I must still be good Angel to thee.
The Money is paid back again.
Fal.
O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double Labour.
Prin.
I am good Friends with my Father, and may do any thing.
Fal.
Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st, and do it with
un-wash'd hands too.
Bard.
Do, my Lord.
Prin.
I have procured thee, Jack, a Charge of Foot.
Fal.
I would it had been of Horse. Where shall I find one that can
steal well? O, for a fine Thief, of two and twenty, or thereabout: I
am hainously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these Rebels,
they offend none but the Virtuous. I laud them, I praise them.
Prin.
Bardolph.
Bar.
My Lord.
Prin.
Go bear this Letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my Brother
John. This to my Lord of Westmerland:
Go Peto, to Horse: for thou, and I,
Have thirty Miles to ride yet e're dinner time.
Jack, meet me to Morrow in the Temple-Hall
At two a Clock in the Afternoon,
There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receive
Money, and Order for their Furniture.
The Land is burning, Percy stands on hie,
And either they, or we, must lower lie.
Fal.
Rare words: brave World,
Hostess, my Breakfast, come:
Oh, I could wish this Tavern were my Drum.
[Exeunt omnes.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Dowglas.
Hot.
Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truth
In this fine Age were not thought Flattery,
-- 39 --
Such attribution should the Dowglas have,
As not a Souldier of this Seasons stamp,
Should go so general currant through the World.
By Heaven I cannot flatter: I defie
The Tongues of Soothers. But a braver Place
In my Heart's love, hath no Man than your Self.
Nay, task me to my word: approve me, Lord.
Dow.
Thou art the King of Honour:
No Man so potent breathes upon the Ground,
But I will Beard him.
Enter a Messenger.
Hot.
Do so, and 'tis well. What Letters hast thou there? I can but
thank you.
Mes.
These Letters come from your Father.
Hot.
Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?
Mess.
He cannot come, my Lord, He is griveous sick.
Hot.
How? has he the leisure to be sick now,
In such a justling time? who leads his Power?
Under whose Government come they along?
Mess.
His Letters bear his mind, not I his mind.
Wor.
I prethee tell me, doth he keep his Bed?
Mess.
He did, my Lord, four days e're I set forth:
And at the time of my departure thence,
He was much fear'd by his Physician.
Wor.
I would the state of time had first been whole,
E're he by Sickness had been visited;
His Health was never better worth than now.
Hotsp.
Sick now? droop now? this sickness doth infect
The very Life-blood of our Enterprise,
'Tis catching hither, even to our Camp.
He writes me here, that inward Sickness,
And that his Friends by deputation
Could not so soon be drawn: nor did he think it meet
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
On a Soul remov'd, but on his own.
Yet doth he give us bold Advertisement,
That with our small Conjunction we should on,
To see how Fortune is dispos'd to us,
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,
Because the King is certainly possest
Of all our Purposes. What say you to it?
Wor.
Your Father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hotsp.
A perillous Gash, a very Limb loft off:
And yet, in faith, 'tis not his present want
Seems more than we shall find it,
Were it good, to set the exact Wealth of all our States
All at one Cast? to set so rich a Mine
On the nice hazard of one doubtful Hour,
-- 40 --
It were not good: for therein should we read
The very bottom, and the Soul of hope,
The very List, the very utmost bound
Of all our Fortunes.
Dowg.
Faith, and so we should,
A comfort of Retirement lives in this.
Hotsp.
A Rendezvous at Home to flie unto,
If that the Devil and Mischance look big
Upon the Maidenhead of our Affair.
Wor.
But yet I would your Father had been here:
The Quality and Heir of our Attempt
Brooks no Division: It will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away,
That Wisdom, Loyalty, and meer Dislike
Of our Proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.
And think, how such an Apprehension
May turn the Tide of fearful Faction,
And breed a kind of Question in our Cause:
This absence of your Father draws a Curtain,
That shews the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.
Hotsp.
You strain too far.
I rather of his Absence make this use:
It lends a Lustre, and more great Opinion,
A larger Dare to your great Enterprize,
Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,
If we without his help, can make a Head
To push against the Kingdom: with his help,
We shall o'return it topsie-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joynts art whole.
Dowg.
As heart can think:
There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland,
As this Dream of Fear.
Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
Hotsp.
My Cousin Vernon, welcome by my Soul.
