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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
The Second Part of King Henry IV

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1598


SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV

by William Shakespeare



Dramatis Personae

  RUMOUR, the Presenter
  KING HENRY THE FOURTH

  HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards HENRY
  PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER
  PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER
  THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE
    Sons of Henry IV

  EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND
  SCROOP, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK
  LORD MOWBRAY
  LORD HASTINGS
  LORD BARDOLPH
  SIR JOHN COLVILLE
  TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland
    Opposites against King Henry IV

  EARL OF WARWICK
  EARL OF WESTMORELAND
  EARL OF SURREY
  EARL OF KENT
  GOWER
  HARCOURT
  BLUNT
    Of the King's party

  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
  SERVANT, to Lord Chief Justice

  SIR JOHN FALSTAFF
  EDWARD POINS
  BARDOLPH
  PISTOL
  PETO
    Irregular humourists

  PAGE, to Falstaff

  ROBERT SHALLOW and SILENCE, country Justices
  DAVY, servant to Shallow

  FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's officers

  RALPH MOULDY
  SIMON SHADOW
  THOMAS WART
  FRANCIS FEEBLE
  PETER BULLCALF
    Country soldiers

  FRANCIS, a drawer

  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND
  LADY PERCY, Percy's widow
  HOSTESS QUICKLY, of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap
  DOLL TEARSHEET

  LORDS, Attendants, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Servants,
    Speaker of the Epilogue

                       SCENE: England

INDUCTION
                         INDUCTION.
           Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle

            Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues

  RUMOUR. Open your ears; for which of you will stop
    The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
    I, from the orient to the drooping west,
    Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
    The acts commenced on this ball of earth.
    Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
    The which in every language I pronounce,
    Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
    I speak of peace while covert emnity,
    Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;
    And who but Rumour, who but only I,
    Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
    Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
    Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
    And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
    Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
    And of so easy and so plain a stop
    That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
    The still-discordant wav'ring multitude,
    Can play upon it. But what need I thus
    My well-known body to anatomize
    Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
    I run before King Harry's victory,
    Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
    Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
    Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
    Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
    To speak so true at first? My office is
    To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
    Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
    And that the King before the Douglas' rage
    Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
    This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
    Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
    And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
    Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
    Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,
    And not a man of them brings other news
    Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour's tongues
    They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.
 Exit




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ACT I. SCENE I.
Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle

Enter LORD BARDOLPH

  LORD BARDOLPH. Who keeps the gate here, ho?

                   The PORTER opens the gate

    Where is the Earl?
  PORTER. What shall I say you are?
  LORD BARDOLPH. Tell thou the Earl
    That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
  PORTER. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard.
    Please it your honour knock but at the gate,
    And he himself will answer.

                      Enter NORTHUMBERLAND

  LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl.                Exit PORTER
  NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now
    Should be the father of some stratagem.
    The times are wild; contention, like a horse
    Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
    And bears down all before him.
  LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl,
    I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will!
  LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish.
    The King is almost wounded to the death;
    And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
    Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
    Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,
    And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
    And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
    Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,
    So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
    Came not till now to dignify the times,
    Since Cxsar's fortunes!
  NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv'd?
    Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?
  LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
thence;
    A gentleman well bred and of good name,
    That freely rend'red me these news for true.

                         Enter TRAVERS

  NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
    On Tuesday last to listen after news.
  LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
    And he is furnish'd with no certainties
    More than he haply may retail from me.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
  TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
    With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
    Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
    A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
    That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
    He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
    I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
    He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
    And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
    With that he gave his able horse the head
    And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
    Against the panting sides of his poor jade
    Up to the rowel-head; and starting so,
    He seem'd in running to devour the way,
    Staying no longer question.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again:
    Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
    Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion
    Had met ill luck?
  LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I'll tell you what:
    If my young lord your son have not the day,
    Upon mine honour, for a silken point
    I'll give my barony. Never talk of it.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
    Give then such instances of loss?
  LORD BARDOLPH. Who--he?
    He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n
    The horse he rode on and, upon my life,
    Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

                        Enter Morton

  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
    Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.
    So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
    Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
    Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
  MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
    Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
    To fright our party.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. How doth my son and brother?
    Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
    Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
    Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
    So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone,
    Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night
    And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
    But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
    And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
    This thou wouldst say: 'Your son did thus and thus;
    Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas'--
    Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;
    But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
    Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
    Ending with 'Brother, son, and all, are dead.'
  MORTON. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
    But for my lord your son--
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, he is dead.
    See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
    He that but fears the thing he would not know
    Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
    That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
    Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
    And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
    And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
  MORTON. You are too great to be by me gainsaid;
    Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
    I see a strange confession in thine eye;
    Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin
    To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
    The tongue offends not that reports his death;
    And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
    Not he which says the dead is not alive.
    Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
    Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
    Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
    Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.
  LORD BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
  MORTON. I am sorry I should force you to believe
    That which I would to God I had not seen;
    But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
    Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
    To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down
    The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
    From whence with life he never more sprung up.
    In few, his death--whose spirit lent a fire
    Even to the dullest peasant in his camp--
    Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
    From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;
    For from his metal was his party steeled;
    Which once in him abated, all the rest
    Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
    And as the thing that's heavy in itself
    Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
    So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
    Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
    That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
    Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
    Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
    Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
    The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
    Had three times slain th' appearance of the King,
    Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
    Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
    Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
    Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out
    A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
    Under the conduct of young Lancaster
    And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
    In poison there is physic; and these news,
    Having been well, that would have made me sick,
    Being sick, have in some measure made me well;
    And as the wretch whose fever-weak'ned joints,
    Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
    Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
    Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
    Weak'ned with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
    Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
    A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
    Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif!
    Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
    Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
    Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
    The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
    To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
    Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand
    Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die!
    And let this world no longer be a stage
    To feed contention in a ling'ring act;
    But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
    Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
    On bloody courses, the rude scene may end
    And darkness be the burier of the dead!
  LORD BARDOLPH. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
  MORTON. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
    The lives of all your loving complices
    Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
    To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
    You cast th' event of war, my noble lord,
    And summ'd the account of chance before you said
    'Let us make head.' It was your pre-surmise
    That in the dole of blows your son might drop.
    You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge,
    More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
    You were advis'd his flesh was capable
    Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit
    Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;
    Yet did you say 'Go forth'; and none of this,
    Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
    The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
    Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth
    More than that being which was like to be?
  LORD BARDOLPH. We all that are engaged to this loss
    Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
    That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;
    And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
    Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
    And since we are o'erset, venture again.
    Come, we will put forth, body and goods.
  MORTON. 'Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord,
    I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth:
    The gentle Archbishop of York is up
    With well-appointed pow'rs. He is a man
    Who with a double surety binds his followers.
    My lord your son had only but the corpse,
    But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
    For that same word 'rebellion' did divide
    The action of their bodies from their souls;
    And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
    As men drink potions; that their weapons only
    Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls
    This word 'rebellion'--it had froze them up,
    As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop
    Turns insurrection to religion.
    Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
    He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
    And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
    Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;
    Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;
    Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,
    Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
    And more and less do flock to follow him.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
    This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
    Go in with me; and counsel every man
    The aptest way for safety and revenge.
    Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed--
    Never so few, and never yet more need.                Exeunt




SCENE II.
London. A street

Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and
buckler

  FALSTAFF. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?
  PAGE. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water;
but
    for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than
he
    knew for.
  FALSTAFF. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The
brain of
    this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent
anything
    that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented
on
    me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is
in
    other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath
    overwhelm'd all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee
into
    my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then
I
    have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to
be
    worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd
with
    an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in gold nor
    silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your
    master, for a jewel--the juvenal, the Prince your master,
whose
    chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in
the
    palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet
he
    will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may
finish it
    when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still
at
    a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of
it;
    and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his
    father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's
almost
    out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton
about
    the satin for my short cloak and my slops?
  PAGE. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance
than
    Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours; he liked not
the
    security.
  FALSTAFF. Let him be damn'd, like the Glutton; pray God his
tongue
    be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth
knave, to
    bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The
    whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
    bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through
with
    them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security.
I
    had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to
stop
    it with security. I look'd 'a should have sent me two and
twenty
    yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me
security.
    Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of
    abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it;
and
    yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light
him.
    Where's Bardolph?
  PAGE. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship horse.
  FALSTAFF. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in
    Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were
    mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.

              Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT

  PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the
    Prince for striking him about Bardolph.
  FALSTAFF. Wait close; I will not see him.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What's he that goes there?
  SERVANT. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. He that was in question for the robb'ry?
  SERVANT. He, my lord; but he hath since done good service at
    Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to
the
    Lord John of Lancaster.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What, to York? Call him back again.
  SERVANT. Sir John Falstaff!
  FALSTAFF. Boy, tell him I am deaf.
  PAGE. You must speak louder; my master is deaf.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything
good.
    Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.
  SERVANT. Sir John!
  FALSTAFF. What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars?
Is
    there not employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not
the
    rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side
but
    one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side,
were
    it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
  SERVANT. You mistake me, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting
my
    knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat
if I
    had said so.
  SERVANT. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your
    soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you you in your
    throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man.
  FALSTAFF. 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!
  SERVANT. Sir, my lord would speak with you.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
  FALSTAFF. My good lord! God give your lordship good time of
day. I
    am glad to see your lordship abroad. I heard say your
lordship
    was sick; I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your
    lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some
smack
    of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I
most
    humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverend care of your
    health.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition
to
    Shrewsbury.
  FALSTAFF. An't please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is
return'd
    with some discomfort from Wales.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I talk not of his Majesty. You would not come
when I
    sent for you.
  FALSTAFF. And I hear, moreover, his Highness is fall'n into
this
    same whoreson apoplexy.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well God mend him! I pray you let me speak with
you.
  FALSTAFF. This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy,
an't
    please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a
whoreson
    tingling.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.
  FALSTAFF. It hath it original from much grief, from study, and
    perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his
effects
    in Galen; it is a kind of deafness.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I think you are fall'n into the disease, for you
    hear not what I say to you.
  FALSTAFF. Very well, my lord, very well. Rather an't please
you, it
    is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking,
that
    I am troubled withal.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. To punish you by the heels would amend the
attention
    of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician.
  FALSTAFF. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient.
Your
    lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in
respect
    of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your
    prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or
    indeed a scruple itself.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I sent for you, when there were matters against
you
    for your life, to come speak with me.
  FALSTAFF. As I was then advis'd by my learned counsel in the
laws
    of this land-service, I did not come.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great
    infamy.
  FALSTAFF. He that buckles himself in my belt cannot live in
less.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Your means are very slender, and your waste is
    great.
  FALSTAFF. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were
greater
    and my waist slenderer.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. You have misled the youthful Prince.
  FALSTAFF. The young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with
the
    great belly, and he my dog.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, I am loath to gall a new-heal'd wound.
Your
    day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your
    night's exploit on Gadshill. You may thank th' unquiet time
for
    your quiet o'erposting that action.
  FALSTAFF. My lord--
  CHIEF JUSTICE. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a
    sleeping wolf.
  FALSTAFF. To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt
    out.
  FALSTAFF. A wassail candle, my lord--all tallow; if I did say
of
    wax, my growth would approve the truth.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. There is not a white hair in your face but
should
    have his effect of gravity.
  FALSTAFF. His effect of gravy, gravy,
  CHIEF JUSTICE. You follow the young Prince up and down, like
his
    ill angel.
  FALSTAFF. Not so, my lord. Your ill angel is light; but  hope
he
    that looks upon me will take me without weighing. And yet in
some
    respects, I grant, I cannot go--I cannot tell. Virtue is of
so
    little regard in these costermongers' times that true valour
is
    turn'd berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and his quick wit
    wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts appertinent
to
    man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a
    gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of
us
    that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with
the
    bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of
our
    youth, must confess, are wags too.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Do you set down your name in the scroll 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, your chin double, your wit single, and every
    part about you blasted with antiquity? And will you yet call
    yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John!
  FALSTAFF. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the
    afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For
my
    voice--I have lost it with hallooing and singing of anthems.
To
    approve my youth further, I will not. The truth is, I am only
old
    in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me
for
    a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him.
For
    the box 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
    sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, God send the Prince a better companion!
  FALSTAFF. God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid
my
    hands of him.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the King hath sever'd you. I hear you are
    going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and
the
    Earl of Northumberland.
  FALSTAFF. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look
you
    pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our
armies
    join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two
shirts
    out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily. If it
be a
    hot day, and I brandish anything but a bottle, I would I
might
    never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can
peep
    out his head but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last
ever;
    but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they
    have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs
say I
    am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my
name
    were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to
be
    eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with
    perpetual motion.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your
    expedition!
  FALSTAFF. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to
furnish me
    forth?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient
to
    bear crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my cousin
    Westmoreland.
                                Exeunt CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT
  FALSTAFF. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can
no
    more separate age and covetousness than 'a can part young
limbs
    and lechery; but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches
the
    other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy!
  PAGE. Sir?
  FALSTAFF. What money is in my purse?
  PAGE. Seven groats and two pence.
  FALSTAFF. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the
    purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the
disease
    is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster;
this
    to the Prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to
old
    Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I
    perceiv'd the first white hair of my chin. About it; you know

    where to find me.  [Exit PAGE]  A pox of this gout! or, a
gout of
    this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my
great
    toe. '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 anything. I will turn diseases to commodity.
 Exit




SCENE III.
York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace

Enter the ARCHBISHOP, THOMAS MOWBRAY the EARL MARSHAL, LORD
HASTINGS,
and LORD BARDOLPH

  ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known 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?
  MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis;
    But gladly would be better satisfied
    How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
    To look with forehead bold and big enough
    Upon the power and puissance of the King.
  HASTINGS. Our present musters grow upon the file
    To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
    And our supplies live largely in the hope
    Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
    With an incensed fire of injuries.
  LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
    Whether our present five and twenty thousand
    May hold up head without Northumberland?
  HASTINGS. With him, we may.
  LORD BARDOLPH. Yea, 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 had his assistance by the hand;
    For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
    Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
    Of aids incertain, should not be admitted.
  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
    It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
  LORD BARDOLPH. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
    Eating the air and promise of supply,
    Flatt'ring himself in project of a power
    Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts;
    And so, with great imagination
    Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
    And, winking, leapt into destruction.
  HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
    To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
  LORD BARDOLPH. Yes, if this present quality of war-
    Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot-
    Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
    We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit
    Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair
    That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
    We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
    And when we see the figure of the house,
    Then we must rate the cost of the erection;
    Which if we find outweighs ability,
    What do we then but draw anew the model
    In fewer offices, or at least desist
    To build at all? Much more, in this great work--
    Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
    And set another up--should we survey
    The plot of situation and the model,
    Consent upon a sure foundation,
    Question surveyors, know our own estate
    How able such a work to undergo-
    To weigh against his opposite; or else
    We fortify in paper and in figures,
    Using the names of men instead of men;
    Like one that draws the model of a house
    Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
    Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
    A naked subject to the weeping clouds
    And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
  HASTINGS. Grant that our hopes--yet likely of fair birth--
    Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
    The utmost man of expectation,
    I think we are so a body strong enough,
    Even as we are, to equal with the King.
  LORD BARDOLPH. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand?
  HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph;
    For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
    Are in three heads: one power against the French,
    And one against Glendower; perforce a third
    Must take up us. So is the unfirm King
    In three divided; and his coffers sound
    With hollow poverty and emptiness.
  ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together
    And come against us in full puissance
    Need not be dreaded.
  HASTINGS. If he should do so,
    He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
    Baying at his heels. Never fear that.
  LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
  HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;
    Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth;
    But who is substituted against the French
    I have no certain notice.
  ARCHBISHOP. Let us on,
    And publish the occasion of our arms.
    The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
    Their over-greedy love hath surfeited.
    An habitation giddy and unsure
    Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
    O thou fond many, with what loud applause
    Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke
    Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!
    And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
    Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him
    That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
    So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
    Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
    And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
    And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times?
    They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die
    Are now become enamour'd on his grave.
    Thou that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
    When through proud London he came sighing on
    After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,
    Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again,
    And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurs'd!
    Past and to come seems best; things present, worst.
  MOWBRAY. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
  HASTINGS. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
                                                          Exeunt




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ACT II. SCENE I.
London. A street

Enter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE

  HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent'red the action?
  FANG. It is ent'red.
  HOSTESS. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? Will 'a
stand
    to't?
  FANG. Sirrah, where's Snare?
  HOSTESS. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.
  SNARE. Here, here.
  FANG. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.
  HOSTESS. Yea, good Master Snare; I have ent'red him and all.
  SNARE. It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab.
  HOSTESS. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine
own
    house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not
what
    mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any
    devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
  FANG. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
  HOSTESS. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
  FANG. An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice!
  HOSTESS. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an
    infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him
sure.
    Good Master Snare, let him not scape. 'A comes continuantly
to
    Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is
    indited to dinner to the Lubber's Head in Lumbert Street, to
    Master Smooth's the silkman. I pray you, since my exion is
    ent'red, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be
    brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a
poor
    lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne;
and
    have been fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, from
this
    day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There
is no
    honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass
and
    a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.

            Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH

    Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave,
Bardolph,
    with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang and
    Master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices.
  FALSTAFF. How now! whose mare's dead? What's the matter?
  FANG. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.
  FALSTAFF. Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph. Cut me off the
villian's
    head. Throw the quean in the channel.
  HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the
channel.
    Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder!
Ah,
    thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and
the
    King's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a
    man-queller and a woman-queller.
  FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph.
  FANG. A rescue! a rescue!
  HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot
thou!
    thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!
  PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian!
    I'll tickle your catastrophe.

              Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men

  CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho!
  HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to
me.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here?

    Doth this become your place, your time, and business?
    You should have been well on your way to York.
    Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou upon him?
  HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an't please your Grace, I
am a
    poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum?
  HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all--all
I
    have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all
my
    substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of
it
    out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare.
  FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any
    vantage of ground to get up.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! What man of good
    temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not
    ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come
by
    her own?
  FALSTAFF. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
  HOSTESS. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the
money
    too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet,
sitting in
    my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire,
upon
    Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for
    liking his father to singing-man of Windsor--thou didst swear
to
    me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me
my
    lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech,
the
    butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly?
Coming
    in to borrow a mess of vinegar, telling us she had a good
dish of
    prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told
    thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when
she
    was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity
with
    such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me
madam?
    And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch the thirty
    shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou
    canst.
  FALSTAFF. My lord, this is a poor mad soul, and she says up and
    down the town that her eldest son is like you. She hath been
in
    good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her.
But
    for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress
    against them.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with
your
    manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a

    confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such
more
    than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level
    consideration. You have, as it appears to me, practis'd upon
the
    easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your
uses
    both in purse and in person.
  HOSTESS. Yea, in truth, my lord.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her,
and
    unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do
    with sterling money, and the other with current repentance.
  FALSTAFF. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply.
You
    call honourable boldness impudent sauciness; if a man will
make
    curtsy and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my
humble
    duty rememb'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to you I do
    desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty
    employment in the King's affairs.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. You speak as having power to do wrong; but
answer in
    th' effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman.
  FALSTAFF. Come hither, hostess.

