Mort.
These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hot.
Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!
I have forgot the map. ^note

Glend.
No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
For by that name as oft ^note as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks ^note pale and with
A rising sigh ^note he wisheth you in heaven. ^{note note}

Hot.

And you in hell, as oft ^note as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend.
I cannot blame him ^note: at my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and ^note at my birth
The frame and huge ^note foundation of the earth
Shaked ^note like a coward ^note.

Hot.

Why ^note, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother's cat had but ^note kittened, though yourself had never ^note been born. ^note

Glend.
I say the earth did shake when I was born.

Hot.
And I say the earth ^note was not of my mind,
If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

Glend.
The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. ^note

Hot.
O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions; oft ^note the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples ^note down
Steeples and moss grown towers ^note. At your birth
Our grandam earth, having ^note this distemperature,
In passion shook.

Glend.
Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings ^note. Give me leave
To tell you once again that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to ^note the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common ^note men.
Where is he ^note living, clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales ^note,
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out that is but woman's son ^note
Can trace me in the tedious ways ^note of art
And ^note hold me pace in deep experiments. ^note

Hot.
I think there's ^note no man speaks better Welsh.
I'll ^note to dinner.

Mort.
Peace, cousin ^note Percy; you will make him mad.

Glend.
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hot.
Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come when you do call for them?

Glend.
Why, I can teach you ^note, cousin ^note, to command
The devil ^note.

Hot.
And I can teach thee, coz ^note, to shame the devil
By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the devil ^note.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil!

Mort.
Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat ^note.

Glend.
Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
Against my power; thrice from the banks ^note of Wye
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent ^note him
Bootless ^note home and weather-beaten back ^note.

Hot.
Home without boots, and in foul weather too ^note!
How 'scapes ^note he agues ^note, in the devil's name?

Glend.
Come, here's the map: shall we divide our right ^note
According to our threefold order ta'en?

Mort.
The archdeacon hath divided it ^note
Into three limits very equally:
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east is to my part assign'd:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz ^note, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn ^note;
Which being sealed interchangeably,
A business that this night may execute,
To-morrow, cousin ^note Percy, you and I

And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
To meet your father and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. ^note
Within that space you may have drawn together
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.

Glend.
A shorter time shall send me to you, lords:
And in my conduct shall your ladies come;
From whom you now must steal and take no leave,
For ^note there will be a world of water shed
Upon the parting of your wives and you.

Hot.
Methinks my moiety ^note, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See how this river comes me cranking ^note in,
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous ^note cantle ^note out.
I'll have the current in this place damm'd ^note up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel, fair and evenly;
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend.
Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.

Mort.
Yea, but
Mark how he ^note bears his course, and runs me up
With like advantage on the other side;
Gelding the opposed continent as much
As on the other side it takes from you. ^note

Wor.
Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
And on this north side win this cape of land;

And then ^note he runs ^note straight and even ^note.

Hot.
I'll have it so: a little charge will do it.

Glend.
I'll ^note not have it alter'd.

Hot.
Will not you?

Glend.
No, nor you shall not.

Hot.
Who shall say me nay?

Glend.
Why, that will I.

Hot.

Let me not understand you ^note, then; speak it in Welsh ^note.

Glend.
I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was train'd up in the English court;
Where, being but ^note young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty lovely well
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,
A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot.
Marry,
And I am glad of it ^note with all my heart:
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
Than one of these same metre ^note ballad- ^notemongers;
I had rather hear a brazen canstick ^note turn'd ^note,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
And that would set my teeth nothing on ^note edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry:
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

Glend.
Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

Hot.
I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
To any ^note well-deserving friend; ^note
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? ^note

Glend.
The moon shines fair; you may away by night:
I'll haste ^note the writer ^note, and withal
Break with your ^note wives of your departure hence:
I am afraid my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. ^note

Mort.
Fie, cousin ^note Percy! how you cross my father!