Vern.
Pray God my News be worth a welcome, Lord.
The Earl of Westmerland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hither-wards with Prince John.
Hotsp.
No harm: what more?
Vern.
And further, I have learn'd,
The King himself in Person hath set forth,
Or hither-words intended speedily,
With strong and mighty Preparation.
Hotsp.
He shall be welcome too,
Where is his Son,
The nimble-footed Mad-cap, Prince of Wales,
And his Comrades, that daft the World aside,
-- 41 --
And bid it pass?
Vern.
All furnisht, all in Arms,
All plum'd like Estridges, that with the Wind
Baited like Eagles, having lately bath'd,
Glittering in Golden Coats, like Images,
As full of Spirit as the Month of May,
And gorgeous as the Sun at Mid-summer,
Wanton as youthful Goats, wild as young Bulls.
I saw young Harry with his Beaver on,
His Cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,
As if an Angel dropt down from the Clouds
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witcht the world with noble Horsemanship.
Hotsp.
No more, no more;
Worse than the Sun in March,
This Praise doth nourish Agues: let them come.
They come like Sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd Maid of smoaky War,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them:
The mailed Mars shall on his Altar sit
Up to the ears in Blood. I am on fire,
To here this rich Reprizal is so nigh,
And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse,
Who is to bear me like a Thunder-bolt,
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to Horse
Meet, and ne're part, till one drop down a Coarse?
Oh, that Glendower were come.
Ver.
There is more News:
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his Power this fourteen days.
Dowg.
That's the worst Tidings that I hear of, yet.
Wor.
I, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
Hotsp.
What may the Kings whole Battel reach unto?
Ver
To thirty thousand.
Hot.
Forty let it be,
My Father and Glendower being both away,
The Power of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a Muster speedily:
Dooms-day is near; die all, die merrily.
Dowg.
Talk not of dying, I am out of fear
Of death, or deaths hand, for this one half year.
[Exeunt omnes.
-- 42 --
SCENE II.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
Falst.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry, fill me a Bottle of Sack,
our Souldiers shall march through: we'll to Sutton-cop-hill to Night.
Bard.
Will you give me Money, Captain?
Falst.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This Bottle makes an Angel.
Falst.
And if it do, take it for thy labour: And if it make twenty,
take them all, I'll answer the Coynage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meet
me at the Towns end.
Bard.
I will Captain: farewell.
[Exit.
Falst.
If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a sowc't Gurnet:
I have mis-us'd the Kings Press damnably. I have got, in exchange of
a hundred and fifty Souldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good House-holders, Yeomens Sons: enquire me out contracted
Batchelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the Banes: such a
Commodity of warm Slaves, as had as lieve hear the Devil, as a Drum;
such as fear the report of a Caliver, worse than a struck-Fool, or a hurt
Wild-Duck. I prest me none but such Tostes and Butter, with hearts
in their Bellies no bigger than Pins heads, and they have bought out
their Services: And now my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals,
Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaves as ragged as Lazarus
in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogs licked his Sores; and
such as indeed were never Souldiers, but dis-carded unjust Servingmen,
younger Sons to younger Brothers: Revolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Trade-faln,
the Cankers of a calm World, and long Peace, ten times more dishonourable,
ragged, than an old-fac'd Ancient; and such have I to fill
up the Rooms of them that have bought out their Services: That you
would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tatter'd Prodigals, lately
come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draff and Husks. A mad fellow
met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the Gibbets,
and prest the dead Bodies. No eye hath seen such Skar-Crows: I'll not
march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villains
march wide betwixt the Legs, as if they had Gyves on; for indeed, I
had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a half in
all my Company: and the half Shirt is two Napkins tack'd together,
and thrown over the Shoulders like a Heralds Coat, without sleeves:
And the Shirt, to say the truth, stoln from my Host of S. Albans; or
the Red-Nose Inn-keeper of Dayntry. But that's all one, they'l find
Linnen enough on every Hedge.
Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.
Prince.
How now, blown Jack? how now, Quilt?
Falst.
What, Hal? How now, mad Wag, what a Devil do'st thou in
Warwick-shire? My good Lord of Westmerland, I cry you mercy, I
thought your Honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you
too: But my Powers are there already. The King, I can tell you,
looks for us all: we must away all to Night.
-- 43 --
Falst.
