Introductory matter ^note

INTRODUCTION.

At the time when Shakespeare selected the portion of history included in the following play, as a fit subject for dramatic representation, the stage was in possession of an old play, entitled, “The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth,” of which three early impressions, one printed in 1598, and two others without date, have come down to us: a copy of one edition without date is in the Collection of the Duke of Devonshire; and, judging from the type and other circumstances, we may conclude that it was anterior to the impression of 1598, and that it made its appearance shortly after 1594, on the 14th of May of which year it was entered on the Stationers' Registers. Richard Tarlton, who died in 1588, was an actor in that piece, but how long before 1588 it had been produced, we have no means of ascertaining. It is, in fact, in prose, although many portions of it are printed to look like verse, because, at the date when it first came from the press, blank-verse had become popular on the stage, and the bookseller probably was desirous of giving the old play a modern appearance. Our most ancient public dramas were composed in rhyme: to rhyme seems to have succeeded prose; and prose, about the date when Shakespeare is believed to have originally come to London, was displaced by blank-verse, intermixed with couplets and stanzas. “The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth” seems to belong to the middle period; and as Stephen Gosson, in his “School of Abuse,” 1579, leads us to suppose that at that time prose was not very usual in theatrical performances, it may be conjectured that “The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth” was not written until after 1580.

That a play upon the events of the reign of Henry V. was upon the stage in 1592, we have the indisputable evidence of Thomas Nash, in his notorious work, “Pierce Penniless, his Supplication,” which went through three editions in the same year: we quote from the first, (Sign. H 2.) where he says, “What a glorious thing it is to have Henry the Fifth represented on the Stage, leading the French King prisoner, and forcing him and the Dolphin to sweare fealtie.” We know also that a drama, called “Harry the V.,” was performed by Henslowe's Company on the 28th November, 1595, and it appears likely that it was a revival of “The Famous Victories,” with some important additions, which gave it the attraction of a new

play; for the receipts (as we find by Henslowe's Diary) were of such an amount as was generally only produced by a first representation. Out of this circumstance may have arisen the publication of the early undated edition in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire. The reproduction of “The Famous Victories” by a rival company, and the appearance of it from the press, possibly led Shakespeare to consider in what way, and with what improvements, he could avail himself of some of the same incidents for the theatre to which he belonged. This event would at once make the subject popular, and hence, perhaps, the re-impression of “The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth” in 1598^{1 note}. The year 1596 may possibly have been the date when Shakespeare wrote his “Henry IV.” Part i.

It is to be observed, that the incidents which are summarily dismissed in one old play, are extended by our great dramatist over three—the two parts of “Henry IV.” and “Henry V.” It is impossible to institute any parallel between “The Famous Victories” and Shakespeare's dramas; for, besides that the former has reached us evidently in an imperfect shape, the immeasurable superiority of the latter is such, as to render any attempt to trace resemblance rather a matter of contrast than comparison. Who might be the writer of “The Famous Victories,” it would be idle to speculate; but it is decidedly inferior to most of the extant works of Marlowe, Greene, Peele, Kyd, Lodge, or any other of the more celebrated predecessors of Shakespeare.

Sir John Oldcastle is one of the persons in “The Famous Victories;” and no doubt can be entertained that the character of Sir John Falstaff, in the first part of Shakespeare's “Henry IV.,” was originally called Sir John Oldcastle. If any hesitation could formerly have been felt upon this point, it must have been recently entirely removed by Mr. Halliwell's very curious and interesting tract, “On the character of Sir John Falstaff, as originally exhibited by Shakespeare,” 12mo. 1841. How the identity of Oldcastle and Falstaff could ever have been questioned after the discovery of the following passage in a play by Nathaniel Field, called, “Amends for Ladies,” 1618, it is difficult to comprehend: the lines seem to us decisive:—
&lblank; “Did you never see
The play where the fat knight, hight Oldcastle,
Did tell you truly what this honour was?”