                               Enter GOWER

  CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, Master Gower, what news?
  GOWER. The King, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales
    Are near at hand. The rest the paper tells. [Gives a letter]
  FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman!
  HOSTESS. Faith, you said so before.
  FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! Come, no more words of it.
  HOSTESS. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to
pawn
    both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers.
  FALSTAFF. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy
    walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the
Prodigal, or
    the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand of
these
    bed-hangers and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten
pound,
    if thou canst. Come, and 'twere not for thy humours, there's
not
    a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the
    action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost
not
    know me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this.
  HOSTESS. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles;
    i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la!
  FALSTAFF. Let it alone; I'll make other shift. You'll be a fool

    still.
  HOSTESS. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown.
    I hope you'll come to supper. you'll pay me all together?
  FALSTAFF. Will I live?  [To BARDOLPH]  Go, with her, with her;
hook
    on, hook on.
  HOSTESS. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?
  FALSTAFF. No more words; let's have her.
                          Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, and OFFICERS
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I have heard better news.
  FALSTAFF. What's the news, my lord?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Where lay the King to-night?
  GOWER. At Basingstoke, my lord.
  FALSTAFF. I hope, my lord, all's well. What is the news, my
lord?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Come all his forces back?
  GOWER. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
    Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster,
    Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.
  FALSTAFF. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. You shall have letters of me presently.
    Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.
  FALSTAFF. My lord!
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What's the matter?
  FALSTAFF. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?
  GOWER. I must wait upon my good lord here, I thank you, good
Sir
    John.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you
are to
    take soldiers up in counties as you go.
  FALSTAFF. Will you sup with me, Master Gower?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. What foolish master taught you these manners,
Sir
    John?
  FALSTAFF. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool
that
    taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap
for
    tap, and so part fair.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, the Lord lighten thee! Thou art a great
fool.
                                                          Exeunt




SCENE II.
London. Another street

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS

  PRINCE. Before God, I am exceeding weary.
  POINS. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not
have
    attach'd one of so high blood.
  PRINCE. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion
of
    my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me
to
    desire small beer?
  POINS. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to
    remember so weak a composition.
  PRINCE. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by
my
    troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But
    indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with
my
    greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name,
or
    to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of
silk
    stockings thou hast--viz., these, and those that were thy
    peach-colour'd ones--or to bear the inventory of thy shirts-
as,
    one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the
    tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb
of
    linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou
hast
    not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries
    have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows
whether
    those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit
his
    kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the
fault;
    whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily
    strengthened.
  POINS. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you
    should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes
would
    do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?
  PRINCE. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
  POINS. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.
  PRINCE. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than
thine.
  POINS. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will
    tell.
  PRINCE. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad,
now
    my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee--as to one it
    pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend--I could
be
    sad and sad indeed too.
  POINS. Very hardly upon such a subject.
  PRINCE. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's
book
    as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the
end
    try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my
    father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art
hath
    in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
  POINS. The reason?
  PRINCE. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?
  POINS. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
  PRINCE. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed
    fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's thought in
the
    world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would
think
    me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful
    thought to think so?
  POINS. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed
to
    Falstaff.
  PRINCE. And to thee.
  POINS. By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with
mine
    own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a
second
    brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those
two
    things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes
    Bardolph.

                         Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE

  PRINCE. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me
    Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd
him
    ape.
  BARDOLPH. God save your Grace!
  PRINCE. And yours, most noble Bardolph!
  POINS. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be
    blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly
man-at-arms
    are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's
    maidenhead?
  PAGE. 'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and
I
    could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I
    spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the
    alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through.
  PRINCE. Has not the boy profited?
  BARDOLPH. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!
  PAGE. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!
  PRINCE. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?
  PAGE. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a
    firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream.
  PRINCE. A crown's worth of good interpretation. There 'tis,
boy.
                                                [Giving a crown]
  POINS. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers!
    Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.
  BARDOLPH. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the
gallows
    shall have wrong.
  PRINCE. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
  BARDOLPH. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to
town.
    There's a letter for you.
  POINS. Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,
    your master?
  BARDOLPH. In bodily health, sir.
  POINS. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that
moves
    not him. Though that be sick, it dies not.
  PRINCE. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my
dog;
    and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.
  POINS.  [Reads]  'John Falstaff, knight'--Every man must know
that
    as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those
that
    are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but
they
    say 'There's some of the King's blood spilt.' 'How comes
that?'
    says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as
    ready as a borrower's cap: 'I am the King's poor cousin,
sir.'
  PRINCE. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from
    Japhet. But the letter:  [Reads]  'Sir John Falstaff, knight,
to
    the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of
Wales,
    greeting.'
  POINS. Why, this is a certificate.
  PRINCE. Peace!  [Reads]  'I will imitate the honourable Romans
in
    brevity.'-
  POINS. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.
  PRINCE.  [Reads]  'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I
    leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
thy
    favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister
Nell.
    Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
      Thine, by yea and no--which is as much as to say as
        thou usest him--JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars,
        JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with
        all Europe.'
  POINS. My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat
it.
  PRINCE. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you
use
    me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister?
  POINS. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said
so.
  PRINCE. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the
spirits
    of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master
here in
    London?
  BARDOLPH. Yea, my lord.
  PRINCE. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?
  BARDOLPH. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
  PRINCE. What company?
  PAGE. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
  PRINCE. Sup any women with him?
  PAGE. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll
    Tearsheet.
  PRINCE. What pagan may that be?
  PAGE. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my
master's.
  PRINCE. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town
bull.
    Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?
  POINS. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.
  PRINCE. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master
that
    I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.
  BARDOLPH. I have no tongue, sir.
  PAGE. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
  PRINCE. Fare you well; go.            Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE
    This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.
  POINS. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans
and
    London.
  PRINCE. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in
his
    true colours, and not ourselves be seen?
  POINS. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon
him at
    his table as drawers.
  PRINCE. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove's
    case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That
    shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with
the
    folly. Follow me, Ned.
                                                          Exeunt




SCENE III.
Warkworth. Before the castle

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY

  NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
    Give even way unto my rough affairs;
    Put not you on the visage of the times
    And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more.
    Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
    And but my going nothing can redeem it.
  LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
    The time was, father, that you broke your word,
    When you were more endear'd to it than now;
    When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
    Threw many a northward look to see his father
    Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
    Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
    There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.
    For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
    For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
    In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light
    Did all the chivalry of England move
    To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
    Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
    He had no legs that practis'd not his gait;
    And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
    Became the accents of the valiant;
    For those who could speak low and tardily
    Would turn their own perfection to abuse
    To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
    In diet, in affections of delight,
    In military rules, humours of blood,
    He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
    That fashion'd others. And him--O wondrous him!
    O miracle of men!--him did you leave--
    Second to none, unseconded by you--
    To look upon the hideous god of war
    In disadvantage, to abide a field
    Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
    Did seem defensible. So you left him.
    Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
    To hold your honour more precise and nice
    With others than with him! Let them alone.
    The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
    Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
    To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
    Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart,
    Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
    With new lamenting ancient oversights.
    But I must go and meet with danger there,
    Or it will seek me in another place,
    And find me worse provided.
  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland
    Till that the nobles and the armed commons
    Have of their puissance made a little taste.
  LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King,
    Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
    To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
    First let them try themselves. So did your son;
    He was so suff'red; so came I a widow;
    And never shall have length of life enough
    To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
    That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
    For recordation to my noble husband.
  NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind
    As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
    That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
    Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,
    But many thousand reasons hold me back.
    I will resolve for Scotland. There am I,
    Till time and vantage crave my company.               Exeunt




SCENE IV.
London. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap

Enter FRANCIS and another DRAWER

  FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns?
Thou
    knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.
  SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say'st true. The Prince once set a
dish
    of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more
Sir
    Johns; and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my
leave
    of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It ang'red
him
    to the heart; but he hath forgot that.
  FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou
canst
    find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear
some
    music.

                        Enter third DRAWER

  THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp'd is too hot;
    they'll come in straight.
  FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon;
and
    they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John
must
    not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.
  THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an
    excellent stratagem.
  SECOND DRAWER. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
                                 Exeunt second and third DRAWERS

                Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET

  HOSTESS. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an
excellent
    good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as
heart
    would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as
any
    rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too
much
    canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it
perfumes
    the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now?
  DOLL. Better than I was--hem.
  HOSTESS. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.
    Lo, here comes Sir John.

                          Enter FALSTAFF

  FALSTAFF.  [Singing]  'When Arthur first in court'--Empty the
    Jordan.  [Exit FRANCIS]--[Singing]  'And was a worthy king'--
How
    now, Mistress Doll!
  HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.
  FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they
are
    sick.
  DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort
you
    give me?
  FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.
  DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them
    not.
  FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to
make
    the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you;
grant
    that, my poor virtue, grant that.
  DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.
  FALSTAFF. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve
bravely
    is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with
his
    pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon
the
    charg'd chambers bravely--
  DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!
  HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
meet
    but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as
    rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with
another's
    confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that
must be
    you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier
    vessel.
  DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head?
    There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him;
you
    have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll
be
    friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and
whether
    I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares.