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to steal Cream.
Prince.
I think to steal Cream indeed, for thy theft hath already
made thee Butter: But tell me, Jack, whose Fellows are these that
come after?
Falst.
Mine, Hal, mine.
Prince.
I did never see such pitiful Rascals.
Falst.
Tut, tut, good enough to toss: food for Powder, food for Powder:
they'll fill a Pit, as well as better: tush Man, mortal Men, mortal
Men.
Westm.
I, but Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare,
too beggarly.
Fal.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and
for their bareness, I am sure they never learn'd that of me.
Prin.
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the Ribs,
bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy is already in the Field.
Falst.
What, is the King encamp'd?
West.
He is, John, I fear we shall stay too long.
Falst.
Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning of a Feast,
fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.
Hotsp.
We'll fight with him to Night.
Worc.
It may not be.
Dowg.
You give him then advantage.
Vern.
Not a whit.
Hot.
Why say you so? looks he not for Supply?
Vern.
So do we.
Hotsp.
His is certain, Our is doubtful.
Worc.
Good Cousin be advis'd, stir not to Night.
Vern.
Do not, my Lord.
Dowg.
You do not counsel well:
You speak it out of fear, and cold heart.
Vern.
Do me no slander, Dowglas: By my Life,
And I dare well maintain it with my Life,
If well-respected Honour bid me on,
I hold as little counsel with weak fear,
As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day lives.
Let it be seen to morrow in the Battle,
Which of us fears.
Dowg.
Yea, or to night.
Vern.
Content.
Hotsp.
To night, say I.
Vern.
Come, come, it may not be.
I wonder much, being Men of such great Leading as you are,
That you foresee not what Impediments
Drag back our Expedition: certain Horse
Of my Cousin Vernon's are not yet come up,
Your Uncle Worcester's Horse came but to day,
And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
Their Courage with hard labour tame and dull,
That not a Horse is half the half of himself.
Hotsp.
So are the Horse of the Enemy
In general, journey-bated, and brought low:
-- 44 --
The better part of Ours are full of rest.
Worc.
The number of the Kings exceedeth ours:
For Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.
The Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt.
I come with gracious offers from the King,
If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect.
Hotsp.
Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:
And would to God you were of our determination.
Some of us love you well: and even those some
Envy your great Deservings, and good Name,
Because you are not of our Quality,
But stand against us like an Enemy.
Blunt.
And Heaven defend, but still I should stand so,
So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,
You stand against Anointed Majesty.
But to my Charge.
The King hath sent to know
The Nature of your Griefs, and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of Civil peace,
Such bold Hostility, teaching his dutious Land
Audacious Cruelty. If that the King
Have any way your good Deserts forgot,
Which he confesseth to be manifold,
He bids you name your Griefs; and with all speed
You shall have your desires, with interest:
And Pardon absolute for your self, and these,
Herein mis-led by your suggestion.
Hot.
The King is kind:
And well we know, the King
Knows at what time to Promise, when to Pay.
My Father, my Uncle, and my self,
Did give him that same Royalty he wears:
And when he was not six and twenty strong,
Sick in the Worlds regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded Out-law, sneaking home,
My Father gave him welcome to the shore:
And when he heard him swear, and vow to God,
He came to be but Duke of Lancaster,
To sue out his Livery, and beg his Peace,
With tears of Innocency, and terms of zeal:
My Father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.
Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
They more and less came in with Cap and Knee,
Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages,
-- 45 --
Attended him on Bridges, stood in Lanes,
Laid Gifts before him, proffer'd him their Oaths,
Gave him their Heirs, as Pages, followed him,
Even at the Heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, as greatness knows it self,
Steps me a little higher than his Vow
Made to my Father, while his Blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg:
And now (forsooth) takes on him to reform
Some certain Edicts, and some strait Decrees,
That lay too heavy on the Common-wealth;
Cries out upon Abuses, seems to weep
Over his Countreys Wrongs: and by his Face,
This seeming Brow of Justice, did he win
The Hearts of all that he did angle for.
Proceeded further, cut me off the Heads
Of all the Favourites, that the absent King
In deputation left behind him here.
When he was personal in the Irish War.
Blunt.
Tut, I came not to hear this.
Hot.
Then to the point.
