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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare The First Part of King Henry the Fourth

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SCENE.--England and Wales.

ACT I. Scene I.
London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland,
[Sir Walter Blunt,] with others.

King. So shaken as we are, so wan with 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 flow'rets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks
March all one way and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ-
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight-
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our Council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight; when all athwart there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
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 retold or spoken of.
King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the North, and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery
And shape of likelihood the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.
King. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son
To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
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.
King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son-
A son who is the theme of honour's tongue,
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride;
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners
Which he in this adventure hath 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 Worcester,
Malevolent to you In all aspects,
Which makes him prune himself and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.
King. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords;
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will my liege. Exeunt.

Scene II.
London. An apartment of the Prince's.

Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John 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
noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which
wouldest truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the
of the day, Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes
and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of
houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in
flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be
superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses
by the moon And the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that
wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou
king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace
wilt have none-
Prince. What, none?
Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue
an egg and butter.
Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us
are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the
beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade,
Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good
government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and
mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
fortune of
us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea,
governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a
of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most
dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay
and spent with crying 'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as
foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the
of the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess
the tavern a most sweet wench?
Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is
a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?
Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy
quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?
Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the
Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and
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;
where it would not, I have used my credit.
Fal. Yea, and so us'd it that, were it not here apparent that
art heir apparent- But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be
gallows standing in England when thou art king? and
thus fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic
law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
Prince. No; thou shalt.
Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the
hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour
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
wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a
Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor
Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the
comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I
trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I
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,
but I mark'd him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I
regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street
Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets,
no man regards it.
Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to
corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal- God
forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing;
now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one
the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it
By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain! I'll be damn'd for
never a king's son in Christendom.
Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not,
me villain and baffle me.
Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to
labour in his vocation.

Enter Poins.

Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if
were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough
him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried
to a true man.
Prince. Good morrow, Ned.
Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What

says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and
about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for
cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?
Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his
bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will
the devil his due.
Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the
Prince. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury
rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses.
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
not, tarry at home and be hang'd!
Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang
for going.
Poins. You will, chops?
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?
Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in
nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal if thou darest not
for ten shillings.
Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
Fal. Why, that's well said.
Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
Prince. I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I
lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall
Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the
of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he
may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation
prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want
countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap.
Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown
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
have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head
from my shoulders.
Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint
a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail;
then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our
horses, by
our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the
wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,
sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our
noted outward garments.
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 turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight
longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of
this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same
rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at
he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he
endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.
Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things
and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit.
Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to lie himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glitt'ring 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.
London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter
with others.

King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me, for accordingly
You tread upon my patience; but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-
And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. My lord-
King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
Danger and disobedience in thine eye.
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need
'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak.
North. Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your Highness' name demanded
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is delivered to your Majesty.
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff; and still he smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pest'red with a popingay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-
He should, or he should not; for he made me mad
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman
Of guns and drums and wounds- God save the mark!-
And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth
Was parmacity for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered 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 considered, good my lord,
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
But with proviso and exception,
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve!
For I shall never hold that man my friend
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer?
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war. To prove that true
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.
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 not him be slandered with revolt.
King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him!
He never did encounter with Glendower.
I tell thee
He durst as well have met the devil alone
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.-
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train]
Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight
And tell him so; for I will else my heart,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.
Here comes your uncle.

Enter Worcester.

Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul
Want mercy if I do not join with him!
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.
North. Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.
Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
Hot. He will (forsooth) have all my prisoners;
And when I urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
North. He was; I heard the proclamation.
And then it was when the unhappy King
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition;
From whence he intercepted did return
To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.
Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of.
Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?
North. He did; myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murtherous subornation- shall it be
That you a world of curses undergo,
Being the agents or base second means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
O, pardon me that I descend so low
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtile king!
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
(As both of you, God pardon it! have done)
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again;
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud king, who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore I say-
Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;
And now, I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim!
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it from the north to south,
And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fadom line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without corrival all her dignities;
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Wor. Those same noble Scots
That are your prisoners-
Hot. I'll keep them all.
By God, he shall not have a Scot of them!
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.
I'll keep them, by this hand!
Wor. You start away.
And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Hot. Nay, I will! That is flat!
He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holloa 'Mortimer.'
I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
To keep his anger still in motion.
Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word.
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-
But that I think his father loves him not
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time- what do you call the place-
A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-
'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-
'S blood!
When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-
North. At Berkeley Castle.
Hot. You say true.
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,'
And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'-
O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me!
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again.
We will stay your leisure.
Hot. I have done, i' faith.
Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,
The Archbishop.
Hot. Of York, is it not?
Wor. True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation,
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well.
North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip.
Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.
And then the power of Scotland and of York
To join with Mortimer, ha?
Wor. And so they shall.
Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
To save our heads by raising of a head;
For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt,
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And see already how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love.
Hot. He does, he does! We'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this
Than I by letters shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!


