Boy.
Falstaffe.
Sirrah, you Giant, what says
the Doctor to my Water?
Boy.
He says the Water it
self was a good healthy Water,
but for the Party who made it,
he might have more Diseases than
he knew of.
Fal.
Men of all sorts take a Pride to gird at me.
I am not only Witty my self, but the Cause of
Wit in other Men. I do here walk before thee like
a Sow that has o'rewhelm d all her Litter but one.
If the Prince put thee into my Service for any other
-- 2 --
reason than to set me off, then I have no Judgment;
thou Whorson Mandrake, thou art fitter to
be worn in my Cap, than to wait at my Heels.
What said Mr. Doubledown about the Sattin for my
Doublet, and Breeches?
Boy.
He said Sir you should secure him a better
Man than Bardolfe, he would not take his Bond
and yours; he liked not the Security.
Fal.
Let him be Damn'd like the Glutton, and
may his Tongue be hotter! A Whorson Achitophel!
A Rascally, Yea-forsooth Knave, to bear a Gentleman
in hand, and then stand upon Security! I had
as lief he should put Ratsbane in my Mouth, as
offer to stop it with Security. I looked he should
have sent me Two and Twenty Yards of Sattin (as
I am a true Knight) and he sends me Security.
Well he may sleep in Security, for he has the Horn
of abundance, and the Lightness of his Wife shines
through it, and yet cannot he see, tho' he has his
own Lanthorn to light him—Where's Bardolfe?
Boy.
He's gone to Smithfield to buy your Worship
a Horse.
Fal.
I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me
a Horse in Smithfield, if I cou'd get me a Wife
in the Stews; I were Man'd, Hors'd, and Wiv'd.
Boy.
Sir, here comes the Nobleman, who committed
the Prince for striking him about Bardolfe.
Fal.
Sirrah, stand between us, I won't be seen.
Enter Lord Chief Justice and Gentleman.
C. Just.
What's he that goes before there?
Gent.
Falstaffe, an't please your Lordship.
C. Just.
He that was question'd for the Robbery?
Gent.
The same my Lord. But he has since done good
Service at Shrewsbury, and as I hear is now going
with some Forces to Lord John of Lancaster.
-- 3 --
C. Just.
O, to York! Go, call him back again.
Gent.
Sir John Falstaffe.
Fal.
Boy, tell him I am deaf.
Boy.
You must speak louder Sir, my Master's
deaf.
C. Just.
I am sure he is to the hearing any thing
that's good. Go pluck him by the Sleeve, I must
speak with him.
Gent.
Sir John.
Fal.
What! a young Knave and beg; are there not
Wars? Is there not Employment? does not the
King lack Subjects? do not the Rebels want Souldiers?
tho' it be a Shame to be on any side but one,
it is worse Shame to beg, than to be on the worst
side, were it worse than the name of Rebellion can
tell how to make it.
Gent.
Sir, you mistake me.
Fal.
Why Sir did I say you were an Honest Man?
setting my Knighthood and my Souldiership aside,
I lyed in my Throat if I had said so.
Gent.
Then pray Sir set your Knighthood and your
Souldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you,
you do lye in your Throat if you say I am any
other than an Honest Man.
Fal.
I give thee leave to tell me so? I lay aside
that which grows to me? if thou get'st any leave of
me, hang me, if thou tak'st leave, thou wert better
be hang'd; you hunt-counter, hence! Avaunt!
Gent.
Sir, my Lord would speak with you.
C. Just.
Sir John Falstaffe, a Word with you.
Fal.
My good Lord, give your Lordship the good
time of the Day. I am glad to see your Lordship
abroad. I heard your Lordship was Sick. I hope
your Lordship goes abroad by Advice. Your Lordship
(tho' not clean past your Youth) has yet some
smatch of Age in you; Some relish of the Saltness
-- 4 --
Time, and I most humbly beseech your Lordship
to have a reverend care of your Health.
C. Just.
Sir John, I sent to speak with you before
your Expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fal.
If it please your Lordship, I hear his Majesty
has brought some Indisposition from Wales—
C. Just.
I talk not of his Majesty. You would
not come when I sent for you.
Fal.
And I hear moreover that his Highness is
fallen into this same Whorson Apoplexy—
C. Just.
Well! Heaven mend him. Pray let me
speak with you.
Fal.
This Apoplexy is (as I take it) a kind of
Lethargy, a Sleeping of the Blood, a Whorson
tingling—
C. Just.
Be't as it is, but answer me Sir John.
Fal.
It has his Original from much Grief, from
Study, and Perturbation of the Brain. I have read
the cause of its effects in Gallen; it is a kind of
Deafness.
C. Just.
I think you are fallen into the Disease,
for you hear not what I say to you. I sent for you
when there were matters against you for your Life,
to speak with me.
Fal.
As I was advised then by my Learned
Council in the Laws of this Land, I did not come.
C. Just.
Well the Truth is Sir John, you live in
great Infamy.
Fal.
He that Buckles him in my Belt cannot
live in less.
C. Just.
Your Means are slender, and your Wast
is great.
Fal.
I would it were otherwise: I would my
Waste were slender, and my Means were Great.
C. Just.
You have misled the Youthful Prince.
-- 5 --
Fal.
The young Prince has misled me. I am
the Fellow with the great Belly, and he my Dog.
C. Just.
Well, I am loath to gall a new heal'd
Wound; your Days Service at Shrewsbury, has a
little gilded over your Nights Exploit at Gads Hill,
you may thank the Rebellious time, for your quiet
passing o're that matter.
Fal.
You that are Old, consider not the capacities
of us that are Young; you measure the heat
of our Livers with the bitterness of your Galls,
and we that are in the Declension of our Youth I
must confess are Waggs too.
C. Just.
Do you set down your Name in the
Scrowle of Youth, that are written down Old
with all the Characters of Age: have you not a
moist Eye? a dry Hand? a yellow Cheek? a
white Beard? a decreasing Leg? an increasing
Belly? is not your Voice broken? your Wind
short? and every part about you blasted with Antiquity?
And will you call your self Young? Fye,
Sir John, Fye!
Fal.
My Lord I was born with a white Beard,
and something a round Belly; for my Voice I lost
it with singing Anthems; to prove my Youth further
is needless. The Truth is, I am only old in
Judgment and Understanding, and he that will cut a
Caper with me for a Thousand Marks, let him lend me
the Money, and have at him. For the box of the Ear
that the Prince gave you, he gave it like a rude
Prince, and you took it like a sensible Lord, I have
check'd him for it, and the young Lion repents,
marry not in Ashes and Sack-cloth, but in new
Silk and old Sack.
C. Just.
Well, Heav'n send the Prince a better
Companion!
-- 6 --
Fal.
Heav'n send the Companion a better Prince.
I cannot rid my Hands of him.
C. Just.
Well, the King has severed you and
Prince Harry, I hear you are going with Lord John
of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of
Northumberland.
Fal.
Yes, I thank your pretty sweet Wit for it:
but look you pray (all you that kiss my Lady
Peace at home) that our Armies join not in a hot
Day; should the Day be hot, if I brandish any
thing but my Bottle, would I might never Spit
white again; there is not a dangerous Action can
peep out her Head, but I am thrust upon it; well,
I cannot last ever.
C. Just.
Well Sir John be Honest, be Honest,
and Heaven bless your Expedition,
Fal.
Will your good Lordship lend me a Thousand
Pound to set me forth?
C. Just.
Not a Penny, not a Penny, I know you
too well. Commend me to my Cozen Westmorland.
[Exit with Gent.
Fal.
If I do: Phillup me with a three-man-Beetle.
A Man can no more separate old Age and
Avarice, than he can separate young Limbs and
Lechery, but the Gout galls the one, and the Pox
pinches the other, and so both the Disgraces prevent
my Curses. Boy.
Boy.
Sir.
Fal.
What Money's in my Purse?
Boy.
Seven Groats and Two Pence.
Fal.
I can get no remedy against this Consumption
of the Purse; Borrowing only lingers; and lingers
it out, but the Disease is incurable—Go bear this
Letter to my Lord of Lancaster—This to the Prince
—This to my Lord of Westmorland, and this to
old Mrs. Ursula, whom I have Weekly sworn to
-- 7 --
Marry ever since I perceived the first white Hair
on my Chin—about it, you know where to find
me. [Exit Boy.] A Pox o' this Gout! or a Gout
o' this Pox! for the one or the other plays the Devil
with my great Toe, but 'tis no matter, if I do
halt, I have the Wars for my Colour, and my Pension
shall seem the more reasonable; a good Wit
will make use of any thing, I will turn Diseases
to Commodity.
[Exit.
Scene 2
SCENE A Hall.
Enter Archbishop of York, Hastings, Mowbray, and Lord Bardolfe.
Arch.
Thus have you heard our Cause, and know our means,
And my most noble Friends, I pray you all
Speak plainly your Opinions of our hopes:
And first Lord Marshal what say you to it?
Mow.
I well allow th' occasion of our Arms,
But gladly would be better satisfied
How (with our Means) we should advance ourselves
To look with Forehead bold and big enough
Upon the Strength and Power of the King.
Hast.
Our present Musters stand upon the Roll
Full Five and Twenty Thousand chosen Men,
And our Supply live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose Bosome burns
With an Incensed Fire of Injuries.
L. Bar.
The Question then Lord Hastings standeth thus,
Whither our present Five and Twenty Thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?
Hast.
With him we may.
-- 8 --
L. Bar.
I marry, there's the Point,
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My Judgment is we should not step too far,
Till we have his Assistance by the hand.
For in a Theme so bloody-fac'd as this
Conjecture, Expectation, and Surmise
Of Aids uncertain, should not be admitted.
Arch.
'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeed
It was young Hotspur's case at Shreswbury.
L. Bar.
It was my Lord, who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the Air on promise of Supply,
Flatt'ring himself with prospect of a Power
Much smaller than the smallest of his Thoughts,
And so with great Imagination
(Proper to Mad-men) led his Men to Death,
And winking leap'd into Destruction.
Hast.
But by your leave it never yet did hurt
To lay down Likelihoods and Forms of hope.
L. Bar.
Yes, if this present quality of War
Lives in the hope, as in an early Spring
We see th' appearing Buds which promise Fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant as Dispair
That Frosts will nip 'em.
Hast.
Grant that our hopes (yet promising fair birth)
Should be Stillborn: and that we now possess'd
The utmost of our Expectations;
I think we are a Body strong enough
(Even as we are) and equal with the King.
L. Bar.
What is the King but Five and Twenty Thousand?
Hast.
We hear no more; nay not so much, Lord Bardolfe,
We have Intelligence that all his Forces
Are in three heads; One part against the French,
-- 9 --
And one against Glendower; The third of course
March against us: So is the unfirm King
In three divided, and his Coffers sound
With hollow Poverty and Emptyness.
Arch.
That he should draw his several Strengths together
And March against us in full Puissance
Need not be dreaded.
Hast.
If he should do so
He leaves his Back unarm'd, The French and Welsh
Baying him at the Heels: Never fear that.
L. Bar.
Who is it that commands his Forces hither?
Hast.
The Duke of Lancaster and Westmorland.
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth.
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain knowledge.
Arch.
Then let's on,
And publish the occasion of our Arms,
The Commonwealth is Sick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy Love has Surfeited.
A Habitation giddy and unsure
Has he who builds upon the vulgar Heart.
Oh thou fond Many! with what loud Applause
Did'st thou beat Heav'n with blessing Bullingbroke
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be?
And now he is dress'd up in thy own desire
Thou (Beastly feeder) art so full of him
That thou provok'st thy self to cast him up,
What Trust is in these times?
They who when Richard liv d, would have him dye
Are now become enamour'd on his Grave,
Thou that threw'st dust upon his Sacred Head
When thro' proud London he came Sighing on
After th' admired Heels of Bullinbroke,
Cry'st now, O Earth, yield us that King again
-- 10 --
And take thou this, (O thoughts of Men accurst)
Past, and to come seems best, things present worst.
Exeunt.
Scene 3
SCENE The Street.
Enter Hostess with Two Bailiffs, Fang and Snare.
Host.
Mr. Fang, have you entered the Action?
Fang.
It is entered.
Host.
Where's your Man? Is he a lusty Fellow,
and will he stand to't?
Fang.
Sirrah Snare.
Snare.
Here Sir here.
Fang.
Snare, we must Arrest Sir John Falstaffe.
Snare.
It may cost some of us our Lives; he will
Stab.
Host.
Alas the Day! take heed of him, he would
have Stab'd me in my own House, and that most
Beastly. He cares not what mischief he does, if
his Weapon be out, he will foyn like any Devil, he
will spare neither Man Woman nor Child.
Fang.
If I can but close with him I care not for
his Thrust.
Host.
No nor I neither, I'll be at your Elbow.
Fang.
If I but Fist him once, if he come but
within my Vice.
Host.
I am undone by him; I warrant he's an infinite
thing upon my Score, good Mr. Fang hold
him sure, and Mr. Snare let him not escape. He is
invited to Dinner to the Lubbers-head in Lombardstreet,
to Mr. Smooth's the Silk-man. I pray ye,
since my Action is enter'd, and my case so publickly
known to the World, let him be brought to his
Answer, a Hundred Mark is a great deal for a poor
-- 11 --
lone Woman to lose. I have borne, and borne, and
borne, and have been Fub'd off, and Fub'd off from
this Day to that Day, that 'tis a Shame to be
thought on; there's no Honesty in such dealing, unless
a Woman should be made an Ass, and a Beast
to bear every Knaves wrong—
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolfe.
Yonder he comes, and that Arrant Malmsey-nose
Bardolfe with him. Do your Offices, do your Offices
Mr. Fang, and Mr. Snare, do me, do me your
Offices.
Fal.
How now? What's the matter?
Fang.
Sir John I Arrest you at the Suit of Mrs.
Quickly.
Fal.
Away Varlets, draw Bardolf, cut me off the
Villains Head, throw the Quean into the Channel.
Host.