In short time after, he depos'd the King,
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his Life:
And in the neck of that, task't the whole State,
To make that worse, suffer'd his Kinsman March,
Who is, if every Owner were right plac'd,
Indeed his King, to be engag'd in Wales,
There, without Ransom, to lie forfeited:
Disgrac'd me in my happy Victories,
Sought to intrap me by intelligence,
Rated my Uncle from the Council Board,
In rage dismiss'd my Father from the Court,
Broke Oath, committing Wrong on Wrong,
And in conclusion, drove us to seek out
This Head of safety; and withal, to prie
Into his Title: the which we find
Too indirect, for long continuance.
Blunt.
Shall I return this answer to the King?
Hotsp.
Not so, Sir Walter.
We'll withdraw a while:
Go to the King, and let there be impawn'd
Some surety for a safe return again,
And in the morning early shall my Uncle
Bring him our purpose: and so farewell.
Blunt.
I would you would accept of Grace and Love.
-- 46 --
Hotsp.
And't may be, so we shall.
Blunt.
Pray Heaven you do.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff.
King.
How bloudily the Sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill: the Day looks pale
At his Distemperature
[The Trumpet sounds.
Enter Worcester.
King.
How now, my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms,
As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our Trust,
And made us doff our easie Robe of Peace,
To crush our old Limbs in ungentle Steel;
This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.
What say you to it? Will you again unknit
This churlish Knot of all-abhorred War?
And move in that Obedient Orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light,
And be no more an exhal'd Meteor,
A Prodigie of Fear, and a Portent
Of broached Mischief, to the unborn Time?
Mor.
Hear me, my Liege:
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the Lag-end of my life
With quiet hours: For I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
King.
You have not sought it: how come it then?
Falst.
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
Prin.
Peace, Chewet, peace.
Wor.
It pleas'd your Majesty, to turn your looks
Of Favour, from my Self, and all our House;
And yet I must remember you, my Lord,
We were the first, and dearest of your Friends:
For you, my Staff of Office did I break
In Richard's time, and posted day and night
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
When yet you were in place, and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate, as I;
It was my self, my Brother, and his Son,
That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare
The danger of the time. You swore to us,
And you did swear that Oath to Doncaster,
That you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,
-- 47 --
Nor claim no further, then your new-faln right,
The Seat of Gaunt, Dukedom of Lancaster.
To this, we sware our aid: But in short space
It rain'd down Fortune showring on your head,
And such a floud of Greatness fell on you.
And being fed by us, you us'd us so,
As that ungentle gull the Cuckows Bird
Useth the Sparrow, did oppress our Nest,
Grew by our Feeding, to so great a Bulk,
That even our Love durst not come near your sight
For fear of swallowing: But with nimble wing
We were inforc'd for safety's sake to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present Head,
Whereby we stand opposed by such means
As you your self have forg'd against your self,
By unkind Usage, dangerous Countenance,
And violation of all Faith and Troth
Sworn to us in your younger Enterprize.
King.
These things indeed you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at Market Crosses, read in Churches,
To face the Garment of Rebellion:
And never yet did Insurrection want
Such Water-colours, to impaint his Cause:
Nor moody Beggars, starving for a time
Of Pell-mell-Havock, and Confusion.
Prin.
In both our Armies, there is many a Soul
Shall pay full dearly for this Encounter,
If once they joyn in Trial. Tell your Nephew,
The Prince of Wales doth joyn with all the World
In praise of Henry Percy: By my Hopes,
This present Enterprize set off his head,
I do not think a braver Gentleman,
More Active, Valiant, or more valiant young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter Age with Noble Deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a Truant been to Chivalry,
And so I hear he doth account me too:
Yet this before my Fathers Majesty,
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great Name and Estimation,
And will, to save the Blood on either side,
Try Fortune with him, in a Single Fight.
King.
And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
Albeit, Considerations infinite
Do make against it: No, good Worster, no,
We love our People well; even those we love
-- 48 --
That are misled upon your Cousins part:
And will they take the offer of our Grace:
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every Man
Shall be my Friend again, and I'll be his.
So tell your Cousin, and bring me Word,
What he will do. But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread Correction wait on us,
And they shall do their Office. So be gone,
We will not now be troubled with reply,
We offer fair, take it advisedly.
[Exit Worcester.
Prin.