                            Re-enter FRANCIS

  FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you.
  DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it
is
    the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.
  HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith!
I
    must live among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in
good
    name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes
no
    swaggerers here; I have not liv'd all this while to have
    swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you.
  FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess?
  HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no
    swaggerers here.
  FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient.
  HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me; and your ancient
    swagg'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick,
the
    debuty, t' other day; and, as he said to me--'twas no longer
ago
    than Wednesday last, i' good faith!--'Neighbour Quickly,'
says
    he--Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then--'Neighbour
Quickly,'
    says he 'receive those that are civil, for' said he 'you are
in
    an ill name.' Now 'a 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.' There comes none here. You would bless you to
hear
    what he said. No, I'll no swagg'rers.
  FALSTAFF. He's no swagg'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith;
you
    may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He'll not
swagger
    with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of

    resistance. Call him up, drawer.
                                                    Exit FRANCIS
  HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
house,
    nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I
am
    the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I
shake;
    look you, I warrant you.
  DOLL. So you do, hostess.
  HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen
leaf. I
    cannot abide swagg'rers.

                   Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE

  PISTOL. God save you, Sir John!
  FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you
with
    a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess.
  PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.
  FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend
    her.
  HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink
no
    more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.
  PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.
  DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
    base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
    rogue, away! I am meat for your master.
  PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.
  DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By
this
    wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
the
    saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you
    basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?
    God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!
  PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for
this.
  FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here.
    Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
  HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.
  DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
ashamed
    to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
    truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
    have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For
tearing
    a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
    rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A

    captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as
odious
    as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before
it
    was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.
  BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient.
  FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.
  PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could
tear
    her; I'll be reveng'd of her.
  PAGE. Pray thee go down.
  PISTOL. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd lake, by
this
    hand, to th' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile
also.
    Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors!
Have
    we not Hiren here?
  HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
faith; I
    beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
  PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses,
    And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
    Which cannot go but thirty mile a day,
    Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
    And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with
    King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
    Shall we fall foul for toys?
  HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words.
  BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl
anon.
  PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not
Hiren
    here?
  HOSTESS. O' my word, Captain, there's none such here. What the
    good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be
    quiet.
  PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
    Come, give's some sack.
    'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.'
    Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire.
    Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
                                         [Laying down his sword]
    Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings?
  FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet.
  PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the
seven
    stars.
  DOLL. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure
such a
    fustian rascal.
  PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags?
  FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling.
    Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing
    here.
  BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs.
  PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue?
                                        [Snatching up his sword]
    Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
    Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
    Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!
  HOSTESS. Here's goodly stuff toward!
  FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy.
  DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
  FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs.
                                [Drawing and driving PISTOL out]
  HOSTESS. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house
afore
    I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant
now.
    Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked
weapons.
                                      Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH
  DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you
    whoreson little valiant villain, you!
  HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? Methought 'a made a
shrewd
    thrust at your belly.

                        Re-enter BARDOLPH

  FALSTAFF. Have you turn'd him out a doors?
  BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir,
i'
    th' shoulder.
  FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me!
  DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
    sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson
    chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous
as
    Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better
    than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain!
  FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.
  DOLL. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll
canvass
    thee between a pair of sheets.

                          Enter musicians

  PAGE. The music is come, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A
rascal
    bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver.
  DOLL. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou
    whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou
leave
    fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up
thine
    old body for heaven?

       Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers

  FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head;
do
    not bid me remember mine end.
  DOLL. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of?
  FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a
good
    pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well.
  DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit.
  FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick
as
    Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in
a
    mallet.
  DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then?
  FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a
plays at
    quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off
candles'
    ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys,
and
    jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
wears
    his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and
breeds
    no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other
gambol
    faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for
the
    which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such
    another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between
their
    avoirdupois.
  PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?
  POINS. Let's beat him before his whore.
  PRINCE. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd
    like a parrot.
  POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years
outlive
    performance?
  FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll.
  PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says
th'
    almanac to that?
  POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not
lisping
    to his master's old tables, his note-book, his
counsel-keeper.
  FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses.
  DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.
  FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old.
  DOLL. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of
    them all.
  FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive
money a
    Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A
    grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone.
  DOLL. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so.
    Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return.
Well,
    hearken a' th' end.
  FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis.
  PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir.                   [Advancing]
  FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not
Poins
    his brother?
  PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost
thou
    lead!
  FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a
drawer.
  PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.
  HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome
to
    London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu,
are
    you come from Wales?
  FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
    flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
                                    [Leaning his band upon DOLL]
  DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.
  POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn
all
    to a merriment, if you take not the heat.
  PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak
of
    me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!
  HOSTESS. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by
my
    troth.
  FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me?
  PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by
    Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on
purpose to
    try my patience.
  FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within
    hearing.
  PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and
    then I know how to handle you.
  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse.
  PRINCE. Not to dispraise me, and call me pander, and
    bread-chipper, and I know not what!
  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal.
  POINS. No abuse!
  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I
    disprais'd him before the wicked--that the wicked might not
fall
    in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a
    careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give
me
    thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith,
boys,
    none.
  PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
not
    make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us?
Is
    she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is
thy
    boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in
his
    nose, of the wicked?
  POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
  FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable;
and
    his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing
but
    roast malt-worms. For the boy--there is a good angel about
him;
    but the devil outbids him too.
  PRINCE. For the women?
  FALSTAFF. For one of them--she's in hell already, and burns
poor
    souls. For th' other--I owe her money; and whether she be
damn'd
    for that, I know not.
  HOSTESS. No, I warrant you.
  FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for
that.
    Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering
flesh
    to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which
I
    think thou wilt howl.
  HOSTESS. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two
in a
    whole Lent?
  PRINCE. You, gentlewoman--
  DOLL. What says your Grace?
  FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
                                               [Knocking within]
  HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th' door there,
    Francis.

                              Enter PETO

  PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news?
  PETO. The King your father is at Westminster;
    And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
    Come from the north; and as I came along
    I met and overtook a dozen captains,
    Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
    And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
  PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
    So idly to profane the precious time,
    When tempest of commotion, like the south,
    Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
    And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
    Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.

                        Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH

  FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we

    must hence, and leave it unpick'd.  [Knocking within]  More
    knocking at the door!

                      Re-enter BARDOLPH

    How now! What's the matter?
  BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently;
    A dozen captains stay at door for you.
  FALSTAFF.  [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.--Farewell,
    hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of
    merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the
man of
    action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent
    away post, I will see you again ere I go.
  DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst!
    Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
  FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell.
                                    Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH
  HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these
twenty-nine
    years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted
man--well, fare thee well.
  BARDOLPH.  [ Within]  Mistress Tearsheet!
  HOSTESS. What's the matter?
  BARDOLPH.  [ Within]  Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.
  HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come.  [To BARDOLPH]  She
    comes blubber'd.--Yea, will you come, Doll?           Exeunt




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ACT III. SCENE I.
Westminster. The palace

Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page

  KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
    But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters
    And well consider of them. Make good speed.        Exit page
    How many thousands of my poorest subjects
    Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
    Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,
    That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
    And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
    Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
    Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
    And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
    Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
    Under the canopies of costly state,
    And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
    O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
    In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
    A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?
    Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
    Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
    In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
    And in the visitation of the winds,
    Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
    Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
    With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,
    That with the hurly death itself awakes?
    Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
    To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
    And in the calmest and most stillest night,
    With all appliances and means to boot,
    Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
    Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

                    Enter WARWICK and Surrey

  WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty!
  KING. Is it good morrow, lords?
  WARWICK. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.
  KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.
    Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?
  WARWICK. We have, my liege.
  KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
    How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
    And with what danger, near the heart of it.
  WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered;
    Which to his former strength may be restored
    With good advice and little medicine.
    My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
  KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate,
    And see the revolution of the times
    Make mountains level, and the continent,
    Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
    Into the sea; and other times to see
    The beachy girdle of the ocean
    Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
    And changes fill the cup of alteration
    With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
    The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
    What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
    Would shut the book and sit him down and die.
    'Tis not ten years gone
    Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
    Did feast together, and in two years after
    Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
    This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
    Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
    And laid his love and life under my foot;
    Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
    Gave him defiance. But which of you was by--
    [To WARWICK]  You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember--
    When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears,
    Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
    Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?
    'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
    My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'--
    Though then, God knows, I had no such intent
    But that necessity so bow'd the state
    That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss--
    'The time shall come'--thus did he follow it--
    'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head,
    Shall break into corruption' so went on,
    Foretelling this same time's condition
    And the division of our amity.
  WARWICK. There is a history in all men's lives,
    Figuring the natures of the times deceas'd;
    The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
    With a near aim, of the main chance of things
    As yet not come to life, who in their seeds
    And weak beginning lie intreasured.
    Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
    And, by the necessary form of this,
    King Richard might create a perfect guess
    That great Northumberland, then false to him,
    Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;
    Which should not find a ground to root upon
    Unless on you.
  KING. Are these things then necessities?
    Then let us meet them like necessities;
    And that same word even now cries out on us.
    They say the Bishop and Northumberland
    Are fifty thousand strong.
  WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord.
    Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
    The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
    To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
    The powers that you already have sent forth
    Shall bring this prize in very easily.
    To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
    A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
    Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
    And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad
    Unto your sickness.
  KING. I will take your counsel.
    And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
    We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.            Exeunt




SCENE II.
Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW'S house

Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE,
BULLCALF,
and servants behind

  SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir;
give me
    your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth
my
    good cousin Silence?
  SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
  SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your
fairest
    daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?
  SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!
  SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is
become
    a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not?
  SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost.
  SHALLOW. 'A must, then, to the Inns o' Court shortly. I was
once of
    Clement's Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow
yet.
  SILENCE. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.
  SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call'd anything; and I would have
done
    anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little
    John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and
Francis
    Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man--you had not four
such
    swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say
to
    you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of
them
    all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John,
boy,
    and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
  SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about
    soldiers?
  SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break
    Scoggin's head at the court gate, when 'a was a crack not
thus
    high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson
    Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the
mad
    days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old
    acquaintance are dead!
  SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin.
  SHALLOW. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as
the
    Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good
yoke
    of bullocks at Stamford fair?
  SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there.
  SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living
yet?
  SILENCE. Dead, sir.
  SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! 'A shot a
    fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much
money on
    his head. Dead! 'A would have clapp'd i' th' clout at twelve
    score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and
fourteen
    and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to
see.
    How a score of ewes now?
  SILENCE. Thereafter as they be--a score of good ewes may be
worth
    ten pounds.
  SHALLOW. And is old Double dead?