ACT II. Scene I.
Rochester. An inn yard.

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.

1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.
Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not
pack'd.- What, ostler!
Ost. [within] Anon, anon.
1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in
point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier.

2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is
next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned
down since Robin Ostler died.
1. Car. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose.
was the death of him.
2. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London
for fleas. I am stung like a tench.
1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king
could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we
leak in
your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away!
2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be
delivered as far as Charing Cross.
1. Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite
What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy
head? Canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink to
break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be
Hast no faith in thee?

Enter Gadshill.

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
1. Car. I think it be two o'clock.
Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the
1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that,
i' faith.
Gads. I pray thee lend me thine.
2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he?
I'll see thee hang'd first!
Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?
2. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.
Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will
along with company, for they have great charge.
Exeunt [Carriers].
Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!

Enter Chamberlain.

Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse.
Gads. That's even as fair as- 'at hand, quoth the chamberlain';
thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving
doth from labouring: thou layest the plot how.
Cham. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I
you yesternight. There's a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath
brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him
tell it
to one of his company last night at supper- a kind of
one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They
up already and call for eggs and butter. They will away
Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks,
give thee this neck.
Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the
for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man
falsehood may.
Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll
a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with
and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other
Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake
content to do the profession some grace; that would (if
should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all
I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny
strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms;
with nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters and great
such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak,
speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet,
zounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the

commonwealth, or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her,
they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.
Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out
in foul way?
Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal
as in
a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk
Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the
than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our
purchase, as
I and a true man.
Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy

Scene II.
The highway near Gadshill.

Enter Prince and Poins.

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse,
he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
Prince. Stand close. [They step aside.]

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!
Prince. I comes forward i' peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What
brawling dost thou keep!
Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek
[Steps aside.]
Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal
removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel
four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind.
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his
hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am
with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not
else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you
Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to
these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a
tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten
afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well
enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to
another! (They whistle.) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me
horse, you rogues! give me my horse and be hang'd!
Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?
I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the
in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me
Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good
Prince. Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler?
Fal. Go hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I
ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you
all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my
When a jest is so forward- and afoot too- I hate it.

Enter Gadshill, [Bardolph and Peto with him].

Gads. Stand!
Fal. So I do, against my will.
Poins. [comes fortward] O, 'tis our setter. I know his voice.
Bardolph, what news?
Bar. Case ye, case ye! On with your vizards! There's money of
King's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the King's
Fal. You lie, ye rogue! 'Tis going to the King's tavern.
Gads. There's enough to make us all.
Fal. To be hang'd.
Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned
Poins and I will walk lower. If they scape from your
then they light on us.
Peto. How many be there of them?
Gads. Some eight or ten.
Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us?
Prince. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet
coward, Hal.
Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof.
Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When
need'st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell and stand
Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd.
Prince. [aside to Poins] Ned, where are our disguises?
Poins. [aside to Prince] Here, hard by. Stand close.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.]
Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man
his business.

Enter the Travellers.

Traveller. Come, neighbour.
The boy shall lead our horses down the hill;
We'll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.
Thieves. Stand!
Traveller. Jesus bless us!
Fal. Strike! down with them! cut the villains' throats! Ah,
whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth.
with them! fleece them!
Traveller. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!
Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat
I would your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves!
young men must live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We'll jure
Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt.

Enter the Prince and Poins [in buckram suits].

Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and
rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be
for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
Poins. Stand close! I hear them coming.
[They stand aside.]

Enter the Thieves again.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before
An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no
equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins than in
wild duck.

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
them. They all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or
two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.]

Prince. Your money!
Poins. Villains!

Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse.
The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear
So strongly that they dare not meet each other.
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death
And lards the lean earth as he walks along.
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd! Exeunt.

Scene III.
Warkworth Castle.

Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter.

Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well
contented to
be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could
contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he
our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than
loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you
is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a
cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out
this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The
you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named
the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for
counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you
I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and
lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a
plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good
plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent
very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why,
Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the

action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen
Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next
and are they not some of them set forward already? What a
rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very
sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay
all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to
for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an
Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night.

Enter his Lady.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho!

[Enter a Servant.]

Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
[Exit Servant.]
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse!
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are toss'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry; that I will!
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title and hath sent for you
To line his enterprise; but if you go-
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly unto this question that I ask.
I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell my all things true.
Hot. Away.
Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
Lady. Do you not love me? do you not indeed?
Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a-horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate:
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must; and to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no farther wise
Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are,
But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
No lady closer, for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Lady. How? so far?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
Will this content you, Kate?
Lady. It must of force. Exeunt.

Scene IV.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Prince and Poins.

Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy
to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers
can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and
Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that,
I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and
me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian,
lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!),
when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when
you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you
play it
off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of
hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that
wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten
name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd
now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake
English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and
are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir!
a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to
away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in
by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave
the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis!' that
tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon!' Step aside, and I'll
thee a precedent.
Poins. Francis!
Prince. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins.]

Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Prince. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord?
Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of
pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play
coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels
run from it?
Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England
could find in my heart-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir.
Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest
'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when
wilt, and, thou shalt have it.
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.
Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
Fran. My lord?
Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for
you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In
sir, it cannot come to so much.
Fran. What, sir?
Poins. [within] Francis!
Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?
Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed,
not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling?
to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John,
half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
[Exit Vintner.]
Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.

Enter Poins.

Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the
door. Shall we be merry?
Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning
match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come,
the issue?
Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves
since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
present this twelve o'clock at midnight.

[Enter Francis.]

What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit.]
Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs
downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not
of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me
six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands,
says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O
sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou kill'd to-day?'
'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some
fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee
call in
Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play
Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs,
in tallow.

Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
Francis follows with wine].

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry
amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long,
sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague
all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue
He drinketh.
Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the
If thou didst, then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing
roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse
a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy
old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be
forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten
There lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one
them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world,
say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or
anything. A
plague of all cowards I say still!
Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you?
Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom
with a
dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a
of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You
of Wales?
Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
Lord, I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee
coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast
thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you
not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your
friends? A
plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.
Give me
a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou
Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all
still say I.
Prince. What's the matter?
Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
thousand pound this day morning.
Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four
Prince. What, a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight
thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler
through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce
I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A
plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or
than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
Gads. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
else- an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon
Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
Prince. What, fought you with them all?
Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not
fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two
three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd
Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them.
I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell
what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me
Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made
no more ado but took all their seven points in my target,
Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
Fal. In buckram?
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in
that I told thee of-
Prince. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken-
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves
Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was
dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them-
gross as
a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the
Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green
it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us
reason. What sayest thou to this?
Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado
all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on
Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful
blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,
Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge
of flesh-
Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath
utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when
hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but
Poins. Mark, Jack.
Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and
masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put
down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word,
you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you
in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as
nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and
run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art
to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in
fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou
find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?
Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why,
you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent?
I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as
valiant as
Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the
prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee,
during my
life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap
the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads,
hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to
What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

Enter Hostess.

Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send
back again to my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he?
Host. An old man.
Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give
his answer?
Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you,
Peto; so
did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon
you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!
Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would
truth out of England but he would make you believe it was
done in
fight, and persuaded us to do the like.
Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear
was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven
before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast
extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet
ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
Prince. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend?
Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.

Enter Falstaff.

Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou
thine own knee?
Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It
blows a
man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here
Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the
morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer
and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a
hook- what a plague call you him?
Poins. O, Glendower.
Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old
Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas,
runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-
Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
sparrow flying.
Fal. You have hit it.
Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a
Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n
to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news;
may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and
civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
hobnails, by the hundreds.
Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall
good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou
afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee
three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly
Doth not thy blood thrill at it?
Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou
comest to
thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this
dagger my
sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden
for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a
bald crown.
Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now
thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look
that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in
and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.
Prince. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players
ever I see!
Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I
not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how
art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is
on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted,
sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy
word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point:
being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed
sun of
heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to
ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take
purses? A
question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou
often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the
of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth
so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not
to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in
not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a
man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not
Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a
look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I
his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore;
now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should
lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in
looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the
by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue
that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me
thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?
Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and
play my father.
Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so
both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.
Prince. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for
young prince, i' faith.
Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on
Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man
thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his
that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian,
vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat
wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in
wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
Prince. I know thou dost.
Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to
more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his
hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a
God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then
an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be
then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet
Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant
Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old
Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him
Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.]
[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]

Enter Bardolph, running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous
is at the door.
Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in
behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter the Hostess.

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
What's the matter?
Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are
to search the house. Shall I let them in?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if
let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man,
plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
with a halter as another.
Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and
I'll hide me. Exit.
Prince. Call in the sheriff.
[Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.]

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.
Prince. What men?
Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
A gross fat man.
Carrier. As fat as butter.
Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
Exit [with Carrier].
Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call
Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like
Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
What hast thou found?
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.

Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii
Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii
Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii
Item, Anchovies and sack after supper. ii s. vi
Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this
intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close;
read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll
the court in the morning. We must all to the wars. and thy
shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score.
money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me
in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.
Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.


ACT III. Scene I.
Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.
Glend. No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.
Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glend. I cannot blame him. At my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
Of burning cressets, and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your
mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been
Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth and topples down
Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth
Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature,
In passion shook.
Glend. Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
Which calls me pupil or hath read to me?
And bring him out that is but woman's son
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
And hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come when you do call for them?
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil-
By telling truth. Tell truth and shame the devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!
Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

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