It will not be accepted, on my Life,
The Dowglas and the Hotspur both together,
Are confident against the World in Arms.
King.
Hence therefore, every Leader to his Charge,
For on their Answer will we set on them;
And God befriend us, as our Cause is just.
[Exeunt.
Manet Prince and Falstaff.
Fal.
Hal, if thou see me down in the Battel,
And bestride me, so; 'tis a point of Friendship.
Prin.
Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that Friendship:
Say thy Prayers, and farewel.
Falst.
I would it were Bed-time, Hal, and all well.
Prin.
Why, thou owest Heaven a death.
Fal.
'Tis not due yet: I would be loth to pay him before his day.
What need I be so forward with him that call's not on me? Well, 'tis
no matter, Honour pricks me on? But now if Honour prick me off
when I come on? How then; Can Honour set to a leg? No: or an
arm? No: Or take away the grief of a Wound? No: Honour hath no
skill in Surgery then? No. What is Honour? a Word. What is that
Word Honour? Air: A trim Reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy'd
a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it
insensible then? yea, to the Dead. But will it not live with the living?
No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it, therefore I'll none of it. Honour
is a meer Scutcheon, and so ends my Catechism.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.
Wor.
O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
The liberal kind Offer of the King.
Ver.
'Twere best he did.
Wor.
Then we are all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be,
The King would keep his Word in loving us,
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To Punish this Offence in other Faults:
Supposition, all our lives shall be stuck full of Eyes;
And we shall feed like Oxen at a Stall,
-- 49 --
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
My Nephews trespass may be well forgot,
It hath the excuse of Youth, and heat of Bloud,
And an adopted Name of Priviledge,
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a Spleen:
All his Offences live upon my Head,
And on his Fathers. We did train him on,
And his Corruption being tane from us,
We as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:
Therefore, good Cousin, let not Harry know
In any Case, the Offer of the King.
Ver.
Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.
Here comes your Cousin.
Enter Hotspur.
Hot.
My Uncle is return'd:
Deliver up my Lord of Westmerland.
Uncle, what News?
Wor.
The King will bid you Battel presently.
Dow.
Defie him by the Lord of Westmerland,
Hot.
Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so.
Dow.
Marry and shall, and very willingly.
[Exit Dowglas.
Wor.
There is no seeming mercy in the King.
Hot.
Did you beg any? God forbid.
Wor.
I told him gently of our Grievances.
Of his Oath breaking: which he mended thus,
By now forswearing that he is forsworn,
He calls us Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge
With haughty Arms, this hateful Name in us.
Enter Dowglas.
Dow.
Arm, Gentlemen, to Arms, for I have thrown
A brave defiance in King Henries teeth:
And Westmerland that was ingag'd did bear it,
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
Wor.
The Prince of Wales stept forth before the King,
And, Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.
Hot.
O, would the Quarrel lay upon our Heads,
And that no Man might draw short breath to day,
But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell me,
How shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt?
Ver.
No, by my Soul: I never in my life
Did hear a Challenge urg'd more modestly,
Unless a Brother should a Brother dare
To gentle Exercise and proof of Arms.
He gave you all the Duties of a Man,
Trim'd up your Praises, with a Princely Tongue,
Spoke your Deservings like a Chronicle,
-- 50 --
Making you ever better than his Praise,
By still dispraising. Praise, valu'd with you:
And which became him like a Prince indeed,
He made a blushing cital of himself,
And chide his Trewant Youth so with a Grace,
As if he mastered there a double Spirit
Of teaching and of learning instantly:
There did he pause. But let me tell the World,
If he out live the Envy of this day,
England did never owe so sweet a hope,
So much misconstrued in his Wantonness.
Hot.
Cousin, I think thou art enamoured
On his follies: never did I here
Of any Prince so wild at Liberty.
But be he as he will, yet once e're night,
I will embrace him with a Souldiers Arm,
That he shall shrink under my courtesie.
Arm, arm with speed.
Enter Messenger.
Mes.
My Lord, here are Letters for you.
Hot.
I cannot read them now.
O Gentlemen, the time of life is short;
To spend that shortness basely; were too long.
If life did ride upon a Dials point,
Still ending at the arrival of an hour,
And if we live, we live to tread on Kings:
If dye; brave death, when Princes dye with us.
Now for our Consciences, the Arms is fair,
When the intent for bearing them is just.