                    Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him

  SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think.
  SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen.
  BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?
  SHALLOW. 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?
  BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
    John Falstaff--a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most
gallant
    leader.
  SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword
man.
    How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife
doth?
  BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than
with a
    wife.
  SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said
indeed
    too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it.
Good
    phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.
    'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good
phrase.
  BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you
it?
    By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the
word
    with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of
exceeding
    good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man
is, as
    they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a
may be
    thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.

                              Enter FALSTAFF

  SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give
me
    your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my
troth,
    you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good
Sir
    John.
  FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert
Shallow.
    Master Surecard, as I think?
  SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission
with
   me.
  FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of
the
    peace.
  SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome.
  FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you
provided me
    here half a dozen sufficient men?
  SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?
  FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you.
  SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll?
Let
    me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,--so, so--yea,
    marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them
do
    so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
  MOULDY. Here, an't please you.
  SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young,
    strong, and of good friends.
  FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy?
  MOULDY. Yea, an't please you.
  FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.
  SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
    mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir
    John; very well said.
  FALSTAFF. Prick him.
  MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let
me
    alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her
husbandry
    and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are
    other men fitter to go out than I.
  FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is
time
    you were spent.
  MOULDY. Spent!
  SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you
are?
    For th' other, Sir John--let me see. Simon Shadow!
  FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like
to be
    a cold soldier.
  SHALLOW. Where's Shadow?
  SHADOW. Here, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou?
  SHADOW. My mother's son, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's
shadow.
    So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is
often
    so indeed; but much of the father's substance!
  SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John?
  FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have
a
    number of shadows fill up the muster-book.
  SHALLOW. Thomas Wart!
  FALSTAFF. Where's he?
  WART. Here, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart?
  WART. Yea, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart.
  SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John?
  FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon
his
    back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no
more.
  SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I
commend
    you well. Francis Feeble!
  FEEBLE. Here, sir.
  FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble?
  FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir.
  SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir?
  FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha'
    prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's
battle as
    thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
  FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
  FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous
    Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most
    magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor--well, Master
    Shallow, deep, Master Shallow.
  FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir.
  FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst
mend
    him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private
    soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that
    suffice, most forcible Feeble.
  FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir.
  FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
  SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green!
  FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
  BULLCALF. Here, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf
till
    he roar again.
  BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain-
  FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?
  BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.
  FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou?
  BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught
with
    ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir.
  FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will
have
    away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends
shall
    ring for thee. Is here all?
  SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must
have
    but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to
dinner.
  FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry
    dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.
  SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in
the
    windmill in Saint George's Field?
  FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that.
  SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

  FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow.
  SHALLOW. She never could away with me.
  FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not
abide
    Master Shallow.
  SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was
then
    a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?
  FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow.
  SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;
    certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork,
    before I came to Clement's Inn.
  SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago.
  SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that
this
    knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?
  FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.
  SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith,
Sir
    John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to
    dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have
seen!
    Come, come.
                                Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES
  BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and

    here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In
very
    truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for
    mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
    unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with
my
    friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.
  BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
  MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's
sake,
    stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when
I
    am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall
have
    forty, sir.
  BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
  FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe
God
    a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so;
    an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and,
let
    it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for
the
    next.
  BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow.
  FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

                    Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES

  FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have?
  SHALLOW. Four of which you please.
  BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free
Mouldy
    and Bullcalf.
  FALSTAFF. Go to; well.
  SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have?
  FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me.
  SHALLOW. Marry, then--Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.
  FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home
till
    you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you
come
    unto it. I will none of you.
  SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are
your
    likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best.
  FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a
man?
    Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big
    assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow.
Here's
    Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge
you
    and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer,
come
    off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's
bucket.
    And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow--give me this man. He
    presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great
aim
    level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat--how
swiftly
    will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the
    spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into
    Wart's hand, Bardolph.
  BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse--thus, thus, thus.
  FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So--very well. Go to;
very
    good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old,
    chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good
scab.
    Hold, there's a tester for thee.
  SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right.
I
    remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn--I
was
    then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show--there was a little quiver
    fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would
    about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah,
    tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again
would
    'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a
fellow.
  FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep
you!
    Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you

    well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile
to-night.
    Bardolph, give the soldiers coats.
  SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your
affairs;
    God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our
old
    acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the
    court.
  FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would.
  SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.
  FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.  [Exeunt JUSTICES]
On,
    Bardolph; lead the men away.  [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF]  As I
    return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom
of
    justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to
this
    vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing
but
    prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he
hath
    done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer
paid
    to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at
    Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a
cheese-paring.
    When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd
radish,
    with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was
so
    forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were
invisible. 'A
    was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and
the
    whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of
the
    fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes
that
    he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies
or
    his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a
squire,
    and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been
sworn
    brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once
in
    the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among
the
    marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his
own
    name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into
an
    eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him,
a
    court--and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be
acquainted
    with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him
a
    philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait
for
    the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may
snap
    at him. Let time shape, and there an end.               Exit




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ACT IV. SCENE I.
Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree

Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others

  ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd
  HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace.
  ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth
    To know the numbers of our enemies.
  HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.
  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done.
    My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
    I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
    New-dated letters from Northumberland;
    Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:
    Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
    As might hold sortance with his quality,
    The which he could not levy; whereupon
    He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
    To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers
    That your attempts may overlive the hazard
    And fearful meeting of their opposite.
  MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
    And dash themselves to pieces.

                          Enter A MESSENGER

  HASTINGS. Now, what news?
  MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
    In goodly form comes on the enemy;
    And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
    Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
  MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.
    Let us sway on and face them in the field.

                        Enter WESTMORELAND

  ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
  MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.
  WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,
    The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
  ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,
    What doth concern your coming.
  WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,
    Unto your Grace do I in chief address
    The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
    Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
    Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
    And countenanc'd by boys and beggary-
    I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd
    In his true, native, and most proper shape,
    You, reverend father, and these noble lords,
    Had not been here to dress the ugly form
    Of base and bloody insurrection
    With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
    Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd,
    Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
    Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
    Whose white investments figure innocence,
    The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-
    Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself
    Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
    Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war;
    Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
    Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
    To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
  ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.
    Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd
    And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
    Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
    And we must bleed for it; of which disease
    Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.
    But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
    I take not on me here as a physician;
    Nor do I as an enemy to peace
    Troop in the throngs of military men;
    But rather show awhile like fearful war
    To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
    And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop
    Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
    I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
    What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
    And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
    We see which way the stream of time doth run
    And are enforc'd from our most quiet there
    By the rough torrent of occasion;
    And have the summary of all our griefs,
    When time shall serve, to show in articles;
    Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
    And might by no suit gain our audience:
    When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
    We are denied access unto his person,
    Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
    The dangers of the days but newly gone,
    Whose memory is written on the earth
    With yet appearing blood, and the examples
    Of every minute's instance, present now,
    Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;
    Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
    But to establish here a peace indeed,
    Concurring both in name and quality.
  WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied;
    Wherein have you been galled by the King;
    What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you
    That you should seal this lawless bloody book
    Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine,
    And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?
  ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth,
    To brother horn an household cruelty,
    I make my quarrel in particular.
  WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress;
    Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
  MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all
    That feel the bruises of the days before,
    And suffer the condition of these times
    To lay a heavy and unequal hand
    Upon our honours?
  WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray,
    Construe the times to their necessities,
    And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
    And not the King, that doth you injuries.
    Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
    Either from the King or in the present time,
    That you should have an inch of any ground
    To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
    To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories,
    Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's?
  MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost
    That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
    The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
    Was force perforce compell'd to banish him,
    And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
    Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
    Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
    Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
    Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
    And the loud trumpet blowing them together--
    Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
    My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
    O, when the King did throw his warder down--
    His own life hung upon the staff he threw--
    Then threw he down himself, and all their lives
    That by indictment and by dint of sword
    Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
  WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
    The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
    In England the most valiant gentleman.
    Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
    But if your father had been victor there,
    He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
    For all the country, in a general voice,
    Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
    Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
    And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King.
    But this is mere digression from my purpose.
    Here come I from our princely general
    To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace
    That he will give you audience; and wherein
    It shall appear that your demands are just,
    You shall enjoy them, everything set off
    That might so much as think you enemies.
  MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
    And it proceeds from policy, not love.
  WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so.
    This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
    For, lo! within a ken our army lies-
    Upon mine honour, all too confident
    To give admittance to a thought of fear.
    Our battle is more full of names than yours,
    Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
    Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
    Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
    Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd.
  MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.
  WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence:
    A rotten case abides no handling.
  HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission,
    In very ample virtue of his father,
    To hear and absolutely to determine
    Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
  WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name.
    I muse you make so slight a question.
  ARCHBISHOP. 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 insinewed to this action,
    Acquitted by a true substantial form,
    And present execution of our wills
    To us and to our purposes confin'd-
    We come within our awful banks again,
    And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
  WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
    In sight of both our battles we may meet;
    And either end in peace--which God so frame!-
    Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords
    Which must decide it.
  ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so.          Exit WESTMORELAND
  MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me
    That no conditions of our peace can stand.
  HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
    Upon such large terms and so absolute
    As our conditions shall consist upon,
    Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
  MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
    That every slight and false-derived cause,
    Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
    Shall to the King taste of this action;
    That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
    We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
    That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
    And good from bad find no partition.
  ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary
    Of dainty and such picking grievances;
    For he hath found to end one doubt by death
    Revives two greater in the heirs of life;
    And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
    And keep no tell-tale to his memory
    That may repeat and history his los
    To new remembrance. For full well he knows
    He cannot so precisely weed this land
    As his misdoubts present occasion:
    His foes are so enrooted with his friends
    That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
    He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
    So that this land, like an offensive wife
    That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
    As he is striking, holds his infant up,
    And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
    That was uprear'd to execution.
  HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
    On late offenders, that he now doth lack
    The very instruments of chastisement;
    So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
    May offer, but not hold.
  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true;
    And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
    If we do now make our atonement well,
    Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
    Grow stronger for the breaking.
  MOWBRAY. Be it so.
    Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.