This can allude to nothing but to Falstaff's speech in Act v. sc. 2, of the ensuing play; and it would also show (as Mr. Halliwell points out) that Falstaff sometimes “retained the name of Oldcastle after the author had altered it to that of Falstaff^{2 note}.” This fact is remarkable, recollecting that “Amends for Ladies” could hardly have been written before 1611, that prior to that date no fewer than four editions of “Henry IV.” Part i., had been printed, on the title-pages of which Falstaff was prominently introduced, and that he was called by no other name from the beginning to the end of that drama. The case is somewhat different with respect to Shakespeare's “Henry IV.” Part ii., which contains a singular confirmatory piece of evidence that Falstaff was still called Oldcastle after that continuation of the “history” had been written and performed. In Act i. sc. 2 of that drama, Old. is given as the prefix to one of Falstaff's speeches. The error is met with in no other part of the play, and when the MS. for the quarto, 1600, was corrected for the press, this single passage escaped observation, and the ancient reading was preserved until it was expunged in the folio of 1623. Malone and Steevens, in opposition to Theobald, argue that Old. was not meant for Oldcastle, but was the commencement of the name of some actor: none such belonged to Shakespeare's company, and the probability is all in favour of Theobald's supposition.

This change must have been made by Shakespeare anterior to the spring of 1598, because we then meet with the subsequent entry in the Stationers' Registers, relating to the earliest edition of “Henry IV.” Part i.

“25 Feb. 1597.
Andrew Wisse] A booke intitled the Historye of Henry the iiii^th, with his battaile at Shrewsburye against Henry Hottspurre of the Northe with the conceipted Mirth of Sir John Falstaffe^{3 note}.”

As the year did not then end until the 25th March, the 25th February, 1597, was of course the 25th February, 1598; and pursuant to the above entry, Andrew Wise published the first edition of “The History of Henry IV.” with the date of 1598; we may infer, therefore, that it was ready, or nearly ready, to be issued at the time the memorandum was made at Stationers' Hall: on the title-page, “the humorous conceits of Sir John Falstaffe” are made peculiarly obvious.

It is certain, then, that before the play was printed, the name of Oldcastle had been altered to that of Falstaff. The reason for the change is asserted to have been, that some descendants of “Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham,” (as he is called upon the title-page of a play which relates to his history, printed in 1600^{4 note},) remonstrated against the ridicule thrown upon the character of the protestant martyr, by the introduction into Shakespeare's drama of a person bearing the same name. Such, unquestionably, may have been the case; but it is possible also that Shakespeare, finding that his play, and his Sir John Oldcastle were often confounded with “The Famous Victories” and with the Sir John Oldcastle of that drama, made the change with a view that they should be distinguished. That he did not quite succeed, is evident from the quotation we have made from Field's “Amends for Ladies^{5 note}.”

Respecting the manner in which Falstaff was attired on the stage in the time of Shakespeare, we meet with a curious passage in a manuscript, the hand-writing of Inigo Jones, the property of the Duke of Devonshire. The Surveyor of the Works, describing the dress of a person who was to figure in one of the court masques, early in the reign of James I., says, that he is to be dressed “like a Sir John Falstaff, in a robe of russet, quite low, with a great belly, like a swollen man, long moustachios, the shoes short, and out of them great toes, like naked feet: buskins, to show a great swollen leg.” We are, perhaps, only to understand from this description, that the appearance of the character was to bear a general resemblance to that of Sir John Falstaff, as exhibited on the stage at the Globe or Blackfriars' Theatres.

Although we are without any contemporaneous notices of the performance of Shakespeare's “Henry IV.” Part i., there cannot be a doubt that it was extraordinarily popular. It went through five distinct impressions in 4to, in 1598, 1599, 1604, 1608, and 1613, before it was printed in the first folio. There was also an edition in 1639, which deserves notice, because it was not a reprint of the play as it had appeared either in the first or second folios, but of the 4to. of 1613, that text being for some reason preferred. Meres introduces “Henry the IVth” into his list in 1598, and we need feel little doubt that he alluded to Part i., because, on the preceding

page, (fo. 281, b) he makes a quotation from one of Falstaff's speeches,—“there is nothing but roguery in villainous man,”— though without acknowledging the source from which it was taken. We may be tolerably sure, however, that “Henry IV.” Part ii., had then been produced by Shakespeare, but it is not distinguished by Meres, and he also makes no mention of “Henry V.,” the events of whose reign, to his marriage with Catherine of France, were included in the old play of “The Famous Victories.”