Enter another Messenger.
Mes.
My Lord, prepare, the King comes on apace.
Hot.
I thank him, that he cuts me off from my tale:
For I profess not talking: Only this,
Let each man do his best. And here I draw my Sword,
Whose worthy temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withall,
In the Adventure of this perillous day.
Now Esperance Percy, and set on:
Sound all the lofty Instruments of War,
And by that Musick, let us all embrace:
For Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall,
A second time do such a courtesie.
They embrace, the Trumpets sound, the King entreth with his Power, alarm unto the Battel. Then enter Dowglas and Sir Walter Blunt.
Blu.
What is thy Name, that in Battel thus thou crossest me?
What Honour doest thou seek upon my Head?
-- 51 --
Dow.
Know then my name is Dowglas,
And do haunt thee in the Battel thus,
Because some tell me, that thou art a King.
Blunt.
They tell thee true.
Dow.
The Lord of Stafford here to day hath bought
Thy likeness: for instead of thee, King Harry,
This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as a Prisoner.
Blu.
I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot,
And thou shalt find a King that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
Fight, Blunt is slain, then enters Hotspur.
Hot.
O Dowglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumphed o're a Scot.
Dow.
All's done, all's won, here breathless lies the King
Hot.
Where?
Dow.
Here.
Hot.
This, Dowglas? No, I know this face full well,
A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.
Dow.
Ah fool: go with thy Soul whither it goes.
A borrowed Title hast thou bought too dear,
Why didst thou tell me, that thou wert a King?
Hot.
The King hath many marching in his Coats.
Dow.
Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coats,
I'll murther all his Wardrobe piece by piece,
Untill I meet the King.
Hot.
Up and away.
Our Souldiers stand full fairly for the day.
[Exeunt.
Alarm, and enter Falstaff solus.
Fal.
Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here:
here's no scoring, but upon the pate. Soft, who art thou? Sir Walter
Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no Vanity, I am as hot as moulten
Lead, and as heavy too; Heaven keep Lead out of me, I need no
more weight than mine own Bowels. I have led my Rag of Muffians
where they are pepper'd: There's not three of 150 left alive, and they
for the Towns end, to beg during Life. But who comes here?
Enter Prince.
Prin.
What stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy Sword,
Many a Noble Man lies stark and stiff
Under the hooves of vaunting Enemies,
Whose deaths are unreveng'd. Prethee lend me thy Sword.
Fal.
O Hal, I prethee give me leave to breathe a while. Turk Gregory
never did such deeds in Arms as I have done this day, I have pay'd
Percy, I have made him sure.
Prin.
He is indeed, and living to kill thee;
I prethee lend me thy Sword.
-- 52 --
Falst.
Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my Sword, but take
my Pistol if thou wilt.
Prin.
Give it me: What, is it in the Case?
Fal.
I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sack a City.
The Prince draws out a Bottle of Sack.
Prin.
What, is it a time to jest and dally now?
[Exit.
Throws it at him.
Falst.
If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him: if he do come in my way,
so: If he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado
of me, I like not such grinning Honour as Sir Walter hath: Give
me life, which if I can save, so: if not, Honour comes unlook'd for, and
there's an end.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Hotspur.
Hot.
If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
Prin.
Thou speakest as if I would deny my Name.
Hot.
My Name is Harry Percy.
Prin.
Why then I see a very valiant Rebel of that Name.
I am the Prince of Wales, and think not Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:
Two Stars keep not their motion in one Sphere,
Nor can one England brook a double Reign,
Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales.
Hot.
Nor shall it, Harry, for the Hour is come
To end the one of us; and would to Heaven,
Thy Name in Arms, were now as great as mine.
Prin.
I'll make it greater, e're I part from thee,
And all the budding Honours on thy Crest,
I'll crop, to make a Garland for my Head.
Hot.
I can no longer brook thy Vanities.
Fight.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Well said, Hal, to it Hal. Nay, you shall find no Boys play
here, I can tell you.
Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he is dead.
The Prince killeth Percy.
Hot.
Oh Harry thou hast rob'd me of my Youth:
I better brook the loss of bitter Life,
Than those proud Titles thou hast won of me,
They wound my Thoughts worse, than the Sword my Flesh:
But thought's the slave of Life, and Life Time's Fool;
And Time, that takes survey of all the World,
Must have a stop. O, I could Prophesie,
But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,
Lyes on my Tongue: No, Percy, thou art dust
And food for—
Prin.