                       Re-enter WESTMORELAND

  WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your
lordship
    To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies?
  MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.
  ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come.
                                                          Exeunt




SCENE II.
Another part of the forest

Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the
ARCHBISHOP,
HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of
LANCASTER,
WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others

  PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray.
    Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
    And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
    My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
    When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
    Encircled you to hear with reverence
    Your exposition on the holy text
    Than now to see you here an iron man,
    Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
    Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
    That man that sits within a monarch's heart
    And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
    Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
    Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
    In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
    It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
    How deep you were within the books of God?
    To us the speaker in His parliament,
    To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself,
    The very opener and intelligencer
    Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
    And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
    But you misuse the reverence of your place,
    Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n
    As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
    In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
    Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
    The subjects of His substitute, my father,
    And both against the peace of heaven and him
    Have here up-swarm'd them.
  ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster,
    I am not here against your father's peace;
    But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,
    The time misord'red doth, in common sense,
    Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form
    To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
    The parcels and particulars of our grief,
    The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,
    Whereon this hydra son of war is born;
    Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
    With grant of our most just and right desires;
    And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
    Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
  MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
    To the last man.
  HASTINGS. And though we here fall down,
    We have supplies to second our attempt.
    If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
    And so success of mischief shall be born,
    And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
    Whiles England shall have generation.
  PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow,
    To sound the bottom of the after-times.
  WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly
    How far forth you do like their articles.
  PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well;
    And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
    My father's purposes have been mistook;
    And some about him have too lavishly
    Wrested his meaning and authority.
    My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
    Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
    Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
    As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
    Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
    That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
    Of our restored love and amity.
  ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses.
  PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word;
    And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
  HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army
    This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.
    I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain.
                                                    Exit Officer
  ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.
  WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains
    I have bestow'd to breed this present peace,
    You would drink freely; but my love to ye
    Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
  ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you.
  WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it.
    Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
  MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season,
    For I am on the sudden something ill.
  ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry;
    But heaviness foreruns the good event.
  WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
    Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.'
  ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
  MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
                                                 [Shouts within]
  PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they
shout!
  MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory.
  ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
    For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
    And neither party loser.
  PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord,
    And let our army be discharged too.
                                               Exit WESTMORELAND
    And, good my lord, so please you let our trains
    March by us, that we may peruse the men
    We should have cop'd withal.
  ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings,
    And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
                                                   Exit HASTINGS
  PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.

                      Re-enter WESTMORELAND

    Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
  WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
    Will not go off until they hear you speak.
  PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties.

                        Re-enter HASTINGS

  HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already.
    Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
    East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
    Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.
  WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
    I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
    And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
    Of capital treason I attach you both.
  MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
  WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so?
  ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith?
  PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none:
    I promis'd you redress of these same grievances
    Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
    I will perform with a most Christian care.
    But for you, rebels--look to taste the due
    Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
    Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
    Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
    Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray.
    God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
    Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
    Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath.          Exeunt




SCENE III.
Another part of the forest

Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting

  FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and
of
    what place, I pray?
  COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the
Dale.
  FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your
    degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your
    name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place--a
place
    deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale.
  COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
  FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield,
    sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the
drops
    of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse
up
    fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
  COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought
    yield me.
  FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of
mine;
    and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my
name.
    An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the
most
    active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.
    Here comes our general.

            Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND,
                            BLUNT, and others

  PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now.
    Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
                                               Exit WESTMORELAND
    Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
    When everything is ended, then you come.
    These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
    One time or other break some gallows' back.
  FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I
never
    knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do
you
    think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor
and
    old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither
with
    the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine
    score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have,
in
    my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the
    Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of
that?
    He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the
hook-nos'd
    fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame.
  PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
  FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I
    beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this
day's
    deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad
    else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing
my
    foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all
    show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of
fame,
    o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the
    element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the
word
    of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert
mount.
  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount.
  FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then.
  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine.
  FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me
good,
    and call it what you will.
  PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville?
  COLVILLE. It is, my lord.
  PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville.
  FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him.
  COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are
    That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me,
    You should have won them dearer than you have.
  FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a
    kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for
    thee.

                       Re-enter WESTMORELAND

  PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit?
  WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
  PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates,
    To York, to present execution.
    Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
                                         Exeunt BLUNT and others
    And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords.
    I hear the King my father is sore sick.
    Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
    Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him
    And we with sober speed will follow you.
  FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through
    Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good
lord,
    pray, in your good report.
  PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition,
    Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
                                         Exeunt all but FALSTAFF
  FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your
    dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth
not
    love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh--but that's no
marvel;
    he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys
come
    to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
and
    making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male
    green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches.
They
    are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be
too,
    but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold
    operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there
all
    the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it;
makes it
    apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and
    delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the
tongue,
    which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second
property of
    your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which
before,
    cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the
    badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms
it,
    and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes.
It
    illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all
the
    rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital
    commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their
    captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this
retinue,
    doth any deed of courage--and this valour comes of sherris.
So
    that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that
sets
    it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a 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 hath, like lean, sterile,
and
    bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent
    endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris,
    that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand
sons,
    the first humane principle I would teach them should be to
    forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

                           Enter BARDOLPH

    How now, Bardolph!
  BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone.
  FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there
will
    I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already
    temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I
seal
    with him. Come away.                                  Exeunt




SCENE IV.
Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber

Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF
GLOUCESTER,
WARWICK, and others

  KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end
    To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
    We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
    And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
    Our navy is address'd, our power connected,
    Our substitutes in absence well invested,
    And everything lies level to our wish.
    Only we want a little personal strength;
    And pause us till these rebels, now afoot,
    Come underneath the yoke of government.
  WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty
    Shall soon enjoy.
  KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
    Where is the Prince your brother?
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at
Windsor.
  KING. And how accompanied?
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord.
  KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here.
  CLARENCE. What would my lord and father?
  KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
    How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
    He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
    Thou hast a better place in his affection
    Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy,
    And noble offices thou mayst effect
    Of mediation, after I am dead,
    Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
    Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
    Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
    By seeming cold or careless of his will;
    For he is gracious if he be observ'd.
    He hath a tear for pity and a hand
    Open as day for melting charity;
    Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint;
    As humorous as winter, and as sudden
    As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
    His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd.
    Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
    When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth;
    But, being moody, give him line and scope
    Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
    Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
    And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
    A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
    That the united vessel of their blood,
    Mingled with venom of suggestion--
    As, force perforce, the age will pour it in--
    Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
    As aconitum or rash gunpowder.
  CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.
  KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
  CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
  KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?
  CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.
  KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
    And he, the noble image of my youth,
    Is overspread with them; therefore my grief
    Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
    The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,
    In forms imaginary, th'unguided days
    And rotten times that you shall look upon
    When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
    For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
    When rage and hot blood are his counsellors
    When means and lavish manners meet together,
    O, with what wings shall his affections fly
    Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!
  WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
    The Prince but studies his companions
    Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
    'Tis needful that the most immodest word
    Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd,
    Your Highness knows, comes to no further use
    But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
    The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
    Cast off his followers; and their memory
    Shall as a pattern or a measure live
    By which his Grace must mete the lives of other,
    Turning past evils to advantages.
  KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
    In the dead carrion.

                      Enter WESTMORELAND

    Who's here? Westmoreland?
  WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
    Added to that that am to deliver!
    Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand.
    Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
    Are brought to the correction of your law.
    There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
    But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere.
    The manner how this action hath been borne
    Here at more leisure may your Highness read,
    With every course in his particular.
  KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
    Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
    The lifting up of day.