With regard to the text of this play, it is unquestionably found in its purest state in the earliest 4to. of 1598, and to that we have mainly adhered, assigning reasons in our notes when we have varied from it. The editors of the folio, 1623, copied implicitly the 4to. impression nearest to their own day, that of 1613, adopting many of its defects, and, as far as we can judge, resorting to no MS. authority, nor to the previous quartos of 1598, 1599, 1604, and 1608. Several decided errors, made in the reprint of 1599, were repeated and multiplied in the subsequent quarto impressions, and from thence found their way into the folio. Near the end of Act i. we meet with a curious proof of what we have advanced: we there find a line, thus distinctly printed in the 4to, 1598:—
“I'le steale to Glendower and Lo: Mortimer:” that is, “I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,” Lo: being a common abbreviation of “Lord;” but the compositor of the 4to, 1599, strangely misunderstanding it, printed it as follows:—
“Ile steale to Glendower and loe Mortimer;” as if Lo: of the 4to, 1598, were to be taken as the interjection, lo! then usually printed loe, and so the blunder was followed in the subsequent quartos, including that of 1613, from whence it was transferred, literatim, to the folio, 1623. The error is repeated in the folio, 1632; but Norton, the printer of the 4to, 1639, who, as has been remarked, did not adopt the text of either of the folios, saw that there must be a blunder in the line, and although he did not know exactly how to set it right, he at least made sense of it, by giving it,
“I'll steal to Glendower and to Mortimer.”

We only adduce this instance as one proof, out of many which might be brought forward, to establish the superiority of the text of the 4to. of 1598, to any of the subsequent re-impressions.

1 ^note.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ KING HENRY THE FOURTH. HENRY, Prince of Wales. PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER. EARL OF WESTMORELAND. SIR WALTER BLUNT. THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester. HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland: HENRY PERCY [Hotspur], surnamed HOTSPUR, his Son. EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March. SCROOP, Archbishop of York. ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. OWEN GLENDOWER. SIR RICHARD VERNON. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. SIR MICHAEL, a friend of the Archbishop of York. POINS. GADSHILL. PETO. BARDOLPH. LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur. LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower. MRS. QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. [Francis], [Carrier 1], [Carrier 2], [Carrier], [Traveller 1], [Traveller], [Servant], [Messenger] SCENE, England.

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT I. SCENE I. London. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Others.

K. Hen.
So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 11Q0573
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil^{1 note}
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,

Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross,
We are impressed, and engag'd to fight,
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
Therefore we meet not now.—Then, let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience^{2 note}.

West.
My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge^{3 note} set down
But yesternight; when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welchman taken,

A thousand of his people butchered^{4 note};
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation,
By those Welchwomen done, as may not be
Without much shame re-told or spoken of.

K. Hen.
It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

West.
This, match'd with other, did^{5 note}, my gracious lord;
For more uneven^{6 note} and unwelcome news
Came from the north, 11Q0574 and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met;
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen.
Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood^{7 note}, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains: of prisoners, Hotspur took

Mordake earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas, and the earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith; 11Q0575
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha! cousin, is it not?

West.
In faith,
It is^{8 note}
a conquest for a prince to boast of.

K. Hen.
Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin,
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son^{9 note}:
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O! that it could be prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet:
Then, would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts.—What think you, coz,
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.

West.
This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects;
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen.
But I have sent for him to answer this;

And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor: so inform the lords^{1 note};
But come yourself with speed to us again,
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.

West.
I will, my liege. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Same. Another Apartment in the Palace. Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff.

Fal.

Now, Hal; what time of day is it, lad?

P. Hen.

Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon^{2 note}, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, I see no reason why thou should'st be so superfluous^{3 note} to demand the time of the day.

Fal.

Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal; for we, that take purses, go by the moon and the seven stars^{4 note}, and not by Phœbus,—he, “that wandering knight so

fair^{5 note}.” And, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, when thou art king,—as, God save thy grace,—majesty, I should say, for grace thou wilt have none,—

P. Hen.

What! none?

Fal.

No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

P. Hen.

Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

Fal.

Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say, we be men of good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

P. Hen.

Thou say'st well, and it holds well, too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing— lay by; and spent with crying—bring in; now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal.

By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

P. Hen.

As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle^{6 note}. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal.

How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin^{7 note}?

P. Hen.

Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal.

Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

P. Hen.

Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal.

No: I'll give thee thy due; thou hast paid all there.

P. Hen.

Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal.

Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent^{8 note} that thou art heir apparent, 11Q0577—But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king, and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick, the law? Do not thou, when thou art a king, hang a thief.