For Worms, brave Percy. Farewel great Heart:
Ill-weav'd Ambition, how much art thou shrunk?
-- 53 --
When that this Body did contain a Spirit,
A Kingdom for it was too small a bound:
But now two paces of the vilest Earth
Is room enough. This Earth that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a Gentleman.
Adieu, and take thy Praise with thee to Heaven,
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the Grave,
But not remembred in thy Epitaph.
What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewel:
I could have better spar'd a better Man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were much in love with Vanity.
Death hath not stuck so fat a Dear to day,
Tho' many dearer in this bloody Fray:
Imbowell'd will I see thee by and by,
Till then, in blood by Noble Percy lye.
[Exit.
Falstaff riseth up.
Falst.
Imbowelled! if thou imbowel me to day, I'll give you leave
to powder me, and eat me too to morrow. 'Twas time to counterfeit,
or that hot Termagant Scot had paid me Scot and Lot too. Counterfeit!
I am no Counterfeit; to dye is to be a Counterfeit, for he is but
the Counterfeit of a Man, who hath not the Life of a Man: But to
counterfeit dying, when a Man thereby liveth, is to be no Counterfeit, but
the true and perfect Image of Life indeed. The better part of Valour, is
Discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my Life. I am afraid
of this Gun-powder Percy, though he be dead. How if he should counterfeit
too, and rise, I am afraid he would prove the better Counterfeit.
Therefore I'll make him sure, yea, and I'll swear I have kill'd him. Why
may not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me but Eyes, and no body
sees me. Therefore, Sirrah, with a new Wound in your thigh come
you along with me.
[Takes Hotspur on his back.
Enter Prince and John of Lancaster.
Prin.
Come Brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh'd thy Maiden
Sword.
John.
But soft, who have we here?
Did you not tell me this fat Man was dead?
Prin.
I did, I saw him dead,
Breathless, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou alive,
Or is it Fantasie that plays upon our Eye-sight?
I prethee speak, we will not trust our Eyes
Without our Ears. Thou art not what thou seem'st.
Falst.
No, that's certain: I am not a Double Man: but if I am not
Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack: There is Percy, if your Father will do
me any Honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look
either to be Earl or Duke, I can assure you.
Prin.
Why, Percy I kill'd my self, and saw thee dead.
Fal.
Did'st thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is given to Lying? I
-- 54 --
grant you I was down, and out of Breath, and so was he, but we rose
both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury Clock if I
may be believed, so: if not, let them that should reward Valour bear
the sin upon their own heads. I'll take't on my death I gave him this
wound in the Thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I
would make him eat a piece of my Sword.
John.
This is the strangest tale that e're I heard.
Prin.
This is the strangest Fellow, Brother John.
Come bring your [illeg.] on your back:
For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
A Retreat is sounded.
The Trumpets sound Retreat, the day is ours:
Come Brother, let's to the highest of the Field,
To see what Friends are living, who are dead.
[Exeunt.
Fal.
I'll follow as they say, for Reward. He that rewards me, Heaven
reward him. If I do grow great again, I'll grow less? for I'll
purge, and leave Sack, and live cleanly, as a Noble man should do.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
The Trumpets Sound.
Enter King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmerland, with Worcester and Vernon Prisoners.
King.
Thus ever did Rebellion find Rebuke.
Ill spirited Worcester, did we not send Grace,
Pardon, and terms of Love to all of you?
And would'st thou turn our Offers contrary?
Wor.
What I have done, my safety urg'd me to,
And I embrace this Fortune patiently,
Since, not to be avoided, it falls on me.
King.
Bear Worcester to death, and Vernon too.
Other Offenders we will pause upon.
[Exit Worcester and Vernon.
King.
Then this remains: that we divide our Power.
You Son John, and my Cousin Westmerland
Towards York shall bend, you with your dearest speed
To meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroop,
Who (as we here) are busily in Arms.
My self, and Son Harry will towards Wales,
To fight with Glendower, and the Earl of March.
Rebellion in this Land shall lose his way,
Meeting the Check of such another day;
And since this business so far is done,
Let us not leave till all our own be won.
[Exeunt.