Hot.
I cannot choose: sometime ^note he angers me
With telling me ^note of ^note the moldwarp and the ant,
Of the ^note dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
And of a dragon and a finless fish,
A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten ^note raven,
A couching lion ^note and ^note a ramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,—
He held me last ^note night at least ^note nine hours
In reckoning up the several devils' names ^note
That were his lackeys: I cried ‘hum,’ and ‘well, go to ^note,’
But mark'd him not a word. O, he is ^note as tedious

As a tired horse, a ^note railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort.
In faith, he is ^note a worthy ^note gentleman,
Exceedingly ^note well read, and profited
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
And wondrous affable and as ^note bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ^note?
He holds your temper in a high respect ^note
And curbs ^note himself even of his natural scope
When you come 'cross ^note his humour; faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive
Might so have tempted him as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof:
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

Wor.
In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame ^{note note};
And since your coming hither have done enough
To put him quite beside ^note his patience.
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
Though sometimes it show ^note greatness, courage, blood,—
And that's the dearest grace it renders you,—
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:

The least of which haunting a nobleman ^note
Loseth ^note men's hearts and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts ^note besides ^note,
Beguiling them of commendation. ^note

Hot.
Well, I am school'd: good manners be ^note your speed!
Here come our ^note wives, and let us take our leave ^note. Re-enter ^note Glendower with the ladies. ^note

Mort.
This is the deadly spite that angers me;
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend.
My daughter weeps: she will ^note not part with you;
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

Mort.
Good father, tell her that ^note she and my aunt ^note Percy
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [Glendower ^note speaks to her in ^note Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Glend.

She is ^note desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry, one ^note that ^note no persuasion can do good upon ^note.

Mort.
I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
Which thou pour'st ^note down ^note from these ^note swelling ^note heavens
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

In such a parley should I ^note answer thee. [The lady speaks ^note again in Welsh.
I understand thy kisses and thou mine,
And that's a feeling ^note disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet ^note as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute.

Glend.
Nay, if ^note you ^note melt, then ^note will she run ^note mad ^note. [The lady speaks again in Welsh.

Mort.
O, I am ignorance itself in this!

Glend.
She bids you on ^note the wanton ^note rushes lay you down ^note
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
Making such difference 'twixt ^note wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
Begins his ^note golden progress in the east.

Mort.
With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Glend.
Do so;
And those ^note musicians that shall play to you
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ^note,
And straight ^note they shall be here: sit, and attend ^note.

^note

Hot.

Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P.

Go, ye giddy goose.

Hot.
Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous.
By'r lady, he is a good musician.

Lady P.

Then should ^note you be nothing but musical, for you are altogether governed ^note by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. ^note

Hot.

I had rather hear Lady, my ^note brach ^note, howl in Irish.

Lady P.

Wouldst thou ^note have thy head broken?

Hot.

No.

Lady P.

Then be still.

Hot.

Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.

Lady P.

Now God help thee!

Hot.

To the Welsh lady's bed.

Lady P.

What's that?

Hot.

Peace! she sings.

Hot.

Come, Kate ^note, I'll have your song too.

Lady P.

Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot.

Not yours, in good sooth! Heart ^note! you swear like ^note a comfit-maker's wife. ‘Not you ^note, in good sooth,’ and ‘as true as I live,’ and ‘as ^note God shall mend me,’ and ‘as sure as day,’ ^note

And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
As if ^note thou never walk'st ^note further ^note than Finsbury.
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ‘in sooth,’
And such protest ^note of pepper-gingerbread,
To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.
Come, sing.

Lady P.

I will not sing.

Hot.

'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast ^note teacher. An ^note the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so, come in when ye ^note will.

Glend.
Come, come ^note, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow ^note
As hot Lord ^note Percy is on fire to go.
By this our book is ^note drawn; we'll ^note but seal,
And then to ^note horse immediately ^note.

Mort.
With all my heart. [Exeunt. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: London. ^note The palace. ^note Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

King.
Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference: but be near at hand ^{note note},

For we shall presently have need of you. [Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God ^note will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost in thy ^note passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare ^note, such lewd, such mean attempts ^note,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to ^note,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Prince.
So please your majesty, I would ^note I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse
As well as I am doubtless I can purge
Myself of many I am charged withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in ^note reproof of many tales devised,
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.