Throw me into the Channel? I'le throw
thee there. Wilt thou, wilt thou, thou Bastardly
Rogue? Murder! Murder! O thou Honey-suckle
Villain! Wilt thou kill Heav'ns Officers, and the
Kings? Oh thou Hemp-seed Rogue! thou Manqueller,
and Woman-queller?
Fal.
Keep 'em off Bardolfe.
Fang.
A Rescue, a Rescue.
Host.
Good People bring a Rescue. Thou wilt
not, thou wilt not, do, do thou Rogue! thou
Hempseed!
Fal.
Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you
Fustilian, I'le tuck your Catastrophe.
Enter Lord Chief Justice.
C. Just.
What's the matter? Keep the Peace
there!
Host.
Good my Lord be good to me; I beseech
you stand to me.
-- 12 --
C. Just.
How now Sir John? What are you
brawling here? does this become your Place, the
Time and Business? You should have been on your
way to York. Stand from him Fellow; wherefore
hang'st thou on him?
Host.
O my most Worshipful Lord, an't please
your Grace, I am a poor Widow of East-cheap, and
he's Arrested at my Suit.
C. Just.
What is the Sum?
Host.
It is more than for Some my Lord. It is
for all I have; he has eaten me out of House and
Home. He has put all my Substance into that Fat
Belly of his; but I will have some of it out again,
or I will ride thee a nights like the Mare.
C. Just.
How comes this Sir John? What Man of
your Title would endure this Tempest of Exclamation?
Are not you ashamed to enforce a poor Widdow,
to so rough a Course to come by her own?
Fal.
What is the Gross Sum that I owe you?
Host.
Marry (if thou wert an Honest Man) thy
self and the Money too. Thou didst swear to me
upon a parcel-guilt-Goblet sitting in my Dolphin
Chamber, at a round Table by a Sea-coal Fire, on
Wednesday in Whitson Week, when the Prince broke
thy Head, for lik'ning him to a Singing-man of
Windsor, thou did'st Swear to me then (as I was
washing thy Wound) to Marry me, and make me
a Lady, and thy Wife. Can'st thou deny it? Did
not Goody Ketch the Butchers Wife come in then
to borrow a little Vinegar, telling us she had a good
Dish of Prawnes; whereby thou did'st come to eat
some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green
Wound? And did'st thou not, when she was gone
down Stairs, desire me to be no more familiar with
such poor People? Saying, That e're long they
should call me Madam? and did'st thou not kiss
-- 13 --
me, and bid me fetch thee Thirty Shillings? I put
thee now to thy Book Oath, deny it if thou can'st.
Fal.
My Lord, this is a poor Mad Soul, and she
says up and down the Town, that her eldest Son is
like your Lordship. She has been in good case, and
the Truth is Poverty has distracted her, but for
these foolish Officers, I beseech you I may have redress
against 'em.
C. Just.
Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted
with your Wrenching the true cause, the false
Way. It is not a confident Brow, nor a throng of
Words that come with such (more than impudent)
Sawciness from you, can thrust me from an even
Consideration; I know you have practised upon the
easie yielding Spirit of this Woman.
Host.
So he has my Lord.
C. Just.
Prithee Peace, Pay her the Debt you
owe her, and unpay the Villany you have done
her, the one you may do with good Money, the
other with currant Repentance.
Fal.
My Lord I must reply to this Rebuke of
yours, you call honourable boldness, impudent
Sawciness: My Lord I say to you, I desire deliverance
from these Officers, being on immediate Employment
on the Kings affairs.
C. Just.
You speak as you had power to do wrong,
but clear your reputation and satisfy this poor Woman.
Fal.
Come hither Hostess.
Enter Gower.
C. Just.
Now Mr. Gower, what news?
Gow.
The King my Lord, and Henry Prince of
Wales, are near at hand, the rest that Paper tells.
Fal.
As I am a Gentleman—
Host.
Nay you said that before.
-- 14 --
Fal.
As I am a Souldier then, upon my Honour,
I'll Marry thee, when the Wars are done. Come
no more Words on't.
Host.
By this Heav'nly Ground I tread on! I
must be fain to pawn my Plate, and the Tapestry
of my Dining Room.
Fal.
Glasses, Glasses, are the only Fashion now,
and for your Walls a little painted Canvas, with
the Story of the Prodigal, or a German Hunting is
worth a Million of your clumsy Arras—Let it
be Ten Pound if thou can'st, come, it shall be so;
if it were not for some of these Humours, there
were not a better Wench in England. Come, wash
thy Face and withdraw thy Action; come, thou
must not be in this Humour with me, come I know
thou wert set on to this.
Host.
Prithee Sir John let it be but Twenty Nobles.
I am loath to pawn my Plate in good Earnest,
so I am.
Fal.
Let it alone; I'll make a shift elsewhere—
you'l be a Fool still.
Host.
Well you shall have it, altho' I pawn my
best Gown, will that content you? I hope you'l
come to Supper. Well you'l pay me altogether.
Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at Supper?
Fal.
No more Words, let's have her.
Exeunt Hostess and Bailiffs.
C. Just.
I have heard unwelcome News.
Fal.
What's the News, my good Lord?
C. Just.
Where lay the King last Night?
Gow.
At Basingstoke, my Lord.
Fal.
I hope the King is well?
C. Just.
Come all his Forces back.
Gow.
No. Fifteen Hundred Foot. Five Hundred
Horse are marched up to the Duke of Lancaster,
against Northumberland, and the Archbishop.
-- 15 --
Fal.
Comes the King back from Wales, my noble
Lord?
C. Just.
You shall have your Letters of me presently,
come go along with me good Mr. Gower.
Fal.
Mr. Gower will you go with me to Dinner?
Gow.
I thank you Sir John, but I must wait here
on my Lord.
C. Just.
You loyter here too long Sir John, being
to take up Soldiers in the Counties as you go.
Fal.
Well, well, I go my Lord.
Exeunt.
-- 16 --
ACT II.
Scene 1
SCENE Moor-Fields.
Enter Prince Henry and Pointz.
Prince.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poin.
I thought Weariness durst
not have attack'd one of your
high Blood.
Prin.
It does me; tho' it discolours
the Complexion of my Greatness
to acknowledge it.
Poin.
How ill it becomes you after labouring so
hard, to talk so idly? How many good young
Princes would do so, their Fathers lying so Sick as
yours is?
Pri.
Why I would tell thee (if thou wert capable
of being a Friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed
too.
Poin.
Very hardly upon such a Subject.
Prin.
Thou think'st me as far in the Devils Books,
as thou and Falstaffe; let the end try the Man, but
I tell thee my Heart bleeds inwardly, that my Father
is so Sick, and keeping such wild Company as
thou art, has in reason taken from me all Ostentation
of Sorrow.
Poin.
The reason?
Prin.
What would'st thou think of me if I should
weep now?
Poin.
I would think thee a most Princely Hypocrite.
-- 17 --
Prin.
It would be every Man's thought, and thou
art a most Bless'd Fellow to think as every Man
thinks. No Man's Thought in the World keeps
the common Road better than thine. And what incites
your most Worshipful thought to think so?
Poin.
Why because you have been so Lewd, and
so much ingrafted to Falstaffe.
Prin.
And to thee.
Poin.
Nay, I am well spoken of. The worst they
say of me is, that I am a younger Brother, and a
tall Fellow of my Hands, and those two things I
confess I cannot help—Look, here comes Bardolfe.
Prin.
And the Boy that I gave Falstaffe; he had
him from me a Christian, and see if the Fat Villain
has not transform'd him into an Ape.
Enter Bardolfe and Boy.
Bar.
Save your Grace.
Prin.
And yours most noble Bardolfe.
Poin.
Come, you pernicious Ass? You bashful
Fool must you be Blushing? What a Maidenly
Man at Arms are you become?
Boy.
He call'd to me even now my Lord thro' a
red Lettice, and I could discern no part of his Face
from the Window, at last I spy'd his Eyes, and
methought he had made two Holes thro' the Alewives
red Petticoat, and peep'd thro'.
Prin.
Has not the Boy profited?
Bar.
Away, you whorson upright Rabbet, away.
Boy.
Away, you Rascally Althea's Dream away.
Prin.
What Dream Boy, ha?
Boy.
Marry my Lord. Althea Dream'd she was
deliver'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him
her Dream.
Prin.
A Crowns worth of good Interpretation,
there it is Boy.
-- 18 --
Poin.
O that this Blossom could be kept from
Cankers! well, there's Six-pence to preserve thee.
Bar.
If you do not make him be hang'd among
you, the Gallows shall be wrong'd.
Prin.
And how does thy Master, Bardolfe?
Bar.
Well, my good Lord, he heard of your Graces
coming to Town; there's a Letter for you.
Prin.
I allow this Wen to be as Familiar with
me as my Dog. Look how he writes.
Poin. reads.]
John Falstaffe Knight—Every Man
must know That as often as he has occasion to name
himself: like those who are Kin to the King, they
never prick their Finger, but they say there's some
of the Royal Blood spilt. How so, Says a Standerby.
Marry (says he) I am the King's poor Cozen Sir.
Prin.
Nay, they will be Kin to us, tho' they
fetch it from Japhet—but to the Letter.
Poin. reads.]
Sir John Falstaffe Knight, to the
Son of the King nearest his Father, Henry Prince of
Wales, Greeting.—Why this is a Certificate.
Prin.
Read on.
Poin. reads on.]
I will imitate the honourable Romans
in Brevity, I commend me to thee, I commend
thee and I leave thee. Be not so familiar with
Poinsz, for he misuses thy favour so much, that he
swears thou art to marry his Sister Nell. Repent
at idle times as thou may'st, and so—Farewel.
Thine by Yea, and nay, which is as
much as to say, as thou usest him.
Jack Falstaffe with my Familiars;
John with my Brothers and Sisters;
and Sir John with all Europe.
—My Lord I will steep this Letter in Sack and
make him eat it.
-- 19 --
Prin.
That's to make him eat Twenty of his
Words, but do you use me thus Ned? Must I marry
your Sister?
Poin.
May the Girl have no worse Fortune—But
I never said so.
Prin.
Well, thus we play the Fool with the time,
and the Spirits of the Wise sit in the Clouds and
mock us—Is your Master here in London?
Bar.
Yes my Lord.
Prin.
Where sups he?
Bar.
At the old place in East-cheap.
Prin.
What Company?
Boy.
Ephesians my Lord of the old Church.
Prin.
Sup any Women with him?
Boy.
None my Lord but old Mrs. Quickly, and
Mrs. Doll Tearsheet.
Prin.
What Pagan may that be?
Boy.
A proper Gentlewoman Sir, and a Kinswoman
of my Masters.
Prin.
Just such a Kin as the Parish Heifers are to
the Town Bull. Shall we steal on them Ned at
Supper?
Poin.
I am your Shadow, my Lord, I'll follow
you.
Prin.
Sirrah you Boy and Bardolfe, no Words to
your Master that I'm in Town, there's for your Silence.
Bar.
I have no Tongue.
Boy.
And I will govern mine my Lord.
Prin.
Go then.
[Exeunt Bar. and Boy.
This Doll Tearsheet must be some Common thing.
Poin.
As common as the way between St. Albans
and London.
Prin.
How might we behold Falstaffe in his true
Colours, and not be seen our selves?
-- 20 --
Poin.
Put on two ordinary Coats and Aprons, and
wait on him like Drawers.
Prin.
From a Prince to a Prentice, a low Transformation,
but now it shall be mine, for in every
thing the purpose must weigh with the Folly. Come
Ned follow me.
Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE A Tavern.
Enter Hostess and Doll. Tables and Chairs, Wine and Glasses.
Host.
Methinks now you are in an excellent good
temporality, your Pulsage beats as extraordinary
as Heart would desire; and your Colour (I warrant
you) is as red as any Rose, but you have
drank too much Canary, and that's a marvelous
searching Wine, and it perfumes the Blood e're one
can say, What's this? How do you now?
Doll.
Better then I was—Hem.
Host.
Why that was well said, a good Heart's
worth Gold, here comes Sir John.
Enter Falstaffe.
Fal.
How now Mrs. Doll?
Host.
Sick of a Calm in good Sooth.
Fal.
So is all her Sex: if they be once in a Calm,
they are Sick.
Doll.
You muddy Rascal! is that all the Comfort
you give one?
Fal.
You make Fat Rascals Mrs. Doll.
Doll.
I make 'em! Gluttony and Diseases make
'em—I make 'em not.
Fal.
If the Cook makes the Gluttony, you help
to make the Diseases Doll; we catch of you Doll,
-- 21 --
we catch of you, grant that my poor Virtue grant
that.
Host.
This is the old Fashion, you two never
meet, but you fall to some Discord, you are both
in good truth as Rheumatick as two dry Tostes,
you cannot one bear with anothers Confirmity,
what the good yeer one must bear, and that must be
you, you are the weaker Vessel as they say, the
emptier Vessel.
Doll.
Can a weak empty Vessel, bear such a huge
full Hogshead? There's a whole Merchants Cellar
of Burdeaux Stuff in him—Come I'll be friends
with thee Jack, thou art going to the Wars, and
whether I shall ever see thee again or no, there's no
body cares.
Enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir Antient Pistol is below, and would
speak with you.
Doll.
Hang him a swaggering Rascal, let him
not come hither, it is the foul mouth'st Rogue in
England.
Host.
If he Swagger, let him not come here; I
must live amongst my Neighbours; I'll no Swaggerers.
I live in good Name and Fame with the
very best, Shut the Doors. There comes no Swaggerers
here. I have not liv'd all this while to have
Swaggering now, therefore shut the Doors I say.
Fal.
Dost thou hear me Hostess?
Host.
Pray you pacify your self Sir John, there
comes no Swaggerers here.
Fal.
Hear me; it is my Antient.
Host.
Filly fally Sir John, never tell me. The Ancient
Swaggerers come not in my Doors. I was
before Mr. Ptysick the Deputy, the other Day; and
as he said to me, it was no longer ago than Wednesday
-- 22 --
last. Neighbour Quickly (says he) receive
those that are Civil, for (says he) you are in an ill
Name: now he said so I can tell whereupon, for
says he you are an Honest Woman, and well thought
on, therefore take heed what Guests you receive;
receive says he no swaggering Companions, you
would bless you to hear what he said—No I'll no
Swaggerers come here.