P. Hen.

No: thou shalt.

Fal.

Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

P. Hen.

Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou

shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Fal.

Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

P. Hen.

For obtaining of suits?

Fal.

Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat^{9 note}, or a lugged bear.

P. Hen.

Or an old lion; or a lover's lute.

Fal.

Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe^{1 note}.

P. Hen.

What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch^{2 note}?

Fal.

Thou hast the most unsavoury similes^{3 note}; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascallest, sweet young prince.—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

P. Hen.

Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and^{4 note} no man regards it.

Fal.

O! thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me^{5 note}, Hal:—God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

P. Hen.

Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal.

Zounds! where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me.

P. Hen.

I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking.

Fal.

Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal: 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation^{6 note}. Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match^{7 note}.—O! if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand! to a true man.

P. Hen.

Good morrow, Ned.

Poins.

Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul,

that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Hen.

Sir John stands to his word: the devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs; he will give the devil his due.

Poins.

Then, art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Hen.

Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins.

But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill. There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged.

Fal.

Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.

Poins.

You will, chops?

Fal.

Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen.

Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

Fal.

There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings^{8 note}.

P. Hen.

Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

Fal.

Why, that's well said.

P. Hen.

Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

Fal.

By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

P. Hen.

I care not.

Poins.

Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me

alone: I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal.

Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

P. Hen.

Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer^{9 note}!

Poins.

Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill^{1 note}, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid: yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.

P. Hen.

How shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins.

Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

P. Hen.

Yea, but 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins.

Tut! our horses they shall not see; I'll tie them in the wood: our visors we will change, after we

leave them; and, sirrah^{2 note}, I have cases of buckram for the nonce^{3 note}, to immask our noted outward garments.

P. Hen.

Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

Poins.

Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

P. Hen.

Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell.

Poins.

Farewell, my lord.

P. Hen.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,

By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill,
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. SCENE III. The Same. Another Apartment in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and Others.

K. Hen.
My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me; for, accordingly,
You tread upon my patience: but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect,
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

Wor.
Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be used on it;
And that same greatness, too, which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly. 11Q0578

North.
My lord,—

K. Hen.
Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
Danger and disobedience in thine eye.
O, sir! your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow^{4 note}.

You have good leave to leave us: when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.— [Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak. [To North.

North.
Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 11Q0579
Which Harry Percy, here, at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deliver'd to your majesty:
Either envy, therefore, or misprision^{5 note}

Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

Hot.
My liege, I did deny no prisoners;
But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box^{6 note}, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again;
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff:—and still he smil'd, and talk'd;
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms

He question'd me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,
He should, or he should not; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark!
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This^{7 note} villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And, I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Blunt.
The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said^{8 note},
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

K. Hen.
Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
But with proviso, and exception,

That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against that great magician^{9 note}, damn'd Glendower,
Whose daughter, as we hear, that earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears^{1 note},
When they have lost and forfeited themselves? 11Q0580
No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend,
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost,
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

Hot.
Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war: to prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.

Never did base and rotten policy^{3 note}
Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:
Then, let him not be slander'd with revolt.

K. Hen.
Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him:
He never did encounter with Glendower.
I tell thee,
He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you.—My lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.—
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train.

Hot.
And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them.—I will after straight,
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head^{4 note}.

North.
What! drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile:
Here comes your uncle. Re-enter Worcester.

Hot.
Speak of Mortimer!
'Zounds! I will speak of him^{5 note}; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him:

Yea, on his part^{6 note}, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

North.
Brother, [To Worcester.] the king hath made your nephew mad.

Wor.
Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

Hot.
He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

Wor.
I cannot blame him. Was he not proclaim'd,
By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood?

North.
He was: I heard the proclamation:
And then it was when the unhappy king
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition;
From whence he intercepted did return
To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.

Wor.
And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.

Hot.
But, soft! I pray you, did king Richard, then,
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?

North.
He did: myself did hear it.

Hot.
Nay then, I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve^{7 note}.
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot

Of murd'rous subornation, shall it be,
That you a world of curses undergo,
Being the agents, or base second means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?—
O! pardon me, that I descend so low,
To show the line, and the predicament,
Wherein you range under this subtle king.
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power,
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,—
(As both of you, God pardon it! have done)—
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it, in more shame, be farther spoken,
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent?
No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again. 11Q0581
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt,
Of this proud king; who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you,
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore, I say,—

Wor.
Peace, cousin! say no more.
And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and adventurous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hot.
If he fall in, good night!—or sink or swim,
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it, from the north to south,
And let them grapple:—O! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.