                        Enter HARCOURT

    Look here's more news.
  HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty;
    And, when they stand against you, may they fall
    As those that I am come to tell you of!
    The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
    With a great power of English and of Scots,
    Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.
    The manner and true order of the fight
    This packet, please it you, contains at large.
  KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
    Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
    But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
    She either gives a stomach and no food-
    Such are the poor, in health--or else a feast,
    And takes away the stomach--such are the rich
    That have abundance and enjoy it not.
    I should rejoice now at this happy news;
    And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
    O me! come near me now I am much ill.
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty!
  CLARENCE. O my royal father!
  WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.
  WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits
    Are with his Highness very ordinary.
    Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.
  CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs.
    Th' incessant care and labour of his mind
    Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
    So thin that life looks through, and will break out.
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe
    Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature.
    The seasons change their manners, as the year
    Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over.
  CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;
    And the old folk, Time's doting chronicles,
    Say it did so a little time before
    That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.
  WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end.
  KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence
    Into some other chamber. Softly, pray.                Exeunt




SCENE V.
Westminster. Another chamber

The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK,
and others in attendance

  KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
    Unless some dull and favourable hand
    Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
  WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room.
  KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
  CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
  WARWICK. Less noise! less noise!

                        Enter PRINCE HENRY

  PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
  CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
  PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad!
    How doth the King?
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill.
  PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt'red much upon the hearing it.
  PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic.
  WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;
    The King your father is dispos'd to sleep.
  CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room.
  WARWICK. Will't please your Grace to go along with us?
  PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.
                                       Exeunt all but the PRINCE
    Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
    Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
    O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
    That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
    To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!
    Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
    As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
    Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
    When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
    Like a rich armour worn in heat of day
    That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath
    There lies a downy feather which stirs not.
    Did he suspire, 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 rigol hath divorc'd
    So many English kings. Thy due from me
    Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood
    Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
    Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
    My due from thee is this imperial crown,
    Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
    Derives itself to me.  [Putting on the crown]  Lo where it
sits-
    Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength
    Into one giant arm, it shall not force
    This lineal honour from me. This from thee
    Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me.                Exit
  KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

           Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE

  CLARENCE. Doth the King call?
  WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?
  KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
  CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,
    Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
  KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.
    He is not here.
  WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way.
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we
stay'd.
  KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?
  WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
  KING. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out.
    Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
    My sleep my death?
    Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.
                                                    Exit WARWICK
    This part of his conjoins with my disease
    And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are!
    How quickly nature falls into revolt
    When gold becomes her object!
    For this the foolish over-careful fathers
    Have broke their sleep with thoughts,
    Their brains with care, their bones with industry;
    For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
    The cank'red heaps of strange-achieved gold;
    For this they have been thoughtful to invest
    Their sons with arts and martial exercises;
    When, like the bee, tolling from every flower
    The virtuous sweets,
    Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd,
    We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees,
    Are murd'red for our pains. This bitter taste
    Yields his engrossments to the ending father.

                         Re-enter WARWICK

    Now where is he that will not stay so long
    Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me?
  WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
    Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
    With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow,
    That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood,
    Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
    With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
  KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown?

                        Re-enter PRINCE HENRY

    Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
    Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
                          Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE
  PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again.
  KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
    I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
    Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
    That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
    Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
    Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
    Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
    Is held from falling with so weak a wind
    That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
    Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours,
    Were thine without offense; and at my death
    Thou hast seal'd up my expectation.
    Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,
    And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
    Thou hid'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, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
    Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
    And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
    That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
    Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
    Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
    Only compound me with forgotten dust;
    Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
    Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
    For now a time is come to mock at form-
    Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity:
    Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence.
    And to the English court assemble now,
    From every region, apes of idleness.
    Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
    Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
    Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
    The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
    Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
    England shall double gild his treble guilt;
    England shall give him office, honour, might;
    For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
    The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
    Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
    O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
    When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
    What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
    O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
    Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
  PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
    The moist impediments unto my speech,
    I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke
    Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
    The course of it so far. There is your crown,
    And he that wears the crown immortally
    Long guard it yours!  [Kneeling]  If I affect it more
    Than as your honour and as your renown,
    Let me no more from this obedience rise,
    Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
    Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending!
    God witness with me, when I here came in
    And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
    How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
    O, let me in my present wildness die,
    And never live to show th' incredulous world
    The noble change that I have purposed!
    Coming to look on you, thinking you dead-
    And dead almost, my liege, to think you were-
    I spake unto this crown as having sense,
    And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending
    Hath fed upon the body of my father;
    Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.
    Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
    Preserving life in med'cine potable;
    But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
    Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege,
    Accusing it, I put it on my head,
    To try with it--as with an enemy
    That had before my face murd'red my father--
    The quarrel of a true inheritor.
    But if it did infect my blood with joy,
    Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
    If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
    Did with the least affection of a welcome
    Give entertainment to the might of it,
    Let God for ever keep it from my head,
    And make me as the poorest vassal is,
    That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
  KING. O my son,
    God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
    That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
    Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!
    Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed,
    And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
    That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
    By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
    I met this crown; and I myself know well
    How troublesome it sat upon my head:
    To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
    Better opinion, better confirmation;
    For all the soil of the achievement goes
    With me into the earth. It seem'd in 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;
    Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
    Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears
    Thou seest with peril I have answered;
    For all my reign hath been but as a scene
    Acting that argument. And now my death
    Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd
    Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
    So thou the garland wear'st successively.
    Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
    Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
    And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
    Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
    By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
    And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
    To be again displac'd; which to avoid,
    I cut them off; and had a purpose now
    To lead out many to the Holy Land,
    Lest rest and lying still might make them look
    Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
    Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
    With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,
    May waste the memory of the former days.
    More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
    That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
    How I came by the crown, O God, forgive;
    And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
  PRINCE. My gracious liege,
    You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
    Then plain and right must my possession be;
    Which I with more than with a common pain
    'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.

       Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others

  KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
  PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father!
  KING. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;
    But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
    From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight
    My worldly business makes a period.
    Where is my Lord of Warwick?
  PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick!
  KING. Doth any name particular belong
    Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
  WARWICK. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
  KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end.
    It hath been prophesied to me many years,
    I should not die but in Jerusalem;
    Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.
    But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
    In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.                    Exeunt




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ACT V. SCENE I.
Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house

Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE

  SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night.
    What, Davy, I say!
  FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.
  SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd;
excuses
    shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you
shall
    not be excus'd. Why, Davy!

                            Enter DAVY

  DAVY. Here, sir.
  SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see,
    Davy; let me see--yea, marry, William cook, bid him come
hither.
    Sir John, you shall not be excus'd.
  DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and,
    again, sir--shall we sow the headland with wheat?
  SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook--are there
no
    young pigeons?
  DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and
    plough-irons.
  SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be
    excused.
  DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had;
and,
    sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages about the
sack he
    lost the other day at Hinckley fair?
  SHALLOW. 'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of
    short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little
tiny
    kickshaws, tell William cook.
  DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?
  SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i' th' court
is
    better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for
they
    are arrant knaves and will backbite.
  DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have
    marvellous foul linen.
  SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy--about thy business, Davy.
  DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of
Woncot
    against Clement Perkes o' th' hill.
  SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor.
That
    Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge.
  DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God
    forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his
    friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for
    himself, when a knave is not. I have serv'd your worship
truly,
    sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter
    bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very
little
    credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend,
sir;
    therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc'd.
  SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about,
  DAVY.  [Exit DAVY]  Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come,
off
    with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.
  BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship.
  SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph.
    [To the PAGE]  And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John.
  FALSTAFF. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow.
    [Exit SHALLOW]  Bardolph, look to our horses.  [Exeunt
BARDOLPH
    and PAGE]  If I were sawed into quantities, I should make
four
    dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master Shallow. It
is a
    wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's
    spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear
themselves
    like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned
    into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married
in
    conjunction with the participation of society that they flock
    together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit
to
    Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of
    being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with
Master
    Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is
    certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is
caught,
    as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take
heed
    of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this
Shallow
    to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of
six
    fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and 'a shall
laugh
    without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight
    oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that
never
    had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh
till
    his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!
  SHALLOW.  [Within]  Sir John!
  FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow.
 Exit




SCENE II.
Westminster. The palace

Enter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE

  WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King?
  WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead.
  WARWICK. He's walk'd the way of nature;
    And to our purposes he lives no more.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call'd me with him.
    The service that I truly did his life
    Hath left me open to all injuries.
  WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself
    To welcome the condition of the time,
    Which cannot look more hideously upon me
    Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.

              Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,
                     WESTMORELAND, and others

  WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry.
    O that the living Harry had the temper
    Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen!
    How many nobles then should hold their places
    That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!
  CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd.
  PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.
  GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin.
  PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak.
  WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument
    Is all too heavy to admit much talk.
  PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!
  PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend
indeed;
    And I dare swear you borrow not that face
    Of seeming sorrow--it is sure your own.
  PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find,
    You stand in coldest expectation.
    I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise.
  CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair;
    Which swims against your stream of quality.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour,
    Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul;
    And never shall you 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 that is dead,
    And tell him who hath sent me after him.
  WARWICK. Here comes the Prince.

            Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended

  CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty!
  KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
    Sits not so easy on me as you think.
    Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear.
    This is the English, not the Turkish court;
    Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
    But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
    For, by my faith, it very well becomes you.
    Sorrow so royally in you appears
    That I will deeply put the fashion on,
    And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad;
    But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
    Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
    For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd,
    I'll be your father and your brother too;
    Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
    Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I;
    But Harry lives that shall convert those tears
    By number into hours of happiness.
  BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.
  KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most.
    You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
    Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
  KING. No?
    How might a prince of my great hopes forget
    So great indignities you laid upon me?
    What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison,
    Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy?
    May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father;
    The image of his power lay then in me;
    And in th' administration of his law,
    Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
    Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
    The majesty and power of law and justice,
    The image of the King whom I presented,
    And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
    Whereon, as an offender to your father,
    I gave bold way to my authority
    And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
    Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
    To have a son set your decrees at nought,
    To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
    To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
    That guards the peace and safety of your person;
    Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image,
    And mock your workings in a second body.
    Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
    Be now the father, and propose a son;
    Hear your own dignity so much profan'd,
    See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
    Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;
    And then imagine me taking your part
    And, in your power, soft silencing your son.
    After this cold considerance, sentence me;
    And, as you are a king, speak in your state
    What I have done that misbecame my place,
    My person, or my liege's sovereignty.
  KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well;
    Therefore still bear the balance and the sword;
    And I do wish your honours may increase
    Till you do live to see a son of mine
    Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
    So shall I live to speak my father's words:
    'Happy am I that have a man so bold
    That dares do justice on my proper son;
    And not less happy, having such a son
    That would deliver up his greatness so
    Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me;
    For which I do commit into your hand
    Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear;
    With this remembrance--that you use the same
    With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit
    As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand.
    You shall be as a father to my youth;
    My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;
    And I will stoop and humble my intents
    To your well-practis'd wise directions.
    And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you,
    My father is gone wild into his grave,
    For in his tomb lie my affections;
    And with his spirits sadly I survive,
    To mock the expectation of the world,
    To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out
    Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
    After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
    Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now.
    Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,
    Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,
    And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
    Now call we our high court of parliament;
    And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
    That the great body of our state may go
    In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
    That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
    As things acquainted and familiar to us;
    In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
    Our coronation done, we will accite,
    As I before rememb'red, all our state;
    And--God consigning to my good intents-
    No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,
    God shorten Harry's happy life one day.               Exeunt




SCENE III.
Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard

Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY

  SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we
    will eat a last year's pippin of mine own graffing, with a
dish
    of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to
bed.
  FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich.
  SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir
John
    -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said,
Davy.
  FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your
    serving-man and your husband.
  SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir
    John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A
good
    varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin.
  SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a--we shall               [Singing]

              Do nothing but eat and make good cheer,
              And praise God for the merry year;
              When flesh is cheap and females dear,
              And lusty lads roam here and there,
                  So merrily,
                And ever among so merrily.

  FALSTAFF. There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll give
you
    a health for that anon.
  SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
  DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet sir,
sit.
    Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in
    meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's
all.
 Exit
  SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier
there,
    be merry.
  SILENCE.  [Singing]

         Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;
         For women are shrews, both short and tall;
         'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an;
           And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
         Be merry, be merry.

  FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this
    mettle.
  SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.

                          Re-enter DAVY

  DAVY.  [To BARDOLPH]  There's a dish of leather-coats for you.
  SHALLOW. Davy!
  DAVY. Your worship! I'll be with you straight.  [To BARDOLPH]
    A cup of wine, sir?
  SILENCE.  [Singing]

         A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,
         And drink unto the leman mine;
           And a merry heart lives long-a.

  FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence.
  SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' th'
night.
  FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence!
  SILENCE.  [Singing]

         Fill the cup, and let it come,
         I'll pledge you a mile to th' bottom.

  SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st anything and
    wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny
thief
    and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master Bardolph, and to
all
    the cabileros about London.
  DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die.
  BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy!
  SHALLOW. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together--ha! will
you
    not, Master Bardolph?
  BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.
  SHALLOW. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick
by
    thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true
    bred.
  BARDOLPH. And I'll stick by him, sir.
  SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry.
    [One knocks at door]  Look who's at door there, ho! Who
knocks?
                                                       Exit DAVY
  FALSTAFF.  [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper]  Why, now you
have
    done me right.
  SILENCE.  [Singing]

         Do me right,
         And dub me knight.
           Samingo.

    Is't not so?
  FALSTAFF. 'Tis so.
  SILENCE. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.

                        Re-enter DAVY

  DAVY. An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come from
the
    court with news.
  FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in.

                        Enter PISTOL

    How now, Pistol?
  PISTOL. Sir John, God save you!
  FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol?
  PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet
knight,
    thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.
  SILENCE. By'r lady, I think 'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson.
  PISTOL. Puff!
    Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
    Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
    And helter-skelter have I rode to thee;
    And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
    And golden times, and happy news of price.
  FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this
world.
  PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base!
    I speak of Africa and golden joys.
  FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
    Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.
  SILENCE.  [Singing]  And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John.
  PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
    And shall good news be baffled?
    Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.
  SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
  PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore.
  SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from
the
    court, I take it there's but two ways--either to utter them
or
    conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority.
  PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die.
  SHALLOW. Under King Harry.
  PISTOL. Harry the Fourth--or Fifth?
  SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth.
  PISTOL. A foutra for thine office!
    Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King;
    Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth.
    When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like
    The bragging Spaniard.
  FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead?
  PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just.
  FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert
Shallow,
    choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol,
I
    will double-charge thee with dignities.
  BARDOLPH. O joyful day!
    I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.
  PISTOL. What, I do bring good news?
  FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord
    Shallow, be what thou wilt--I am Fortune's steward. Get on
thy
    boots; we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!
    [Exit BARDOLPH]  Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal
    devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master
Shallow!
    I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man's
    horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed
are
    they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief
Justice!
  PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
    'Where is the life that late I led?' say they.
    Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!         Exeunt




SCENE IV.
London. A street

Enter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET

  HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might
die,
    that I might have thee hang'd. Thou hast drawn my shoulder
out of
    joint.
  FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and
she
    shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath
been
    a man or two lately kill'd about her.
  DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee
what,
    thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with
do
    miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou
    paper-fac'd villain.
  HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make
this a
    bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb
    miscarry!
  FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions
again;
    you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me;
for
    the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.
  DOLL. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have
you
    as soundly swing'd for this--you blue-bottle rogue, you
filthy
    famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear
    half-kirtles.
  FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
  HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might!
    Well, of sufferance comes ease.
  DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.
  HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound.
  DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones!
  HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou!
  DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal!
  FIRST BEADLE. Very well.                                Exeunt




SCENE V.
Westminster. Near the Abbey

Enter GROOMS, strewing rushes

  FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes!
  SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice.
  THIRD GROOM. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the
    coronation. Dispatch, dispatch.                       Exeunt

        Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass
       over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW,
                  PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page

  FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make
the
    King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and
do
    but mark the countenance that he will give me.
  PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight!
  FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me.  [To SHALLOW]  O,
if
    I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed
the
    thousand pound I borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter; this
poor
    show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him.

  SHALLOW. It doth so.
  FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection-
  SHALLOW. It doth so.
  FALSTAFF. My devotion--
  SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth.
  FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to
deliberate,
    not to remember, not to have patience to shift me--
  SHALLOW. It is best, certain.
  FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with
    desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all
affairs
    else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done
but to
    see him.
  PISTOL. 'Tis 'semper idem' for 'obsque hoc nihil est.' 'Tis all
in
    every part.
  SHALLOW. 'Tis so, indeed.
  PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver
    And make thee rage.
    Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
    Is in base durance and contagious prison;
    Hal'd thither
    By most mechanical and dirty hand.
    Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake,
    For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.
  FALSTAFF. I will deliver her.
                         [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound]
  PISTOL. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.

        Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
                               among them

  FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal!
  PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of
fame!
  FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy!
  KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you
speak?
  FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
  KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
    How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
    I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
    So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane;
    But being awak'd, I do despise my dream.
    Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
    Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
    For thee thrice wider than for other men--
    Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;
    Presume not that I am the thing I was,
    For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
    That I have turn'd away my former self;
    So will I those that kept me company.
    When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
    Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
    The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
    Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
    As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
    Not to come near our person by ten mile.
    For competence of life I will allow you,
    That lack of means enforce you not to evils;
    And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
    We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
    Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
    To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
    Set on.                        Exeunt the KING and his train
  FALSTAFF. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.
  SHALLOW. Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me
have
    home with me.
  FALSTAFF. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve
at
    this; I shall be sent for in private to him. Look you, he
must
    seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancements; I will be
the
    man yet that shall make you great.
  SHALLOW. I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your
doublet,
    and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John,
let me
    have five hundred of my thousand.
  FALSTAFF. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you
heard
    was but a colour.
  SHALLOW. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.
  FALSTAFF. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come,
Lieutenant
    Pistol; come, Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night.

            Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE,
                            with officers

  CHIEF JUSTICE. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet;
    Take all his company along with him.
  FALSTAFF. My lord, my lord--
  CHIEF JUSTICE. I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon.
    Take them away.
  PISTOL. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta.
           Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
  PRINCE JOHN. I like this fair proceeding of the King's.
    He hath intent his wonted followers
    Shall all be very well provided for;
    But all are banish'd till their conversations
    Appear more wise and modest to the world.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. And so they are.
  PRINCE JOHN. The King hath call'd his parliament, my lord.
  CHIEF JUSTICE. He hath.
  PRINCE JOHN. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,
    We bear our civil swords and native fire
    As far as France. I heard a bird so sing,
    Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the King.
    Come, will you hence?                                 Exeunt

EPILOGUE
                           EPILOGUE.

  First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your
displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your
pardons.
If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have
to say
is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I
doubt,
prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the
venture.
Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the
end
of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to
promise you
a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if like an
ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle
creditors, lose. Here I promis'd you I would be, and here I
commit
my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some,
and,
as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel down
before
you--but, indeed, to pray for the Queen.
  If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command
me to
use my legs? And yet that were but light payment--to dance out of
your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible
satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have
forgiven
me. If the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do not agree
with
the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly.
  One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloy'd
with fat
meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in
it, and make you merry with fair Katherine of France; where, for
anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already 'a
be
killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr and
this
is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will
bid
you good night.


THE END





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End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, The Second Part
of King Henry IV