Fal.
He's no Swaggerer (Hostess) a Tame Cheater
he, you may stroke him as gently as a Greyhound
Puppy; he will not Swagger with a Barbary Hen,
if her Feathers turn back in any shew of Resistance.
—call him up Drawer.
[Exit Drawer.
Host.
Cheater call you him? I will bar no Honest
Man my House, nor no Cheater, but I do not
love Swaggering. I am the worse when they say
Swagger—Feel Mistress how I shake.
Doll.
So you do Hostess.
Host.
Do I? yea in troth do I, if it were an Aspen
Leaf. I cannot abide Swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, Bardolfe and Boy.
Pist.
Save you Sir John.
Fal.
Welcome Antient Pistol—Here PistolI charge
you with a cup of Sack, do you discharge upon my
Hostess.
Pist.
I will discharge upon her Sir John, with
two Bullets.
Host.
I'll drink no Bullets; I'll drink no more
than will do me good for no Man's pleasure I.
Pist.
Then to you Mrs. Dorothy, I will charge you.
Dol.
Charge me? I scorn ye you base Rascally,
poor Cheating, lack Linnen Fellow, away you
mouldy Rogue away; I am Meat for your Master
Sirrah.
Pist.
I know you Mrs. Dorothy.
-- 23 --
Dol.
Away you filth! you Cut-purse! Away
you Bottle-Ale Rascal, ye Basket-hilt Stale Jugler
you! since when I pray you Sir, (with your two
points on your Shoulder) were you so familiar with
me.
Pist.
I will murder your Head-geer for this.
Host.
No good Captain Pistol, not here sweet Captain.
Dol.
Captain! thou abominable Cheater, art thou
not ashamed to be called Captain? if Captains were
of my mind, they would Cudgel you for taking
their Names upon you before you have earn'd 'em.
You a Captain, you Slave for what?
Bar.
Prithee go down good Antient.
Pist.
Not I. I'll tell thee what Corporal Bardolfe.
I could eat her, but I'll be reveng'd.
Bar.
Prithee go down.
Pist.
I'll see her condemn'd first to Pluto's dreadful
Lake.
Host.
Good Captain Pistol be quiet, it is very late,
I beseech you now aggravate your Choller.
Pist.
These be good humours indeed. Shall Pack
Horses, and hollow pamper'd Jades of Asia, which
cannot go but Thirty Miles a Day, compare with
Cæsar, and with Cannibals and Trojan Greeks? nay
rather damn 'em with King Cerberus, and let the
Welkin roar! shall we fall foul for Toys?
Host.
By my troth Captain, these are very bitter
Words.
Bar.
Be gone good Antient; this will grow to a
brawl anon.
Pist.
Dye Men like Dogs! give Crowns like Pins!
have we not Hieren here.
Host.
On my word Captain there's no such here,
what the good yeer, do you think I would deny
her? Pray be quiet!
-- 24 --
Pist.
Then feed and be Fat, my fair Callipolis.
Come give me some Sack. Si Fortune me tormente,
sperato me contente. Fear we Broad-sides? no! let
the Fiend give me some Sack.
Fal.
Pistol I would be quiet.
Pist.
Sweet Knight I kiss thy Fist, what we have
seen the seven Stars.
Dol.
Thrust him down Stairs. I cannot endure
such a Fustian Rascal.
Pist.
Thrust him down Stairs! Know we not Galloway
Nags?
Fal.
Quoit him down Bardolfe, like a Shovelboard
Piece.
Bar.
Come get you down Stairs.
Pist.
What? shall we have Incision, shall we imbrew?
then Death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful
Days? Why then let grievous, ghastly, gaping
Wounds, intwist the Sisters three, come Atropos!
Fal.
Give me my Rapier, Boy.
Dol.
I prithee Jack, I prithee do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down Stairs.
Host.
Here's a goodly Tumult? I'll forswear keeping
House before I'll be in these Titrits, and Frights
—So—Murder I warrant now! Alas! alas! put up
your naked Weapon, put up your naked Weapon.
[Beats Pistol off.
Dol.
I prithee Jack be quiet, the Rascal's gone—
Oh you Whorson little Valiant Villain you?
Host.
Are you not hurt in the Groin; methought
he made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly.
Fal.
Have you turn'd him out of Doors?
Bar.
Yes Sir, the Rascal's Drunk; you have
hurt him Sir in the Shoulder.
Fal.
A Rascal! to brave me!
Dol.
O you sweet little Rogue! Alas! poor Ape,
how thou Sweat'st; come let me wipe thy Face.
Oh Rogue! I love thee, thou art as Valiant as Hector
-- 25 --
of Troy, worth five Agamemnons, and ten times
better than the Nine Worthies—Ah Villain!
Fal.
A Rascally Slave! I will toss the Rogue in
a Blanket.
Enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, the Musick's come.
Fal.
Let 'em strike up then. Play Sirs—Sit on
my Knee Dol—A Rascally bragging Slave! The
Rogue fled from me like Quicksilver.
Dol.
And thou followd'st him like a Church. When
wilt thou leave Fighting a Days, and Foyning a
Nights, and begin to patch up thy old Body for
Heaven?
Enter Prince and Poins behind.
Fal.
Peace Dol, do not speak like a Death's-head,
do not put me in mind of my end.
Dol.
Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?
Fal.
A good shallow young Fellow; he would
have made a very good Butler, he would have
chip'd bread well.
Dol.
They say Poins has a good Wit.
Fal.
He a good Wit? hang him Baboon! his Wit
is as thick as Tewksbury Mustard, there is no more
Conceit in him than in a Mallet.
Dol.
Why does the Prince love him so then?
Fal.
Because their Legs are both of a Bigness;
then he plays at Quoits well, jumps over Join'd-Stools,
and Swears with a good Grace; and wears
his Stockings very smooth, like the Sign of the Leg,
and other Gambols, that shew a weak Mind, and an
able body, for which the Prince admits him; for the
Prince himself is just such another; the weight of a
Hair will turn the Scales between their understandings.
Prin. apart.
Would not this Rascal have his Ears
cut off?
-- 26 --
Poin. apart.
Let's beat him before his Whore.
Prin. apart.
Look if the wither'd Elder has not
his Poll claw'd like a Parrot.
Poin. apart.
'Tis not strange that desire should so
many Years out-live Performance.
Fal.
Kiss me Dol.
Prin. apart.
Saturn and Venus this Year in Conjunction.
Fal.
Thou giv'st me flattering Busses.
Dol.
I kiss you as I love you.
Fal.
I am old Dol, I am old.
Dol.
I love thee better than e're a Scurvy young
Boy of 'em all.
Fal.
I shall receive Money on Thursday. What
Silk wilt thou have a Gown off? I'll send it thee
to Morrow—Come a merry Tune, and then to
Bed, [Musick Plays] is grows late, thou wilt forget
me when I am gone.
Dol.
Thou wilt set me a Weeping if thou say'st
so. I will never dress me till thou return'st—well,
mark the end.
Fal.
Some Wine Francis.
Prin. Poin.
Anon, Anon, Sir.
Fal
Ha! a Bastard Son of the Kings, and are not
you Poins his Brother?
Prin.
Why thou Globe of sinful Continent! What
a Life dost thou Lead?
Fal.
Better than thou. I am a Gentleman, thou
a Drawer.
Prin.
Very true Sir, I come to draw you by the
Ears.
Host.
Now Heaven preserve thy good Grace—welcome
to London. Heaven bless that sweet Face of
thine.
Fal.
Thou whorson mad compound of Majesty, by
this light Flesh and corrupt Blood thou'rt welcome.
-- 27 --
Poin.
He'll laugh you out of your Revenge, and
turn all to Merryment if you take not heed.
Prin.
You whorson Candle-mine you! how vilely
did you speak of me even now, before this honest,
vertuous, civil Gentlewoman?
Host.
Now Blessing on your good Heart, and so
she is by my troth.
Fal.
Did'st thou hear me Hal?
Prin.
Yes, and you knew me, as you did when
you ran away by Gads-hill, you knew I was at your
back, and spake it on purpose to try my Patience.
Fal.
No, no, I did not think thou wert in hearing.
Prin.
I shall drive you than to confess the wilful
Abuse, and then you know how I must handle you.
Fal.
No abuse Hal, on my Honour no abuse.
Prin.
To call me Butler, Bread-chipper, and I
know not what?
Fal.
No abuse Hal.
Poin.
No abuse?
Fal.
No abuse Ned in the World; honest Ned
none; I disprais d him before the Wicked that the
Wicked might not fall in Love with him; in doing
which I have done the part of a careful Friend, and
a true Subject; and thy Father is to give me thanks
for it. No abuse Hal, none Ned, no Boys, none.
Prin.
See now whether pure Fear and entire Cowardize
does not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman
to close with us? Is she of the Wicked?
is thine Hostess of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the
Wicked? Or honest Bardolfe, whose Zeal burns in
his Nose, of the Wicked?
Poin.
Answer thou dead Elm Answer.
Fal.
The Fiend has prick'd down Bardolfe irrecoverable,
and his Face is Lucifers Privy-Kitchin,
where he does nothing but tost Malt-worms—For
-- 28 --
the Boy, there is a good Angel about him, but the
Devil outbids him too.
Prin.
Now for the Women.
Fal.
For one of 'em, she is in Hell already, and
burns poor Souls; for the other I owe her Money,
and whether she be Damn'd for that I know not.
Host.
No I warrant you. Who's that knocks so
loud? [Knocking without] Look to the Door there
Francis.
Exit Bardolfe.
Enter Peto.
Prin.
Peto? What news with you?
Peto.
My Lord, The King your Father is at Westminster,
and there are twenty faint and wearied Posts
come from the North; and as I came along I overtook
at least a dozen Captains asking at Taverns after
Sir John Falstaffe.
Prin.
By Heav'n Poins I find I am much to Blame
So idly to prophane the precious time,
When such commotion, like th'unhealthy South,
Born with black Vapours does begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed Heads.
Give me my Coat and Sword. Falstaffe good night.
Exeunt Prin. and Poin.
Fal.
Now comes in the sweet Morsel of rhe Night,
and we must hence and leave it unpickt. [Knocking
again without.] More knocking at the Door,
how now? What's the matter?
Enter Bardolfe.
Bar.
You must away to Court Sir presently. A
dozen Captains stay at the Door for you.
Fal.
Pay the Musicians Sirrah. Farewel Hostess,
Farewel Dol. You see how Men of Merit are sought
after. The undeserver may Sleep, while the Man of
Action is call'd upon. Farewel good Wenches, if I
be not sent away Post, I'll see you again e're I go.
-- 29 --
Dol.
I cannot speak—if my heart en't ready to
burst—well sweet Jack have a care of thy self.
Fal.
Farewel, Farewel!
Exit Falstaffe.
Host.
Well Fare-thee-well, I have known thee
these twenty nine Years come Pescod time. But an
honester and true-hearted Man—well fare-thee-well.
Bar.
Mrs. Tearsheet.
(within.)
Host.
What's the matter?
Bar.
Bid Mrs. Tearsheet come to my Master.
Host.
Oh run Dol, run run, good Dol.
Exeunt omnes.
-- 30 --
ACT III.
Scene 1
SCENE Justice Shallow's House.
Enter Justice Shallow, Justice Silence and Davy.
Shallow.
Come on, come on, give me your
Hand, give me your Hand Sir,
an early stirrer by the Rood, and
how does my Cozen Silence?
Sil.
Good Morrow good Cozen
Shallow.
Shal.
And how does my Cozen
your Bedfellow? and your fair Daughter, and mine
my God-daughter Nelly?
Sil.
Alas! a black Ousel Cozen Shallow.
Shal.
By yea and nay Sir I dare say, William is become
a good Scholar, he is at Oxford still, is he not?
Sil.
Aye Sir to my cost.
Shal.
He must then to the Inns of Court shortly.
I was once of Clements Inn, where I think they talk
of mad Shallow yet.
Sil.
You were called lusty Shallow then, Cozen.
Shal.
I was called any thing, and I would have
done any thing, and roundly too; there was I and
little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George
Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will. Squele a Cotswald-man,
you had not five such swash Bucklers in
all the Inns of Court again; and between you and I
Cozen, we knew where the Bona Roba's were, and had
the best of 'em all at command; there was Jack
-- 31 --
Falstaffe a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray Duke
of Suffolk.
Sil.
Is he not now Sir John (Cozen) does he not
come hither anon about Soldiers?
Shal.
The same Sir John, the very same, I saw
him break Scoggan's Head at the Court-gate, when
he was a Page not thus high; and the very same
Day did I fight with Samson Stock-fish a Fruiterer,
behind Grey's Inn. Oh the mad Days that I
have spent! and see how many of my old acquaintance
are Dead.
Sil.
We shall all follow Cozen.
Shal.
Ay that's certain, very sure, very sure,
ay, ay, Death is certain to all, all shall dye. How
went a good Yoke of Bullocks at Stafford Fair?
Sil.
Truly Cozen I was not there.
Shal.
Yes, yes, Death is certain. Is old Double
of your Town living yet?
Sil.
Dead Cozen.
Shal.
Dead, see, see, he drew a good Bow—and
Dead! He shot a fine Shoot, John of Gaunt loved
him well, and Betted a Power of Money on his Head.
Dead? He would have clapt in the Clout at Twelvescore,
and carried a Forehand Shaft at Fourteen,
and Fourteen and a half, that 'twould have done a
Man's Heart good to se't. How a Score of Sheep now?
Sil.
Thereafter as they be. A Score of good Sheep
may be worth Ten Pounds.
Shal.
And is old Double dead?
Enter Bardolfe and Boy.
Sil.
Here I think come two of Sir John Falstaffe's
Men.
Shal.
Good Morrow honest Gentlemen.
Bar.
Pray which is Justice Shallow?