North.
Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

Hot.
By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap^{8 note},
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without corrival all her dignities:
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!

Wor.
He apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.—
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

Hot.
I cry you mercy.

Wor.
Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners,—

Hot.
I'll keep them all.
By God, he shall not have a Scot of them:
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.
I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor.
You start away,
And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep.

Hot.
Nay, I will; that's flat.
He said, he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla—Mortimer!
Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.

Wor.
Hear you, cousin, a word.

Hot.
All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:

And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales^{9 note},
But that I think his father loves him not,
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale^{1 note}.

Wor.
Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you,
When you are better temper'd to attend.

North.
Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool^{2 note}
Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

Hot.
Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time,—what do ye call the place?—
A plague upon't—it is in Gloucestershire;—
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept,
His uncle York,—where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
'Sblood^{3 note}! when you and he came back from Ravenspurg.

North.
At Berkley castle.

Hot.
You say true.—
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look,—“when his infant fortune came to age,”
And,—“gentle Harry Percy,”—and, “kind cousin,”—
O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!—

Good uncle, tell your tale: I have done^{4 note}.

Wor.
Nay, if you have not, to't again,
We'll stay your leisure.

Hot.
I have done, i'faith.

Wor.
Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd,
Will easily be granted you.—My lord, [To Northumberland.
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd,
The archbishop.

Hot.
Of York, is it not?

Wor.
True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation,
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down;
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

Hot.
I smell it:
Upon my life, it will do wondrous well^{5 note}.

North.
Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip.

Hot.
Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.—
And then the power of Scotland, and of York,
To join with Mortimer, ha?

Wor.
And so they shall.

Hot.
In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

Wor.
And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
To save our heads by raising of a head;

For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
The king will always think him in our debt,
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home:
And see already how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love.

Hot.
He does, he does: we'll be reveng'd on him.

Wor.
Cousin, farewell.—No farther go in this,
Than I by letters shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly)
I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer 11Q0582^{6 note};
Where you, and Douglas, and our powers at once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

North.
Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

Hot.
Uncle, adieu.—O! let the hours be short,
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Rochester. An Inn Yard. Enter a Carrier, with a Lantern in his hand.

1 Car.

Heigh ho! An't be not four by the day, I'll be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ost. [Within.]

Anon, anon.

1 Car.

I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess^{7 note}.

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car.

Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog^{8 note}, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler died.

1 Car.

Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose: it was the death of him.

2 Car.

I think, this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

1 Car.

Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit, than I have been since the first cock.

2 Car.

Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach^{9 note}.

1 Car.

What, ostler! come away and be hanged; come away.

2 Car.

I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

1 Car.

'Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler!—A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain.—Come, and be hanged:— hast no faith in thee?

Gads.

Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?

1 Car.

I think it be two o'clock.

Gads.

I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.

1 Car.

Nay, soft, I pray ye: I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

Gads.

I pr'ythee, lend me thine.

2 Car.

Ay, when? canst tell^{1 note}?—Lend me thy lantern, quoth a?—marry, I'll see thee hanged first.

Gads.

Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

2 Car.

Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.—Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen: they will along with company, for they have great charge.

Gads.

What, ho! chamberlain!

Cham. [Within.]

At hand, quoth pick-purse^{2 note}.

Gads.

That's even as fair as—at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou lay'st the plot how.

Cham.

Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds current, that I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company, last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what^{4 note}. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: they will away presently.

Gads.

Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' clerks^{5 note}, I'll give thee this neck.

Cham.

No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman; for, I know, thou worship'st saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

Gads.

What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for, if I hang, old sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content to do the profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers: none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity; burgomasters, and great oneyers^{6 note}; such as can hold in; such as will strike sooner than speak, 11Q0583 and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

Cham.

What! the commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in foul way?

Gads.

She will, she will; justice hath liquored her.

We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible^{7 note}.

Cham.

Nay, by my faith; I think you are more beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible.

Gads.

Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase^{8 note}, as I am a true man.

Cham.

Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

Gads.

Go to; homo is a common name to all men^{9 note}. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.