The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd

care,

Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's
blood;

No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 8
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore,
friends,

As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,-
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 20
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,-

And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight; when all athwart there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; 37
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
And a thousand of his people butchered;
Upon whose dead corpse' there was such misuse,
Such beastly shameless transformation
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be
Without much shame re-told or spoken of.
K. Hen. It seems then that the tidings of
this broil

The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, 68

Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains: of prisoners Hotspur took

Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas, and the Earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an honourable spoil?

A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? West. In faith,

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

SCENE II.-The Same. An Apartment of the PRINCE'S.

Enter the PRINCE and FALSTAFF.

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? Prince. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon and the 76 seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, 'that wandering knight so fair.' And, I prithee, sweet

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad and wag, when thou art king,-as, God save thy

mak'st me sin

In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son,
A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O! that it could be prov'd
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 88
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet.
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts. What think

you, coz,

Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, 92
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd,
To his own use he keeps, and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is
Worcester,

Grace,-majesty, I should say, for grace thou wilt have none,—

Prince. What! none?

Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by;' talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and and spent with crying 'Bring in:' now in as yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. out in the streets, and no man regards it. 100 Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And Fal. O! thou hast damnable iteration, and is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast wench? 46 done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak robe of durance? 49 truly, little better than one of the wicked. I Fal. How now, how now, mad wag! what, must give over this life, and I will give it over; in thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain: I'll be have I to do with a buff jerkin? 52 damned for never a king's son in Christendom. Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

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

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

56 Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

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

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

III

Fal. Zounds! where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me a villain and baffle me. Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying to purse-taking. 115

Enter POINS, at a distance.

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

Fal. Yea, and so used it that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king, and resoluto tion thus fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 70

Prince. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. 73 Prince. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman. 76

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

Prince. For obtaining of suits?

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. 84 Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? 88

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavory similes, and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince; but, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet he

Prince. Good morrow, Ned.

122

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sackand-Sugar? Jack! how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on GoodFriday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?

129

Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs: he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

Prince. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

136

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

147

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone: I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go. 168 Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap. 175 Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. 185

Prince. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but we'll set upon them. 193 Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. 196 Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our vizards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to inmask our noted outward garments.

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

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this

The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world, 221
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 225
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time when men think least I will.
[Exit.

SCENE III.-The Same. The Palace.

229

232

237

Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us; when we need
Your use and counsel we shall send for you. 21
[Exit WORCESTER.
[TO NORTHUMBERLAND.] You were about to
speak.

North. Yea, my good lord.

Those prisoners in your highness' name de-
manded,

Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 24
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deliver'd to your majesty:
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault and not my son.

He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good
my lord,

Whatever Harry Percy then had said
To such a person and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
But with proviso and exception,
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
28 The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower,
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 85
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears,
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 89
For I shall never hold that man my friend
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners:
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 32
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly
dress'd,

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose and took't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff: and still he smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

Hot. Revolted Mortimer!

Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
Three times they breath'd and three times did
they drink,

108

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood,
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 104
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did base and rotten policy
Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.
K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou
dost belie him:

He never did encounter with Glendower:
I tell thee,

112

He durst as well have met the devil alone 116

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