-- 32 --
Shal.
I am Robert Shallow Sir, a poor Esquire of
this County, and one of the King's Justices of the
Peace—What is your good pleasure with me?
Bar.
My Captain Sir commends him to you, my
Captain Sir John Falstaffe, a tall Gentleman, and
a great Leader.
Shal.
He greets me well. I knew him a good
Back-Sword Man, how does the good Knight? may
I ask how the good Lady his Wife does?
Bar.
Pardon me Sir, a Soldier is better accomodated
than with a Wife.
Sal.
It is well said, it is well said indeed; better
accommodated is very significant. Right. Accommodated!
it comes from Accommodo, a very good Phrase.
Bar.
Pardon me Sir, I have heard the Word.
Phrase call you it? By this Day! I know not the
Phrase, but I will maintain the Word with my
Sword, to be a Soldier like Word, and a Word of
exceeding good Command—Accommodated? That
is when a Man is as they say, accommodated, or
when a Man is, being, whereby, he be thought to
be accommodated, which is an excellent thing.
Enter Falstaffe.
Shal.
It is very just—Look here comes good Sir
John himself: give me your Hand, give me your
Worship's good Hand; trust me you look well! and
bear your Years very well; welcome good Sir John.
Fal.
I am glad to see you well good Mr. Robert
Shallow. Mr. Surecard as I take it.
Shal.
No Sir John, it is my Cozen Silence, in
Commission with me.
Fal.
Good Mr. Silence, it well befits you be of the
Peace.
Sil.
Your good Worship is welcome.
-- 33 --
Fal.
Well Gentlemen, have you provided me
half a dozen sufficient Men?
Shal.
Marry have we Sir, will you please to sit?
Fal.
Let me see 'em I beseech you.
Shal.
Where's the Roll? where's the Roll? Let
me see, let me see. So, so, so,—Ralph Mouldy—Let
'em appear as I call? let 'em do so? Let me see
where's Mouldy?
Enter Mouldy.
Moul.
Here if it please you.
Shal.
What think you Sir John? a good limb'd
Fellow, Young, Strong, and of good Friends.
Fal.
Is thy name Mouldy?
Mould.
Yes an't please you.
Fal.
Prick him down.
Moul.
I was well enough before, if you would
have let me alone: my old Dame will be undone
now for one to do her Husbandry, and her Drudgery;
you need not to have prickt me, there are other
Men fitter to go out than I.
Fal.
Go to, Peace Mouldy, you shall go Mouldy.
Sha.
Peace Fellow, Peace, stand aside, know you
where you are? For the other, Sir John. Let me
see—Simon Shadow.
Fal.
I marry let me see him sit under me, he's
like to be a cold Soldier.
Shal.
Where's Shadow?
Enter Shadow.
Shad.
Here Sir.
Fal.
Shadow, whose Son art thou?
Shad.
My Mothers Son, Sir.
Fal.
Thy Mothers Son? like enough, and thy
Fathers Shadow. So the Son of the Female is the
-- 34 --
Shadow of the Male; it is often so indeed, but not
of the Fathers Substance.
Shal.
Do yo like him Sir John?
Fal.
Shadow will serve for Summer, prick him;
for we have a number of Shadows to fill up the Muster
Roll.
Shal.
Thomas Wart.
Enter Wart.
Fal.
Where's he?
War.
Here Sir.
Shal.
Shall I prick him down? Sir John.
Fal.
It were Superfluous, his Apparel hangs by
Geometry, so do his Limbs; no, prick him not.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha, you can do it Sir you can do it:
I commend your Wit—Francis Feeble.
Enter Feeble.
Feeb.
Here Sir.
Shal.
What is your Trade Feeble?
Feeb.
A Womans Taylor Sir.
Shal.
Shall I prick him, Sir?
Fal.
You may; wilt thou make as many holes
in an Enemies Battail, as thou hast done in a Womans
Petticoat?
Feeb.
I will do my endeavour Sir, you can have
no more.
Fal.
Well said good Womans Taylor, well said
couragious Feeble, thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful Dove, or most magnanimous Mouse. Prick
down the Womans Taylor. Well Mr. Shallow, deep
Mr. Shallow.
Feeb.
I would Wart might have gone too, Sir.
Fal.
I would thou wert a Man's Taylor, that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot
make him a Private Soldier, who is leader of
-- 35 --
so many Thousand. Let that suffice most forcible
Feeble.
Feeb.
It shall suffice.
Fal.
I am beholding to you. Who is the next?
Shal.
Peter Bullcalfe of the Green. Enter Bullcalfe
Fal.
Ay marry: Let us see Bulcalfe.
Bul.
Here Sir.
Fal.
Trust me a lusty Fellow, come prick me
Bulcalfe till he roar again.
Bul.
O good my Lord Captain!
Fal.
What! dost thou roar before thou art prickt?
Bul.
Oh Sir I am a diseas'd Man.
Fal.
What Disease hast thou?
Bul.
A whorson Cold Sir, a Cough Sir, which I
caught with Ringing in the Kings affairs upon his
Coronation Day.
Fal.
Come we will have away thy Cold; and I
will take such order that thy Friends shall Ring
for thee. Is here all?
Shal.
There are two more called than your Number.
You should have but Four here; and so I pray
you Sir, let me have your good Company to Dinner.
Fal.
I'll drink a Glass with you, but I cannot stay
Dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth Mr.
Shallow.
Shal.
O Sir John, do you remember since we lay
all Night in the Windmil in St. George's Field?
Fal.
No more of that good Mr. Shallow, no more
of that.
Shal.
It was a merry Night, and is Joan Nightworke
alive?
Fal.
She lives Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
She never could endure me.
Fal.
Never.
Shal.
I could Anger her to the Heart. No, no,
she could never endure me. She was then a Bonaroba,
does she hold her own well?
-- 36 --
Fal.
Old, old, Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
Nay, she must be old, she cannot chuse but
be old; she had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork,
before I came to Clements Inn.
Fal.
That's Fifty Five Years ago.
Shal.
Ah Cozen Silence! that thou had'st seen
what this Knight and I have seen. Ah Sir John!
said I well.
Fal.
We have heard the Chimes at Midnight
Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
That we have i'faith Sir John; our Watchword
was Hem Boys, come let's to Dinner. O the
Days that we have seen?
[Exeunt Falstaffe, Shallow and Silence.
Bul.
Good Mr. Corporal Bardolfe, stand my
Friend, here are four Harry Ten Shillings in French
Crowns for you; in very truth Sir, I'd as lief be
hang'd as go, and yet for my own part I do not
care; but rather because I am unwilling, and for
my own part have a desire to stay with my Friends,
else Sir I did not care for my own part so much.
Bar.
Go too. Stand aside.
Moul.
And good Mr. Corporal Captain for my old
Dame's sake stand my Friend, she has no body to
do any thing about her when I am gone, and she is
old, and cannot help her self. You shall have
Twenty Shillings Sir.
Bar.
Stand aside too.
Feeb.
I care not, a Man can dye but once; we
owe a Death, I will never bear a base Mind. If it
be my Destiny, so; if it be not, so; no Man's too
good to serve his King; and let it go which way it
will, he that dyes this Year is quit for the next.
Bar.
Well said, thou art a brave Fellow.
Feeb.
Nay, I will never bear no base Mind.
-- 37 --
Enter Falstaffe, Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Come Sir, which Men shall I have?
Shal.
Four of which you please.
Bar.
Sir a Word with you. I have Three Pound
to free Mouldy and Bulcalfe.
Fal.
Go too. 'Tis well.
Shal.
Come Sir John, which four will you have?
Fal.
Do you chuse for me.
Shal.
Marry then, Mouldy, Bulcalfe, Feeble and
Shadow.
Feeb.
Yes, yes, I'll go.
Fal.
Mouldy and Bulcalfe; for you Mouldy stay
at home till you are past Service; and for your
part Bulcalfe grow till you come to't. I'll ha' none
of you.
Shal.
Sir John, Sir John, do not your self wrong,
they are your likely'st Men; and I would have
you serv'd with the best.
Fal.
Will you tell me Mr. Shallow how to chuse
a Man? care I for the Limbs, the Stature, Bulk,
and big resemblance of a Man; give me the Spirit,
Mr. Shallow—where's Wart?
Wart.
Here, Sir,
Fal.
You see what a ragged Appearance he has, he
shall Charge and Discharge ye, with the motion of
a Pewterers Hammer, come off and on, swifter than
the Gibbets on a Brewers Bucket; and this same
half-fac'd Fellow Shadow, give me this Man, he presents
no Mark to the Enemy; the Foe may as well
aim at the edge of a Pen-knife; and for a retreat
how swiftly will this Feeble the Womans Taylor run
off. O give me the Spare-man—put me a Musket
into Feeble's Hand, Bardolfe.
Bar.
Here Feeble, Shoulder, Traverse thus.
Fal.
So; very well, go on, very good, exceeding
good. [Feeble exercises] O give me always a little
-- 38 --
lean chopt fac'd Fellow—well done Wart, there's
a Tester for thee.
Shal.
He does not do it right. I remember when
I was at Clements Inn, there was a little quiver
Fellow, and he would manage you his Piece thus;
and he would about, and about, and come in, and
come in ran-tan-tan! then Bounce would he say,
and away again would he go, and again would he
come. I shall never see such a Fellow.
Fal.
These Fellows will do well—Farewel good
Mr. Shallow. Farewel Gentlemen both, I thank
you; I must a dozen Miles to Night. Bardolfe
give the Men Coats.
Shal.
Sir John, Give me your Hand; Heav'n
bless you and prosper your affairs, send us Peace:
when you return; pray visit my House, and let
our old Acquaintance be renew'd; peradventure
I'll to Court with you.
Fal.
Would you would, Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
Go too, I have said it. Fare-you-wel, Good
Sir John.
Exit Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Farewel good Gentlemen. As I return I will
fetch off these Justices; I see the bottom of Justice
Shallow. How subject we old Men are to the Vice
of Lying? he has done nothing but prate of the
Feats of his Youth, and every third Word a Lye,
duer paid to the Hearer, than the Turks Tribute.
I remember him at Clements Inn, like a Man made
after Supper of a Cheese-paring. When he was
naked he was for all the World like a Forked Radish,
with a Head fantastically carved upon it with
a Knife. He was the very Genius of Famine,
came ever in the very rear of the Fashion; and
now he is become an Esquire, and talks as familiarly
of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn Brother
to him, and I'll be sworn he never saw him
but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he broke his
-- 39 --
Head for crouding amongst the Marshal's Men; I
saw it, and now he has Land and Beeves. If I return
I'll see him; and it shall go hard but I'll
make him a Philosophers two Stones to me. If
the young Gudgeon be a Bait for the old Pike, I see
no reason in the Law of Nature but I may snap at
him.
Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 2
SCENE The Fields near York.
Enter Archbishop of York, Mowbray, and Hastings.
Arch.
What is this Forrest call'd?
Hast.
Gualtree Forrest my Lord.
Arch.
Here stand we then, and send discoverers forth
To know the number of our Enemies.
Hast.
We have sent forth already.
Arch.
'Tis well done.
My Friends and Brothers in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
New dated Letters from Northumberland.
Their cold intent, tenure and substance thus.
He could not on the sudden raise such Forces
As suited with his Quality: whereupon
He is retir'd to try his further Fortune
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty Prayers
That our attempts may outlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of our Enemies.
Mow.
The hopes we had of him then fall to Ground,
And dash themselves to Pieces.
Hast.
Now Sir what News?
-- 40 --
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
A Mile West of this Forrest
In goodly Order comes the Enemy,
And by the Ground they cover, I judg'd their number
Near Thirty Thousand.
Mow.
Let us Survey and Face 'em in the Field.
Arch.
But who comes here?
Enter Westmorland.
Mow.
I think it is my Lord of Westmorland.
West.
Health and fair Greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.
Arch.
Speak on my Lord of Westmorland,
What does concern your coming.
West.
Then my Lord,
Unto your Grace do I in chief Address
The substance of my Speech: If that Rebellion
Came like it self, in base and abject Routs.
I say, if damn'd Commotion did appear
In his true, Native, and most proper Shape
You (reverend Father, and these noble Lords)
Had not been here, to dress the ugly Form
Of base, and bloody Insurrection
With your fair Honours. You Lord Archbishop,
Whose See is by a Civil Power maintain'd,
Whose Beard the Silver Hand of Time has touch'd;
Whose Learning and good Letters Peace has Tutor'd,
And whose white Vestments figure Innocence:
Wherefore do you so ill Translate your self
Out of the Speech of Peace (which bears such Grace)
Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of War?
Turning your Books to Graves, your Ink to Blood,
-- 41 --
Your Pens to Launces, and your Tongue divine,
To a loud Trumpet and a point of War.
Arch.
Wherefore do this? So stands the Question.
Briefly to this End. We are diseas'd,
And with our surfeiting and wanton Hours
Have brought our selves into a burning Fever,
And we must bleed for it: Of which Disease
Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.
But my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a Physician,
Nor do I as an Enemy to Peace,
Joyn in the Throng of Military Men.
I have in equal Ballance justly weigh'd
What Wrong our Arms may do, what Wrongs we suffer,
And find our Griefs heavier than our Offences;
And have the Summary of all our Wrongs
(When Time shall serve) to shew in Articles,
Which long e'er this we offer'd to the King,
And could by no Suit, gain our Audience:
When we are wrong'd and would' unfold our Griefs,
We are deny'd Access unto his Person,
Even by the very Men who most have wrong'd us.
West.
When ever yet was your Appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been injur'd by the King?
That you should seal this lawless bloody Book
Of forg d Rebellion, with a Seal divine?
Arch.
My noble Brothers here, and Commonwealth
I make my Quarrel in particular.
West.
There is no need of any such Redress
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mow.
Why not to him in part, and to us all?
Who feel the Bruises of the Days before,
And suffer the Condition of these Times
To lay a heavy and unequal Hand
-- 42 --
Upon our Honours.
West.
O my good Lord Mowbray!