King.
God ^note pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry ^note,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:

The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
Prophetically do ^note forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By ^note being seldom seen, I could not stir
But like a comet I was wonder'd at;
That men would tell their children ‘This is he;’
Others would say ‘Where, which is Bolingbroke?’
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dress'd myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence ^note of the crowned king.
Thus did I ^note keep my person fresh and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
And wan ^note by rareness such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters and rash bavin ^note wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his ^note state,
Mingled his royalty with capering ^note fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at ^note gibing boys and stand the push

Of every beardless vain comparative,
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd ^note himself to popularity;
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
They surfeited with honey and began
To loathe ^note the taste of sweetness ^note, whereof a little ^note
More than a little is by much too much.
So when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford ^note no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
But ^note rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,
Slept in his face and render'd ^note such aspect
As cloudy men use ^note to ^note their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.
And in that very line, Harry, standest ^note thou;
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation: not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;
Which now doth that ^note I would not have it do ^note,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

Prince.
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
Be more myself. ^note

King.
For ^note all the world
As thou art to ^note this hour was Richard then

When I from France set foot at ^note Ravenspurgh,
And even as I was then is Percy now.
Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to ^note the state
Than thou the ^note shadow of succession;
For of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend ^note bishops on
To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned ^note Douglas! whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms
Holds from all soldiers ^note chief majority
And military title capital
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ:
Thrice hath this ^note Hotspur, Mars ^note in swathling ^note clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once ^note,
Enlarged him and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep ^note defiance up
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer ^note,
Capitulate against us and are up.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st ^note and ^note dearest enemy?
Thou that ^note art like enough, through vassal fear,

Base inclination and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate ^note.

Prince.
Do not think so; you shall not find it so:
And God ^note forgive them that so much have ^note sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head
And in the closing of some glorious day
Be bold to tell you that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood
And stain ^note my favours ^note in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it:
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.
For every honour sitting ^note on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on ^note my head
My shames ^note redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up ^note glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his ^note time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God ^note, I promise here:
The which if He be pleased I shall perform ^note, ^note

I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance ^note:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ^note;
And I will die a ^note hundred thousand ^note deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

King.
A hundred thousand rebels die in this:
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter Blunt. ^note
How now, good Blunt? thy ^note looks are full of speed.

Blunt.
So hath ^note the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
That Douglas and the English rebels met
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

King.
The Earl of Westmoreland set forth ^note to-day;
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old:
On Wednesday next, Harry ^note, you shall ^note set forward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting
Is ^note Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march
Through Gloucestershire; by which account ^note,
Our business valued ^note, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him ^note fat, while men ^note delay. [Exeunt.

^note Scene III. [Footnote: Eastcheap. ^note The Boar's-Head Tavern. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal.

Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An ^note I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bard.

Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal.

Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make ^note me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not above seven times a week; went to a ^note bawdy-house not above once in a quarter— ^noteof an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass ^note.

Bard.

Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal.

Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my ^note life: thou art our admiral, thou bearest ^note the lantern in ^note the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the Knight ^note of the Burning Lamp.

Bard.

Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm ^note.

Fal.

No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a Death's-head or a memento mori: I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning ^note. If thou wert any way given ^note to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, ‘By this fire, that's God's angel ^note:’ but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son ^note of utter darkness. When thou rannest ^note up Gadshill ^note in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou ^note hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an ^note everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at ^note the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours ^note with fire any time this two and thirty years; God ^note reward me for it!

Bard.

'Sblood ^note, I would my face were in your belly!

Fal.

God-a-mercy ^note! so should I be sure to be ^note heart-burned.

How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired yet who picked my pocket?

Host.

Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I

have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe ^note of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Fal.

Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair ^note; and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman ^note, go.

Host.

Who, I? no ^note; I defy thee: God's light ^note, I was never called so in mine own house before.

Fal.

Go to, I know you well enough.

Host.

No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal.

Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they ^note have made bolters of them.

Host.

Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings ^note an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings ^note, and money lent you, four and twenty ^note pound ^note.

Fal.

He had his part of it; let him pay.

Host.

He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

Fal.

How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them ^note coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.

Host.

O Jesu ^note, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ^note ring was copper!

Fal.

How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup ^note: 'sblood ^note,

an ^note he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.