( PDF ) Second Party of King Henry IV

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Second Party ofSecond Party of

King Henry IVKing Henry IV

by William Shakespeare

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Second Part of King Henry IV

by William Shakespeare

1598

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

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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

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.

(Exit0

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.

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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)

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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, an 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 safet y, 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

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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)

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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.

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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.

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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

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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 on 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.

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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

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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)

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.

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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 as 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 llings? 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

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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 uty rememb'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to

you I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty ployment 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?

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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

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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.

SecondDrawer. — 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 na excellent stratagem.

SecondDrawer. 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. [Singing] — 'When Arthur first in court'- Empty the jordan.

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[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)

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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

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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)

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)

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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)

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)

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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?

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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

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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

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(Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; afterwards, the Archbishop, Hastings, and

others; from the other side, Prince Johnof 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)

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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?

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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

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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

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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?

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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 eming 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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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 JohnOF 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 l ord.

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)

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.

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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)

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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.

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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

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(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'R crack a quart together ha! will you not, Master

Bardolph?

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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.

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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.

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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!

SecondGroom. — 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]

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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)

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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

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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