Construe the Times to their Necessities,
And you shall say (indeed) it is the Time,
And not the King who does you Injuries.
Here come I from our Princely General
To know your Griefs, to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you Audience: and wherein
It shall appear that your Demands are just,
You shall enjoy 'em; and all Things forgot
That might so much as think you Enemies.
Mow.
By my Consent, we will admit no Parley.
West.
That argues but the Shame of your Offence,
A rotten Cause admits no handling.
Hast.
But has Prince John such a Commission,
With full and ample Power from his Father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what Conditions we shall stand upon?
West.
That's intended in the General's Name,
'Tis strange you make so slight a Question.
Arch.
Then take (my Lord of Westmoreland) this Schedule;
For this contains our general Grievances.
Each several Article herein redress d,
All Members of our Cause, both here, and hence
That are engaged with us in this great Action,
Acquitted in a true substantial Form,
We'll come within our awful Bounds again,
And freely run into the Arms of Peace.
West.
This will I shew the General, please you Lords
In sight of both the Armies we may meet
And either end in Peace (if Heaven so please)
Or to the place of Battle call the Swords,
Which must decide it.
-- 43 --
Arch.
My Lord, let it be so.
Exit West.
Mow.
There's something in my Mind forewarns me still,
That no Conditions of this Peace can stand.
Hast.
O fear not that! if we can make a Peace
Upon such full large absolute Conditions,
Our Peace shall stand as firm as a fix'd Rock.
Mow.
We shall be more suspected for this Action,
And every false or slight Occasion taken
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a Wind,
That even our Corn shall seem as light as Chass,
And good from bad find no Distinction.
Arch.
No, no, my Lord, note this. The King is weary
Of all such false, nice, picking Grievances,
His Foes are so engrafted with his Friends,
That plucking to unfix an Enemy,
He will unfasten so, and shake a Friend.
Hast.
Besides, the King has wasted his Revenge
On late Offenders, that he now does lack
The very Instruments of his Chastisement;
So that his Pow'r like a fangless Lion
May offer, but not hold.
Arch.
'Tis very true.
And therefore be assur'd my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our Attonement well,
Our Peace will (like a broken Limb united),
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Enter Westmoreland.
Mow.
Be it so.
But see, my Lord of Westmoreland is return'd.
West.
The Prince is here at Hand; so please your Lordships
To meet his Grace there, between both the Armies.
-- 44 --
Mow.
In Heavens name (my Lord of York) move on.
Arch.
My Lord of Westmoreland,
Be pleas'd to tell his Highness we are coming.
(Exeunt.
Enter on one Side Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland
and Officers. On the other Archbishop,
Mowbray, Hastings, Lord Bardolfe, &c.
Pr. Jo.
You're well encounter'd here my Cozen Mowbray,
Good day to you my learned Lord Archbishop,
And so to you my Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, I grieve to see you here:
That Man who sits within a Monarchs Heart,
And ripens in the Sun-shine of his Favour,
Would he abuse the Count'nance of the King,
Alas! What Mischiefs might be set a broach,
In shadow of such Greatness? with you Lord Bishop,
It is just so: Are you not my Lord,
To us the Speaker in his Parliament,
The very Opener and Intelligencer
Between the Grace, and Sanctity of Heav'n
And our dull Senses? O! Who shall believe
That you misuse the Reverence of your Place,
Employ the Countenance and Grace of Heaven
As a false Favourite does his Prince's Name
In Deeds dishonourable? You have taken up,
Under the counterfeited Zeal of Heaven,
The Subjects of Heavens Substitute (my Father)
And both against the Peace of Heaven and him,
Have rais'd these Bees and swarm'd 'em.
Arch.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your Father's Peace,
But (as I told my Lord of Westmoreland)
The Time disorder'd does in common Care
Croud us, and crush us to this monstrous Form
To keep our Liberties and Fortunes safe;
-- 45 --
I sent your Grace Particulars of our Griefs;
Which with Contempt and Scorn have been rejected
Whereon this Hydra Son of War is born,
Whose dangerous Eyes may well be charm'd asleep
With granting our most just and right Desires,
And our Obedience to his Majesty
Stoop tamely as before.
Mow.
If not, we are ready now to try our Fortunes
To the last Man.
Hast.
And shou'd we here fall down,
We have Supplies to second our Attempt
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them,
And so successive Mischiefs shall be born,
And Heir to Heir shall hold this Quarrel up.
Pr. Jo.
You are too shallow Hastings, much too shallow
To sound the bottom of the After-times.
West.
So please your Grace to answer 'em directly
How far you do approve their Articles.
Pr. Jo.
I like 'em all, and do allow 'em all,
And swear here by the Honour of my Blood,
My Father's Purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his Meaning and Authority.
My Lords, these Griefs shall be with speed redress'd,
Upon my Life they shall; if this may please you,
Discharge your Men hence to their several Counties,
As we will ours, and here between the Armies,
Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
That all their Eyes may bear those Tokens home
Of our restor'd Love and Amity. Some Wine.
Arch.
take your Princely Word for these Redresses.
Enter Officers with Wine.
Pr. Jo.
I give it you, and will maintain my Word;
And thereupon drink freely to your Grace.
-- 46 --
Hast.
Go Captain and deliver to the Army
This News of Peace, and let 'em have Pay, and part,
I know 'twill please 'em well, hasten good Captain.
Arch.
To you my noble Lord of Westmoreland.
[Exit Captain.
West.
I pledge your Grace, and if you knew
What Pains I have bestow'd to gain this Peace,
You would drink freely; but my Love to you
Shall shew it self more openly hereafter.
Arch.
I do not doubt it.
West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord, and gentle Cozen Mowbray.
Mow.
You wish me Health, Sir, in a happy Season.
For I am on the sudain something ill.
Arch.
Against ill Chances Men are always merry
And Heaviness fore-runs a good Event.
Believe me I am wondrous light my Lord.
Mow.
So much the worse if your own Rule be true.
[Shout.
Pr. Jo.
The Peace is welcome. Hark how the Soldiers Shout!
Mow.
This had been chearful after Victory.
Arch.
A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest,
For then both Parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither of em loser.
Pr. Jo.
Go my Lord,
And let our Army be discharg'd too.
[Exit West.
And good my Lords (so please you) let your Soldiers
March by us, that we may peruse the Men,
We should have cop'd withall.
Arch.
Go good Lord Hastings,
And e'er they be dismiss'd, let 'em march by.
-- 47 --
Enter Westmoreland.
Now Cozen wherefore stands our Army still?
West.
The Leaders having charge from you to stand
Will not march off, till you your self command 'em.
Pr. Jo.
They know their Duties well.
Enter Hastings.
Hast.
Our Army is dispers'd.
Like youthful Steers unyoak'd, they took their Course
East, West, North, South; or like a School broke up
Each hurries towards his Home, and sporting place.
West.
Good Tydings my Lord Hastings, for the which
I do Arrest thee Traytor of High-Treason.
And you Lord Bishop, you Lord Mowbray
Of Capital Treason; I attach you all.
Mow.
Is this Proceeding just and honourable?
West.
Is your Assembly so?
Arch.
Will you thus break your Faith?
Pr. Jo.
I pawn'd you none.
I promis'd you redress of those same Grievances
Whereof you did complain: And by my Honour!
I will perform it with a Christian Care.
But for you Rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for Rebellion, and such Acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these Arms commence
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Beat up our Drums, pursue the scatter'd Stray;
Heav'n and not we, has safely fought to day.
[Exeunt.
-- 48 --
Enter Falstaffe and Coleville.
Fal.
What's your Name, Sir? Of what Condition
are you? And of what Place I pray?
Col.
I am a Knight, Sir, my Name is Coleville of the Dale.
Fal.
Well then, Coleville is your Name, Knight
your Degree, and your place the Dale. Coleville
shall still be your Name, a Traytor your Degree,
and the Dungeon your Place, a place deep enough:
So shall you be still Coleville of the Dale.
Col.
Are not you Sir John Falstaffe?
Fal.
As good a Man as he who e'er I am. Do
you yield, Sir, or must I Sweat for you? If I do
Sweat, they are the drops of your Friends, and they
weep for your Death; therefore rouze up fear and
trembling, and do observance to my Mercy.
Col.
I think you are Sir John Falstaffe, and in
that Belief yield me.
[Gives him his Sword.
Fal.
I have a whole School of Tongues in this
Belly of mine, and not a Tongue of 'em all speaks
any other Name, than valiant Sir John Falstaffe—
Here comes our General.
Enter Prince John, Westmoreland, and Officers.
Pr. Jo.
The Heat is past, follow the Chase no farther,
Call back our Men good Cozen Westmoreland.
Now Falstaffe, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy Tricks of yours will on my Life
Sometime or other break some feeble Gallows.
Fal.
I never knew yet but Rebuke and Check
was the Reward of Valour. Do you think me a
Shadow, an Arrow or a Bullet? Have I Motion in
my Pow'r with the Expedition of Thought?
-- 49 --
I have speeded hither with the extreamest Inch
of Possibility. I have founder'd Ninescore and odd
Posts, and here (Travel fainted as I am) have in
my pure innate Valour taken Sir John Coleville of
the Dale, a most furious Knight, and valorons Enemy:
but what of that he saw me and yielded: that
I may justly say with the hook'd Nos'd fellow of
Rome—I came, saw, and Overcame.
P. Jo.
It was more his Courtisy, than your Deserving.
Fal.
That I know not, here he is and here I yield
him: And I beseech your Grace I may be Chronicl'd
with the rest, of this days Deeds; or I swear
I'll have a particular Ballad with my own Picture
on the Top of it, and Coleville kissing my Foot. If
you do not all shew like guilt Two-pences to me,
and I in the clear Sky of Fame out-shine you all,
as much as a full Moon does a Coblers Candle; believe
not the Word of the Noble, therefore let me
have Right done me, and let Desert Mount.
P. Jo.
Thine's too heavy to Mount.
Fal.
Then let it Shine.
P. Jo.
Thine's too thick to Shine.
Fal.
Let it do something my Lord that may do
me Good, and call it what you will.
P. Jo.
Is thy Name Coleville?
Col.
It is my Lord.
P. Jo.
A famous Rebel art thou Coleville?
Col.
I am my Lord but as my better are,
Who led me hither; had they been rul'd by me
You should have won 'em Dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they Sold themselves, but
thou like a kind Fellow gav'st thy self away; and
I thank thee for thy self.
-- 50 --
Enter Westmoreland.
P. Jo.
So, have they left Pursuit?
West.
Retreat is sounded Sir.
P. Jo.
Send Coleville with his fellow Rebels
To Tork to present Execution.
Blunt take him hence; and Guard him sure.
[Exit with Colev.
Now hasten we to Court,
I hear the King, my Father's very Sick;
Our News shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which Cousin you shall bear to Comfort him:
We'll follow with the utmost Expedition.
Fal.
My Lord, let me beseech you, give me
leave to go thro' Gloucestershire, and when you
come to Court speak a good Word for me.
P. Jo.
Farewel, I shall speak better of you than you deserve.
[Exeunt all but Falst.]
Fal.
I wou'd you had but the Wit, 'twere better
than your Dukedom. This young sober-blooded
Boy does not Love me, a Man cannot make him
laugh; but that's no wonder he drinks no Wine;
there's none of these demure Boys come to any
thing, for thin Drink over-cooles their Blood:
Then they make so many Fish Meals, that they
fall into a kind of Male Green-Sickness; and when
they Marry get none but Wenches: They are generally
Fools, and Cowards, which some of us shou'd
be too. But for Inflammation. Good Sherry, Sack,
has a two-fold Operation in it: It ascends me into
the Brain, drys me there all the Foolish, Dull,
and crudy Vapours; makes it Apprehensive, Quick,
and Forgetive, full of Nimble, Fiery, and delectable
Shapes, which deliver'd o're to the Voice, the
Tongue, which is the Birth, becomes excellent Wit.
The Second Property of your Sherry is, the warming
-- 51 --
of the Blood; which before (cold and settled)
left the Liver White and Pale, which is the Badge
of Pusillanimity and Cowardice: But the Sherry
warms it, and makes it Course from the inwards to
the Parts extream; it illuminates the Face, which
(as a Beacon) gives warning to all the rest of this
little Kingdom (Man) to Arm; and then the vital
Commoners, and Inland petty Spirits, Muster me
all to their Captain the Heart, who great and
puff'd up with his Retinue, does any Deed of
Courage, and this Valour comes of Sherry: So
that Skill in the Weapon is nothing without Sack,
(for that sets it on Work) and Learning a mere
hoard of Gold, kept by a Devil, till Sack Commences
it, and sets it in Act and Use. Hereof
comes it, that Prince Harry is Valiant; for the cold
Blood he did naturally Inherit of his Father, he
has like lean Sterril, and bare Land manur'd,
Husbanded and Tyl'd, with excellent endeavour
of drinking Good, and good store of fertile Sherry
that he is become very Hot and Valiant—If I
had a Thousand Sons, the first Principle I wou'd
teach 'em, shou'd be to forswear thin Potations,
and to addict themselves to Sack—How now
Bardolfe.
Enter Bardolfe.
Bar.
The Army is discharg'd and gone.
Fal.
Let 'em go! I'll thro' Gloucestshire, and
there will I visit Mr. Robert Shallow, Esq; I have
him already tempering between my Finger, and
Thumb, and shortly will I Seal with him—
come away.
[Exeunt.
-- 52 --
ACT. IV.
SCENE I.
Enter King follow'd by Gower.
King.
If my Son Gloucester be not gone to
Rest, let him attend us.
Gow.
My Lord I shall
[Exit.
King Solus.
How many Thousands of my meanest Subjects
Are at this Hour in Sleep—O! gentle Sleep;
Natures soft Nurse, How have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my Eyelids down,
And steep my Senses in Forgetfulness?
Why rather dost thou dwell in smoaky Cottages,
Upon uneasie Pallads stretching Thee;
And hush'd with buzzing Night Flies to thy Rest.
Than in the Perfum'd Chambers of the Great?
Under the Canopies of Tyrian Purple,
And lull'd with Sounds of melting Melody.
Wilt thou upon the high and shaking Mast,
Seal up the Sea-Boys Eyes and rock his Brain,
In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge?
Can'st thou, O! partial Sleep, give thy Repose
-- 53 --
To the drench'd Sailor, in an Hour so rude
And in the calmest, and the stillest Night;
Deny it to a King that Courts thy Charm.
O! the sharp Thorns that interline a Crown,
Banish the Nurse of Nature from my Breast.
Enter Clarence, Gloucester, Gower, and Gentlemen.
Glo.
Health and many Days attend your Majesty.
King.
Gloucester my Son; Where is the Prince of Wales?
Glou.
I think he's gone to Hunt at Windsor Sir.
King.
And how Accompanyed?
Glou.
I know not Sir.
King.
Is not his Brother Clarence with him?
Glou.
No Sir, he's in the Presence here.
Cla.
What would my Lord and Father?
King.
Why art thou absent from the Prince thy Brother?
He Loves thee, and thou dost neglect him Clarence:
Thou hast a better Place in his Affection
Than all thy Brothers have: Blunt not his Love,
Nor lose the good Advantage of his Grace,
By seeming Cold, and careless of his Favour.
For he is Gracious if he be Observ'd;
He has a Tear for Pity, and a Hand
Open as Day for melting Charity.
Yet notwithstanding, being Incens'd he's Flint;
As humourous as Winter, and as suddain
As nipping Frosts are in the Spring of Day.
His Temper therefore must be well Observ'd:
Tell him his Faults, but do it Prudently,
When you perceive his Blood inclin'd to Mirth.
But when he's Angry, give him Line and Scope,
Till his wild Passions (like a Whale on Ground)
-- 54 --
Tire themselves with working. Learn this Clarence
And thou wilt prove a shelter to thy Friends,
A Hoop of Gold to bind thy Brothers in,
That the united Vessel of their Blood
(Mingled with Venome of Suggestion)
Shall never Leak, tho' it do Work as strong,
As Aconite, or as fir'd Gun-Powder.
Cla.
I shall observe him with all Care and Love.
King.
Why are you not at Windsor with him?
Cla.
He is not there, he Dines in London.
King.
Who Dines he with?
Cla.
With Pointz and Others, his continual followers.
King.
Most subject is the fattest Soyl to Weeds,
And he in the Luxuriant wantonness of Youth
Is overspread with 'em: Therefore my Grief
Stretches it self beyond the Hour of Death,
The Blood Weeps from my Heart when I do Shape
(In Forms imaginary) th' unguarded Days,
And rotten Times that you shall look upon,
When I am Sleeping with my Ancestors.
For when his Head-strong Ryot has no Curb;
When Rage and hot Blood are his Counsellors,
When means and lavish Manners meet together,
O! with what Wings shall his Affections fly
To all the Perils of Licentiousness.
Glost.
My gracious Lord you look beyond him quite,
The Prince has study'd his Companions
Like a strange Tongue, wherein to gain the Language
'Tis needful that the most immodest Word
Be plainly understood; which once attain'd
Your Highness knows, serves to no farther Use
But to be known and Hated.
So will the Prince in perfectness of Time
Cast off his Followers; and his past Deeds
-- 55 --
Shall in his Memory, like a ballance Live;
With which his Grace will weigh the Lives of others,
Turning past Evils to Advantages.
King.
Heaven grant it proves so.
Enter Westmorland.
Who's here? My Lord of Westmorland?
West.
Health to my Sovereign, and new Happiness
Added to that which I am to deliver.
Prince John your Son kisses your Royal Hand.
Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroop, Hastings and all,
Are brought to the Correction of the Law;
There is not now a Rebels Sword unsheath'd,
But Peace put's forth her Olive ev'ry where;
The manner how this Action has been manag'd:
Here at more leisure may your Highness read
In each particular.
King.
O! Westmorland? Thou art a Summer Bird,
Which ever in approaching Winter Sings
The lifting up of Day—But here's more News?
Enter Cambridge.
Cam.
From Enemies Heaven keep your Majesty,
And when they rise against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you off.
The Earl Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe,
With a great Pow'r of English and of Scots,
Are by the Sheriff of Yorkshire Over-thrown,
The Manner how, this Letter will Inform you.
King.
And wherefore should this good News make me Sick?
Will Fortune never come with both Hands full?
She either gives an Appetite, and no Food,
(Such are the Poor in Health) or else a Feast
-- 56 --
And takes away the Appetite (such are the Rich
Who have abundance and enjoy it not)
I should rejoice now at this happy News,
But my Sight fails me, and my Brain is giddy
Come near; I am very Ill.
[The King faints]
Glo.
How does your Majesty?
Cla.
My Royal Father!
West.
Be patient Princes you all know these Fits
Are with his Majesty familiar:
Stand from him, give him Air, he'll strait be well.
Cla.
No, no, he cannot long hold out.
Th' incessant Care, and labour of his Mind
Has wrought the Frame that should Confine it in
So thin, that Life looks thro' and will break out.
Glo.
The River has Thrice flow'd, no Ebb between
And Aged Men (Time's doting Chronicles)
Say it did so a little time before,
That our Great Grandsire, Edward Sick'd and Dy'd.
West.
Speak lower Princes, for the King recovers.
King.
Pray bear me hence,
And lay me on my Bed—Softly I pray,
And let there be no Noise,
Unless some kind, and favourable Hand
Will whisper Musick to my weary Spirit.
West.
Call for the Musick in the other Room.
King.
And set the Crown upon my Pillow by me
He is laid on the Bed.
Cla.
His Eyes are hollow, and he changes much.
West.
Pray let there be no Noise.
[Soft Musick.
Enter Prince Harry.
Prin.
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
Cla.
I am here, Brother, full of Heaviness.
Prin.
How does the King?
Cla.
Exceeding Ill.
-- 57 --
Prin.
Heard he the good News yet?
Glo.
Yes, my Lord, and alter'd much upon the hearing it.
Cla.
He is dispos'd to Sleep,
Let us withdraw into the other Room.
West.
Wil't please your Grace to go along with us?
Prin.
No, I'll sit down, and watch here by the King.
Why does the Crown lye there upon his Pillow?
Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow?
O! Thou inticing Bait! thou Golden Care!
With what Anxiety most Monarchs wear Thee!
How sound he Sleeps—Ha! by his Gates of Breath
There lyes a downy Feather, and it stirs not,
Sure did he Breath, that light and weightless Down
Perforce must move. My gracious Lord, My Father!
This Sleep is Sound indeed; this is a Sleep,
That from this golden Circle has Devorc'd
So many English Kings. Thy due from me
Is Tears and heavy Sorrows for thy Death,
Which Nature, Love, and filial Tenderness
Shall (O dear Father!) pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee, is this imperial Crown,
Justly deriv'd to me, which Heaven shall Guard,
And put the World's Strength in one Gyant Arm,
It shall not force this lineal Honour from me;
This will I leave to mine, as it was left to me.
[Exit.
[The King wakes and calls.]
King.
Westmorland, Gloucester, Clarence.
Enter Westmorland, Gloucester, Clarence, and Gower.
Cla.
Does the King call?
West.
How fares your Majesty?
King.
Why did you leave me here alone?
Cla.
We left the Prince my Brother here,
-- 58 --
Who undertook to sit and Watch by you.
King.
The Prince of Wales? Where is he? Let me see him.
West.
This Door is open, he's gone this way.
King.
Where is the Crown? Who took it from my Pillow?
West.
We left it here my Liege when we withdrew.
King.
The Prince has ta'en it hence. Go seek for him. Lend me your Hands.
Is he so hasty, that he does suppose
My Sleep my Death? Find him my Lord of Warwick
And bring him hither. This Act of his Conspires
With my Disease, and helps to End me sooner.
See Sons what things you are?
How quickly Nature falls into Revolt,
When Gold becomes her Object.
For this the Foolish over-careful Fathers
Have broke their Sleeps with Thought,
Their Brains with Care; their Limbs with Industry,
For this they have been busie to Instruct
Their Sons in Arts, and Martial Exercises:
When like the Bee, culling from every Flower
The vertuous Sweets; our Thighs loaded with Wax,
Our Mouths with Honey; we bring it to the Hive,
And like the Bees, are Murther'd for our Pains.
Enter Westmorland.
Where is the Prince, who could not stay so long
'Till his good Friend Sickness had Ended me?
West.
I found the Prince my Lord in the next Room,
Washing with kindly Tears his youthful Cheeks,
With such an inward, deep and settled Sorrow,
That the most Cruel would have pitty'd him.
He's coming to your Majesty.
-- 59 --
King.
But wherefore did he take the Crown away?
Enter Prince Harry.
Come hither Harry.
Depart the Chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exeunt.
Prin.
I never thought to hear you Speak again.
King.
Thy Wish was Father (Harry) to that Thought.
I stay too long with thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty Throne,
That thou wilt needs Invest thee with my Honours
Before the Hour is come? O foolish Youth!
Thou seek'st that Greatness that will over-whelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my Cloud of Dignity
Is held from falling, with so weak a Wind
That it will quickly drop. My Day is dim,
Thou hast stol'n that which after some few Hours,
Were thine without Offence.
Thy Life did manifest thou Lov'st me not,
And thou wilt have me Dye assur'd of it.
Thou had'st a thousand Daggers in thy Thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony Heart,
To Stab at half an Hour of my Life.
What! can'st thou not forbear me half an Hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my Grave thy self;
And bid the merry Bells Ring to thy Ears,
That thou art Crown'd, and not that I am Dead.
Prin.
You strike me to the Heart.
King.
Nay, hear me out.
Compound me only with forgotten Dust;
Give that which gave thee Life unto the Worms;
Pluck down my Officers; break my Decrees,
For now the Time is come to mock at Form.
Henry the Vth. is Crown'd! Up Vanity;
-- 60 --
Down State; all my sage Counsellors hence,
And to the English Court assemble now
From every Region, Apes of Idleness.
Your Neighb'ring Nations purge you of your Scum:
If you've a Ruffian that will Swear, Drink, Dice,
Revel all Night, Rob, Murder, and commit
The oldest Sins, the newest kind of Ways.
England shall give him Favour, Office, Honours,
For the Vth, Henry, from curb'd Licence plucks
The Muzzel of Restraint which held 'em in.
O my poor Kingdom! (Sick with Civil Wars)
When all my Care could not with-hold thy Riot,
What wilt thou do when Riot is thy Business?
Oh! thou wilt be a Wilderness again,
Peopled with Wolves thy old Inhabitants.
Prin.
O Pardon me my Liege!
But for my Tears impediments to my Speech,
I had forestall'd this Dear, and deep Rebuke,
E're you (with Grief) had spoke, and I had heard
The Course of it so far: There is your Crown,
And he who wears the Crown Immortal,
Long Guard it yours. When I here came in
I found no Sign of Breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my Heart! If I do feign,
O! let me in my present wildness Dye?
And never live to shew th' incredulous World,
The noble Change which I have purposed.
Coming to look on you, thinking you Dead
I spoke unto the Crown as having Sense,
And thus upbraided it: The care on thee depending
Has fed upon the Life blood of my Father,
And eat thy Wearer up. Thus my Royal Liege
Accusing it, I put it on my Head
To try with it (as with an Enemy
That had before my Face Murder'd my Father)
The quarel of a true Inheritor.
-- 61 --
But if it did infect my Blood with Joy,
Let Heav'n for ever keep it from my Head,
And make me as the poorest Vassal is,
Who does with Awe and Terror kneel to it.
King.
O my Son!
Heaven put it in thy Mind to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy Fathers Love,
Pleading so wisely in Excuse of it.
Come hither Harry, and sit down by me,
And hear I think the very latest Council
That ever I shall Breath: Heaven knows my Son
By what by-paths, indirect croked Ways
I met this Crown, and I my self know best,
How painfully it sat upon my Head.
To thee it shall Descend with greater Ease,
Better Opinion, better Confirmation:
For all the stain of the Atchievment goes
With me into the Earth. It seem'd to me
But as an Honour snatch'd with boist'rous Hand;
And I had many living to Upbraid,
My Gain of it by their Assistances.
Yet though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, for Griefs are Green.
And not a few
Have both their Stings and Teeth newly ta'en out,
By whose fell working I was first Advanc'd,
And by whose Pow'r I well might lodge a Fear,
To be again Displac'd: Which to prevent
I cut them off. Therefore my Harry
Be it thy Art to busie giddy Minds
With foreign Quarels: The Action hence remov'd,
May wast the Memory of the former Days.
More would I, but my Lungs are wasted so,
That strength of Speech is utterly deny'd me.
How I came by the Crown, O! Heav'n forgive,
And grant it may with thee much better Prosper.
-- 62 --
Prin.
You won it, wore it, kept, and gave it me,
Which I with more, than common Fortitude,
'Gainst all the World will rightfully Maintain.
Enter Prince John and Westmorland.
King.
Look, here's my Son, my John of Lancaster.
P. Jo.
Health, Peace and Happiness to my Royal Father.
King.
Thou bring'st me Happiness indeed Son John,
But Health, alas! with youthful Wings is flown
From this bare, aged Trunk. Upon thy sight
All worldly Business makes a Period.
Does any Name particular belong,
Unto that Lodging where I first did Swoon?
West.
'Tis call'd Jerusalem my Lord.
King.
Heav'n be prais'd for there my Life must end,
It has been Prophesy'd of me many Years,
I should not Dye but in Jerusalem,
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.
But bear me to that Chamber, there I'll lye
In that Jerusalem shall Harry Dye.
Enter Falstaffe, Shallow, Silence, Bardolfe, Boy, and Davy.
Shal.
Nay, you shall see my Orchard, where in
an Arbour you shall eat a last Year's Pippin of my
own Grafting, with a Dish of Carraways and so
forth: Come Cousin Silence, and then to Bed.
Fal.
You have here a goodly Dwelling and a Rich.
Sha.
Barren, barren, Beggars all, meer Beggers Sir
John, Marry, good Air. Come Davy, well done
Davy.
Fal.
This Davy serves for more Uses than One,
-- 63 --
he's your Serving-Man, and your Husband-Man.
Sha.
A good Varlet, a good Varlet Sir John; I
have Drank too much Sack at Supper. A very good
Varlet. Now sit down, sit down, come Cousin.
Sil.
Sit quoth—a—We shall do nothing,
(Sings)
But Drink and make good Cheer,
And Praise Heav'n for the merry Tear;
When Flesh is Cheap, and Females dear,
And lusty Lads come here and there,
And so Merrily, and so merrily Drink we.
Fal.
There's a merry Heart indeed good Mr. Silence;
Come here's your Health for it.
Sha.
Good Mr. Bardolfe your Hand, some Wine
Davy; be Merry Mr. Bardolfe, and my little Soldier
there.
Sil.
Be Merry, be Merry, my Wife has all,
[Sings
For Women are Shrews, both Short and Tall,
'Tis merry in Hall, when Beards wag all;
And welcome merry Shrovetide.
Be Merry, I say be Merry.
Fal.
I did not think Mr. Silence had been a Man
of so much Mettle.
Sil.
Who I? I have been Merry twice and once
e're now.
Dav.
There's a Dish of Pippins for you.
Sha.
Davy.
Dav.
Says your Worship? I'll be with you
straight, a Cup of Wine Sir.
Si.
Ay, a Cup of Wine, that's brisk and fine,
[Sings.
And Drink unto the Leman Mine,
And a Merry Heart Lives long a—
Fal.
Well said Mr. Silence.
Sil.
If we shall be Merry, now's the Time,
[Sings.
In the Sweet of the Night,
Comes the truest Delight,
And a merry Heart, Lives long a—
-- 64 --
Fal.
Then Health, and long Life to you Mr. Silence.
Sil.
Fill the Cup and let it come. I'll pledge you
wer't a Mile to the bottom.
Sha.
Honest Bardolfe welcome. If thou want'st
any thing and wilt not call, beshrew thy Heart.
Welcome my little tiney Thief, welcome indeed
too. I'll drink to Mr. Bardolfe, and all the Cavalier's
about London.
Dav.
A! I hope to see London once e'er I dye.
Bar.
If I might see thee there honest Davy?
Sha.
You'll crack a Quart together, ha, will you
not Mr. Bardolfe?
Bar.
Yes Sir in a Pottle-pot.
Sha.
I thank thee, the Knave will stick by you,
I can tell you that, he's no Flincher, he's true bred.
Bar.
And I'll stick by him Sir.
Sha.
There spoke a King, lack nothing, be Merry
I say. [Knocking without.] Look who's at Door
there, ho! Look who knocks.
[Exit Davy.
Fal.
Why now you have done me right Mr. Silence.
Sil.
Do me right, and Dub me Knight,
Samingo, Samingo.
[Is't not so?]
Fal.
'Tis so.
Sil.
Is it? Why then say an old Man can do
something.
[Enter Davy.]
Dav.
If't please your Worship, there's one Pistol
come from the Court with News.
Fal.
From Court, let him come in.
Enter Pistol.
Now Pistol, What News are you Charg'd with?
Pist.
Save you Sir John?
Fal.
What Wind blew you hither Pistol?
-- 65 --
Pist.
Not an ill Wind which blows no body good.
My Knight thou art now one of the greatest Men in
this Realm.
Sil.
Indeed I think he is but goodman Puff of
Barson.
Pist.
Puff in thy Teeth most recreant Coward;
base! Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy Friend.
Helter skelter have I rode to thee, and Tydings do
I bring, and lucky Joys, and golden Times, and
happy News of Peace.
Fal.
I prithee then deliver 'em like a Man of this
World.
Pist.
A Pin's-head for the World, and Worldlings
base, I speak of Africa, and golden Joys.
Fal.
O base Assyrian Knight! What is thy News?
Let King Covitha know the Truth of it.
Sil.
And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and little John.
Pist.
Shall dunghil Currs confront with Hellicon?
And shall good News be baffled?
Then Pistol lay thy Head in Furies Lap.
Sha.
Honest Gentleman I know not what you
mean.
Pist.
Why then Lament therefore.
Sha.
Pardon me Sir, if you come with News from
Court? There is but two Ways I take it, in telling
'em, either to utter 'em, or to Conceal 'em—I am
Sir under the King in some Authority.
Pist.
Under which King, Bezonian? Speak, or Dye!
Sha.
Under King Harry, Sir.
Pist.
Harry the IVth. or Vth.
Sha.
Harry the IVth.
Pist.
A Fig then for thy Office—Sir John,
thy tender Lamb-kin now is King. Harry the
Vth's the Man; I speak the Truth. When Pistol
lyes, do this, and Figg me like the Spaniard.
Fal.
How! is the old King Dead?
-- 66 --
Pist.
As Nail in Door; the Thing I speak is Just.
Fal.
Away Bardolfe Saddle my Horse. Mr. Shallow
chose what Office thou wilt, and 'tis thine. Pistol
for thy good News, I will doubly charge thee
with Dignities.
Bar.
O joyful News! I would not take a Knighthood
for my Fortune.
Fal.
Carry Mr. Silence to Bed, he's fast a Sleep.
Mr. Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt.
I am Fortune's Steward. My Horse, we'll ride all
Night. Boot Mr. Shallow, Boot; I know the young
King is Sick for me, take any Man's Horses, the
Laws of England are at my Command now, happy
are they who have been Friends to Falstaff; and
Woe to my Lord Chief Justice.
[Exeunt
Enter Westmorland, and Lord Chief Justice.
C. Just.
How is the King my Lord?
West.
Exceeding well, his Cares are now all ended.
C. Just.
Then he's Dead indeed.
West.
He's Walk'd the way of Nature:
He Lives no more for us.
C. Just.
I would his Majesty had took me with him
The Service that I truly did his Life,
Has left me open to all Injuries.
West.
Indeed, I think the young King Loves you not.
C. Just.
I know he does not, and I Arm my self
To welcome the Condition of the Time.
Enter Prince John, Gloucester and Clarence.
West.
Here comes the heavy Issue of dead Harry.
O! That the living Harry had the Temper,
Even of worst of these three Gentlemen!
How many Noblemen should hold their Places;
That must strike Sail now to the vilest Spirits.
C. Just.
A las! I fear all will be Overturn'd.
P. Jo.
Good morrow Cousin Westmorland.
-- 67 --
C. J. West.
Good morning to your Graces.
P. Jo.
We meet like Men who had forgot to speak.
West.
Our Argument's too heavy for much Talk.
Glo.
O my good Lord! you have lost a Friend indeed,
And I dare swear you borrow not that Face
Of seeming Sorrow; No, it is your own.
P. Jo.
Tho' no Man be assur'd what Grace to find,
You stand in coldest Expectation:
I am the Sorrier; would 'twere otherwise.
Cla.
Now we must all Speak Sir John Falstaff fair,
Tho' much against the grain of our high Blood.
C. Just.
Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in Honour,
Led by the impartial Conduct of my Soul;
And you shall never see that I will beg,
A ragged and forestall'd Remission.
If Truth, and upright Innocency fail me,
I'll to the King (my Master) who is Dead,
And let him know who sent me after him.
West.
Peace, here comes the King.
Enter Prince Harry.
All.
Good morrow, and Heaven bless your Majesty.
Pri.
This new and gorgeous Garment Majesty,
Sits not so easie on me as you think.
Brothers you mix your Sadness with some Fear;
But you have Reason to be Sad (my Brothers)
And to speak Truth it very well becomes you.
Sorrow so Royally in you appears,
That I will deeply put the Purple on,
And wear it in my Heart. Why then be sad;
But entertain no more of it, (good Brothers)
Then aj oynt Burthen laid upon us all.
For I sincerely bid you be assur'd,
I'll be your Father, and your Brother too:
-- 68 --
Then let me have your Loves, I'll bear your Cares:
Then Weep that Harry's Dead, and so will I;
But Harry Lives, who will convert those Tears
By number, into Hours of Happiness.
P Jo.
We hope no other from your Majesty.
Prin.
Still all look strangely on me, and you most,
You are I think assured, I Love you not.
C. Just.
I am assured, if I am Measur'd rightly,
Your Majesty has no just Cause to Hate me.
Prin.
No! How can a Prince forget
Those great Indignities, you laid upon me.
What! to Rebuke and roughly send to Prison,
Th' immediate Heir of England? Was this easie?
May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?
C. Just.
I then did use the Person of your Father,
The Image of his Pow'r lay then in me,
And in the Administration of the Law;
While I was busie for the Common-wealth,
Your Grace was pleas'd so to forget my Place,
The Majesty, the Power of Law and Justice;
The Image of the King whom I presented,
And stroke me in my very Seat of Judgment:
Whereon (as an Offender to your Father)
I gave free way to my Authority,
And did commit you. If the Deed were Ill,
Question your Royal Thoughts, make the Case yours
Think you the Father of a Prince, (your Son)
Hear your own Dignity so much Prophan'd,
See your own dreaded Laws so losely slighted;
Behold your self so by a Son Disdain'd,
And then imagine me taking your Part,
And in your Place doing Justice on your Son:
After this cold Consideration, Sentence me.
As you're a Just, and lawful King, now tell me,
What I have done that mis-became my Place,
My Person, or my Leiges Soveraignty?
-- 69 --
Prin.
My Lord Chief Justice, you have weigh'd it well;
Therefore still bear the Ballance, and the Sword,
And I do wish your Honours may encrease,
'Till you do live to see a Son of mine
Offend you, and Obey you as I did:
So shall I Live to speak my Fathers Words.
Happy am I to have a Man so Bold,
Who dares do Justice on my proper Son;
And no less Happy having such a Son,
That would deliver up his Greatness so,
Into the Hands of Justice. You did commit me,
For which I do commit into your Hand
The unstain'd Sword which you have us'd to bear,
With this remembrance, that you use it still,
With the like Bold, Just, and impartial Spirit
As you have done 'gainst me.
C. Just.
My Gracious Sovereign,
When I do ought that mis-becomes my Place,
The Honour and the Pow'r you Trust me with,
Let all good Men Despise me.
Prin.
There's my Hand,
You shall be as a Father to my Youth;
My Voice shall Sound as you shall Prompt my Ear,
And I will stoop and humble my Intents,
To your well-practis'd wise Directions.
And Princes all believe me, I beseech you.
My Father is departed to his Grave,
And with his Spirit sadly I survive,
To mock the expectation of the World.
I own my Friends the Spring-tide in my Blood,
Has proudly Flow'd in Vanity till now;
But now it turns and Ebbs back to the Sea,
Where it shall mingle with the mighty Floods,
And flow henceforth in formal Majesty.
Now call we our High Court of Parliament,
-- 70 --
And let us chose such Limbs of noble Council,
That the great Body of our State may go
In equal Rank, with the best Govern'd Nations:
That Peace, or rugged War, at once may be,
As Things acquainted, and familiar to us.
Our Coronation done; it shall appear
No Prince or Peer, shall have just Cause to say,
Heaven shorten Harry's happy Life one Day.
[Exeunt.
-- 71 --
ACT. V.
SCENE I.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Bardolfe, and Boy.
Falstaff.
Stand here by me, Mr. Robert Shallow,
the King shall do you Grace; I
will leer upon him as he comes by, and
do but Mark the Countenance he will
give me.
Bar.
Bless thy Lungs my brave Knight.
Fal.
Come here Bardolfe, stand you behind me.
If I had but time to make new Liveries, I would
have bestow'd the thousand Pound I borrow'd of
you Mr. Shallow upon them; but 'tis no matter,
this mean Shew does better, this will prove the
Zeal I had to see him.
Sha.
It will so.
Fal.
My earnestness and my Devotion.
Sha.
It does indeed Sir John.
Fal.
To ride as it were Day and Night, and not
to deliberate, not to remember, nor to have Patience
to Shift me.
Enter Pistol.
Pist.
Well over taken Knight.
-- 72 --
Fal.
Welcome Pistol—but to come daub'd with
Travel and Sweating with desire to see him, thinking
of nothing else, puting all other Affairs in
Oblivion, as if nothing else were to be done, but
to see him.
Pist.
'Tis Semper idem, for Absque hoc nihil est, 'tis
all in every Part.
Shal.
'Tis so indeed.
Pist.
But now, my Knight, I will inflame thy noble
Liver, and make thee Rage. Thy Doll, the Helen of thy
noble Thoughts, is in base Durance, and contagious
Prison, haul'd thither by Mechanical dirty Hands.
Rouze up Revenge from Ebon-den with fell Electo's
Snakes, for Doll is in—Pistol speaks nought but
Truth.
Fal.
I will deliver her
[Trumpets, and Shout.
Pist.
There roar'd the Sea, hark Trumpets, Clangor
sounds.
Enter King Harry the Vth, Prince John, Gloucester,
Clarence, Westmorland, Bishops of Canterbury
and Ely. Lord Chief Justice and Attendants.
Fal.
Save thy Grace King Hal! my Royal Hal!
Pist.
The Heavens thee Guard and Keep, most
Royal Imp of Fame.
Fal.
Heaven bless thee my sweet Boy?
K. Har.
My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain Man.
C. Just.
Have you your Wits? Know you to whom you Speak?
K. Har.
I know thee not old Man; fall to thy Prayers:
How Ill white Hairs become a Fool and Jester?
I have long Dream'd of such a kind of Man
So Surfeit-swell'd, so Old, and so Prophane;
-- 73 --
But being Awake, I now Despise my Dream.
Reply not to me with a Fool-born Jest,
Presume not that I am the Thing I was.
For Heav'n does know (and so the World shall find)
That as I've turn'd away my former self,
So will I those who kept me Company,
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, thou shalt then be as thou wart,
The Tutor, and the Feeder of my Riots.
Till then I Banish thee on Pain of Death,
As I have done the rest of my Misleaders,
Not to come near my Person by ten Miles;
And that Necessity may not Compel you
To farther Wickedness: I will allow you
A handsom Competency to Subsist on,
And as I hear
You do behave your selves farther Advancement.
My Lord Chief Justice, let it be your Care,
To see my Will Perform'd—Go on.
[Exeunt. all the Court.
Fal.
Mr. Shallow. I owe you a thousand Pound.
Sha.
Yes, Sir John, which I beseech you to let
me have Home with me.
Fal.
That can hardly be Mr. Shallow, Do not
Grieve at this; I shall be sent for in Private to
him—Look ye, he must seem thus to the World.
Fear not the Advancement, I will be the Man yet,
that shall make you Great.
Sha.
I cannot well perceive how, unless you
should give me your Doublet, and Stuff me out
with Straw. I beseech you, good Sir John let me
have five Hundred of my Thousand.
Fal.
Sir, I will be as good as my Word; this
that you heard was but a Colour.
Sha.
A Colour not to be Wash'd out Sir John.
'Tis a Colour I'm afraid you'll Die in.
-- 74 --
Fal.
Fear no Colours; go with me to Dinner
Mr. Shallow; come Lieutenant Pistol, come Bardolfe,
I tell you for all this, I shall be sent for soon
at Night.
Sha.
Sent for! Ay, by a Constable, I believe.
[Exeunt.
Enter Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of Ely.
B. Can.
The King seems Gracious to us.
Ely.
And a true Lover of the holy Church.
B. Can.
The Courses of his Youth promis'd it not.
The Breath no sooner left his Father's Body,
But his loose Wildness mortifying in him
Seem'd to Dye too. At that very Moment
Consideration like an Angel came,
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him;
Leaving his Body as a Paradice,
To be possess'd by none but holy Spirits.
Never was such a suddain Scholar made,
Never came Reformation in a Flood
With such a heady Current, scowring Faults
As in this King.
Ely.
We are blessed in the Change.
B. Can.
Hear him but Reason in Divinity
You would desire the King were made a Prelate.
In Council, hear him Speak of State Affairs.
You'd say it had been all in all his Study.
Let him Discourse of War, and you shall hear
A dreadful Battle render'd you in Musick.
Turn him to any Point of Policy,
The gordion Knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his Garter; that when he Speaks,
The Air a licens'd Libertine is still.
And the mute wonder lurketh in Men's Ears,
-- 75 --
To steal the Honey'd Sentences he utters.
That 'tis a wonder how his Grace should Glean it.
The courses of his Life were Vain and Idle,
His Company Unletter'd, Rude and Shallow,
His Hours fill'd up with Riots, Banquets, Sports,
And never noted in him any Study,
Any retirement from those wild vain Courses.
Ely.
The Strawberry grows underneath the Nettle,
And wholsome Berries thrive and ripen best,
Neighbour'd by Fruit of baser Quality.
And so this Prince obscur'd his Contemplation
Under the Vail of Wildness, which (no doubt)
Grew like the Summer Grass, fastest by Night
Unseen, and consequently Unobserv'd.
B. Can.
The French Ambassador, has from the King
Crav'd Audience; and the Hour I think is near.
Is it not Four a Clock?
Ely.
It wants not much.
B. Can.
The King will hear him hear.
Ely.
But see the King returns.
Enter King, Prince John, Gloucester, Clarence, Westmorland, Warwick and Attendants.
K. Harry.
Where is my Lord Chief Justice?
West.
In the next Room.
K. Harry.
Send for him in.
West.
Shall we call in th' Ambassador my Liege?
K. Harry.
Not yet; I would be resolv'd.
Before I hear him, of some things of Weight,
That fill my Thoughts concerning us and France.
Enter Lord Chief Justice.
Bish.
Heaven, and good Angels, Guard your Sacred Throne,
-- 76 --
And make you long become it.
K. Harry.
I thank you both. My good Wise Lord Chief Justice.
And you my Learned Lord of Canterbury,
Have you as I desir'd enquir'd into
My Right and Title to the Crown of France?
B. Can.
My Gracious Sovereign I have.
C. Just.
We both impartially have Study'd it.
K. Harry.
Then tell me plainly Lords,
Why the Law Salique which they have in France,
Or Should, or should not Bar me in my Claim?
And good my Lords, I caution you take heed,
You do not Fashion, Wrest, or turn your reading
To any colour suits not with the Truth:
For Heaven knows how many now in Health,
Shall drop their Blood in Approbation,
Of what this Moment you Incite us to.
Under this Conjuration speak my Lords
For I will hear, Note, and lodge it in my Heart,
That when you Speak is in your Conscience Just.
C. Just.
Then hear me Gracious Sovereign and you Peers,
That owe your Selves, your Lives and Services
To this imperial Throne. There is no Bar
To make against your Highness Claim to France,
But this which they produce from Pharamond.
No Woman shall Succeed in Salique Land.
Which Salique Land, the French, falsely Interpret,
To be the Realm of France, and Pharamond,
The Founder of this Law, yet there own Writers
Faithfully affirm, that the Land Salique
Is in Germany, between the Flouds of
Sala and of Elve.
K. Harry.
Go on.
C. Just.
Thus our third Edward your great Grand Father,
-- 77 --
(Whose Mother was th' undoubted Heir of France)
Did in her own Right, Claim, Win, and wear the Crown.
So 'tis as clear as an unclouded Sun,
That Hugh Capet's Claim;
King Lewis's Satisfaction, both appear
To hold in Right and Title of the Female.
So do the Kings of France this very Day,
However they hold up this Salique Law,
To bar your Highness claiming from the Female;
K. Harry.
May I with right and Conscience make this Claim?
B. Can.
The Sin light on my Head dread Sovereign.
In the Mosaick Law we find it Written,
When the Male Dyes, let the Inheritance
Descend unto the Daughter. Gracious Sir.
Assert your own, and set your Standard up.
Look back into your mighty Ancestors,
Go my dread Lord to your great Grandsire's Tomb;
From whom you Claim: Invoke his warlike Spirit.
And your great Uncle's Edward the Black Prince.
Who on the French Ground play'd a Tragedy
Alone Defeating the full Power of France.
While his most mighty Father on a Hill,
Stood smiling to behold his Lyons-whelp,
Forrage in Blood of French Nobility.
O noble English! that could Entertain
With half their Forces, all the Pow'r of France;
And let the other half stand Laughing by
Idle, and Cold, for want of Action.
West.
Wake the remembrance of these valiant Dead,
You are their Heir, you sit upon their Throne,
The Blood and Courage so Renown'd in them
Runs in your Veins: And my thrice puissant Liege
Is in the very May-morn of his Youth,
Ripe for Exploits and mighty Enterprizes.
-- 78 --
Your Brother Kings, and Monarchs of the Earth,
Do all expect that you should Rouze your self
As did the former Lyons of your Blood.
K. Harry.
Then call the Ambassadors sent from the Dauphin.
'Tis now resolv'd, and by the help of Heav'n,
And yours, the noble Sinnews of this War,
The Pride of France shall bend, or break to pieces,
I'll Reign o're all Her almost, Kingly Dukedoms,
Or lay these Bones in an unworthy Grave.
Enter the French Ambassadors, Conducted by Cambridge, Scroop and Gray.
K. Harry.
Now we are well prepar'd to know the Pleasure
Of our kind Cousin Dauphin; for we hear
Your Greeting is from him, not from the King.
Amb.
May't please your Majesty to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in Charge?
Or shall we sparingly shew you far off
The Dauphin's meaning, and our Embassy?
K. Har.
No, no, my Lord Ambassador speak plainly;
Tell us the Dauphin's Mind.
Amb.
Then thus in short,
Your Highness lately sending into France,
Did Claim some certain Dukedoms in the Right,
Of your great Predecessor Edward the Third.
In Answer of which Claim the Prince our Master,
Bids you be well Advis'd. There's nought in France
That can be with a nimble Galliard won.
You cannot Revel into Dukedoms there,
He sends a present fitter for your Humour,
A Tune of Treasure; and in lieu of that
Desires you'l let the Dukedoms that you Claim,
Hear no more from you. This the Dauphin bid us say.
-- 79 --
K. Harry.
What Treasure is this my Lord of Westmorland.
West.
Tennis-Balls my Liege.
K. Harry.
We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us:
His Present, and your Pains, we thank you for.
When we have Match'd our Rackets to these Balls,
We'll in the Heart of France play such a Sett,
Shall strike his Father's Crown into the Hazard.
For I will rise there with so full a Glory,
That I will dazle all the Eyes of France,
Yes, strike the Dauphin Blind to look on me.
And tell your pleasant Prince, this Mock of his
May be the Cause that Thousands yet Unborn,
Long may Lament, and Curse the Dauphin's Scorn,
Convey them with safe Conduct hence.—Farewel.
[Exiunt. Amb.]
West.
This was a merry Message.
K. Harry.
I hope to make the sender Blush at it,
My Lord of Cambridge, and my Lord of Marsham,
And you Sir Gray Knight of Northumberland,
Tell me your Thoughts, have I a pow'r sufficient
To meet this Dauphin, and Chastise his Insolence?
Scr.
No doubt my Liege, if each Man do his best.
K. Harry.
I doubt not that, for I am well persuaded
I carry not a Heart with me from hence,
That joyns not in a fair Consent with mine.
Nor leave one Man behind me, but does wish
Success, and Conquest may attend on us.
Cam.
Never was Monarch better Fear'd, and Lov'd
Than is your Majesty. There's not a Subject
That sits in Sorrow, or Uneasiness
Under the sweet Shade of your Government.
Gray.
True, those that were your Fathers Enemies
Have steep'd their Galls in Honey and now,
With Hearts brimful of Duty, Faith, and Zeal,
-- 80 --
They do your Grace incessant Services.
K. Harry.
We hope no less my Lord Westmorland
Inlarge the Man committed Yesterday,
For railing 'gainst our Person, I believe
It was excess of Wine that led him on,
No Propense Malice, therefore I Pardon him.
Scr.
Your Mercy shews too much Security,
Let him be Punish'd, least the bad Example
Breed more Offenders.
K. Harry.
I would be Merciful.
Cam.
So may your Highness, and yet Punish too.
Gray.
You shew him Mercy, if you give him Life
After severe Correction.
K. Har.
If little Faults proceeding from Distemper
Shall not be wink'd at, How should we stretch our Arm
When capital Crimes, chew'd, Swallow'd and Digested
Appear before us?—Well, inlarge the Man
Tho' Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray in their dear Care
And tender Preservation of our Person
Would have him Punish'd. Now to our French business.
Who nam'd I for the Lords Commissioners,
During my Absence?
Cam.
I my Liege am one,
Your Highness bid me ask for it to Day.
Scr.
So did you me my Liege.
Gray.
And I my Royal Sov'reign.
K. H.
Then Richard Earl of Cambridge there is yours,
There's yours Lord Scroop of Marsham, and Sir Gray
Knight of Nortumberland, this same is Yours.
Read 'em and know, I know your Worthyness.
My Lord of Westmorland,
Hast you to Dover, see our Army Shipp'd.
Why how now Gentlemen?
What see you in those Papers, that you lose
Your Colour so? Look how the change my Lords!
-- 81 --
Their Cheeks are Paper. Why what ready yon there,
That has so Cowarded, and chased the Blood
Out of your Faces?
Cam.
I confess my Fault.
And do submit me to your Highness's Mercy.
Scr. Gray.
To which we all Appeal.
K. Har.
You must not dare for Shame to speak of Mercy,
Your own Advice but now suppress'd and kill'd it,
And your own Reasons turn into your Bosoms,
As Dogs upon their Masters worrying you.
See, Princes see, and you my noble Peers,
These English Monsters; you, my Lord of Cambridge,
You know how readily my Love supply'd you,
When Riot and Profuseness brought you low.
And Gray no less for Bounty bound to me,
Than this ungrateful perjur'd Cambridge is,
[illeg.]u'd a base parcel of French Gold Corrupt you,
And make you swear to Murther me in Hampton?
Cam. Gray.
With Shame we own our Crime.
K. Har.
Too well you may.
But oh! What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop?
Thou cruel, savage, and ungrateful Wretch!
Thou, that didst bear the Key of all my Councils,
That knew'st the very bottom of my Soul,
That almost, might have Coin'd me into Gold.
May it be possible that Foreign hire,
Could draw one Spark of Evil out of thee,
To hurt my little Finger? 'Tis so strange,
That tho' the Truth of it appears as plain
As Black and White, my Eye will scarcely see it.
This Treachery of thine methinks is like
Another Fall of Man. Arrest 'em Westmorland,
And Heaven acquit 'em of their Practices.
West.
I Arrest thee of High Treason,
Richard Earl of Cambridge,
Thomas Lord Scroop of Marsham,
-- 82 --
And Thomas Gray, Knight, of Northumberland.
Scr.
Our Purposes Heaven justly has discover'd,
And I repent my Fault more than my Death.
Which I beseech your Highness to forgive,
Tho' my poor Body pays the Price of it.
Cam.
For me the Gold of France did not seduce me
Altho' I did admit it as a Motive
The sooner to effect what I intended,
But Heaven be thank'd for the prevention
Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
Gray.
Never did faithful Subject more rejoice,
At the discovery of a dangerous Treason;
Than I do at this Hour, joy o'er my self
Prevented from a damn'd enterprize.
My Fault, but not my Body, Pardon Sovereign.
K. Har.
You have conspir'd against our Royal Person.
Join'd with an open Enemy to destroy me,
Receiv'd the Golden Purchase of our Murther,
Wherein you would have Sold your King to Death,
His Princes and his Peers to Servitude,
His Subjects to Oppression and Contempt,
And his whole Kingdom into Desolation.
As for my Person, I seek no Revenge,
But my dear Kingdoms safety we must tender,
Whose Ruin and Destruction you Three sought.
Therefore to our just Laws we give you up,
And Heaven have Mercy on you. Take 'em hence
[Cam. Scro. and Gray are carried off.
Now Lords for France.
This strange Discovery is a happy Omen,
For I am satisfy'd my Cause is Just.
In that belief my Standard I'll advance,
For I will be—
No King of England, if not King of France.
[Exeunt Omnes.
