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William g>jafee0peate, 












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The Life and Death of King Richard II.] But thk 
history comprises little more than the two last years of this 
prince. The action of the drama begins with Bolinghroke's 
appealing the Duke of Norfolk, on an accusation of high 
treason, which fell out in the year 13.98 ; and it closes with 
the murder of King Richard at Pomfret Castle towards the 
end of the year 1400, or the beginning of the ensuing year. 


It is evident from a passage in Camden's y/wwa/.y, that there 
was an old play on the subject of Richard the Second ; but 
I know not in what language. Sir Gillie Merick, Avho was 
concerned in the hare-brained business of the Earl of Essex, 
who was hanged for it, with the ingenious CufFe, in 1601, 
is accused, amongst other things, *' quod exoletam tragce 
diam de tragic^ abdicatione regis Ricardi Secundi in publico 
theatro coram conjuratis dat^ pecuni^ agi curasset." 

I have since met with a passage in my Lord Bacon, which 
proves this play to have been in English. It is in the arraign- 
ments of Cuffe and Merick, Vol. IV. p. 412. of Mallet's edi- 
tion : " The afternoon before the rebellion, Merick, with a 
great company of others, that afterwards were all in the 
action, had procured to be played before them the play of 

deposing King Richard the Second: when it told liim 

by one of the players, that the play was old, and they should 
have loss in playing it, because few would come to it, there 
was forty shillings extraordinary given to pl.'ty, and so there- 
upon played it was." 

It may be worth enquiry, whether some of the rhyming 
parts of the present play, which Mr. Pope thought of a dif- 
ferent hand, might not be borrowed from the old one. Cer- 
tainly, however, the general tendency of it must have been 
very different; since, as Dr. Johnson observes, there are some 
expressions in this of Shakespeare, which strongly inculcate 
the doctrine of indefeasible right. Farmer. 

Bacon elsewhere glances at the same transaction : " And 
for your comparison with Richard II. I see you follow the 
example of them that brought him upon the stage, and 
into print in Queen Elizabeth's time" iVorks, Vol. IV. 
p. 278. The partizans of Essex had, therefore, procured the 
publication as well as the acting of this play. 

Holt White. 

It is probable, I think, that the play which Sir Gilly Merick 
procured to be represented, bore the title of Henry IV. 
and not of Richard II. 

Camden calls it — " exoletam tragediam de tragica abdi- 
catione regis Ricardi secundi ;" and (Lord Bacon in his ac- 
count of The Effect of that which passed at the arraignment 
of Merick and others,) says : *' That the afternoon before 
the rebellion, Merick had procured to be played before them, 
the play of deposing King Richard the Second" But in a 
more particular account of the proceeding against Merick, 
which is printed in the State Trials, Vol. VII. p. 60, the 
matter is stated thus : " The story of Henri/ IV. being set 
forth in a play, and in that play there being set forth the 
killing of the king upon a stage ; the Friday before, Sir Gilly 
Merick and some others of the earl's train having an humour 
to see a play, they must needs have The Play of Henry IV. 
The players told them that was stale ; they should get no- 
thing by playing that ; but no play else would serve : and 
Sir Gilly Merick gives forty shillings to Philips the player 
to play this, besides whatsoever he could get." 

Augustine Philippes was one of the patentees of the Globe 
playhouse with Shakespeare, in 1603 ; but the play here de- 
scribed was certainly not Shakespeare's Henry IV. as that 
commences above a year after the death of Richard. 


This play of Shakespeare was first entered at Stationers* 
Hall by Andrew Vl^ise, Aug. 29, 1597. Steevens. 

it was written, I imagine, in the same year. Malone. 


'King Richard the Second. 

Edmund o/Langley, duke o/York; > ^ ^ 

John 0/ Gaunt, duke of Lancaster ; S ""^'^* ''' ''^ *'"^- 
Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, duke of Hereford, son ta 

John of Gaunt ; afterwards King Henry IV. 
Duke o/" AuMERLE, son to the duke of York, 
Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Surrey. 
Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkley. 

BUSHV, "1 

Bagot, > creatures to King Richard. 

Green, J 

Earl of Northumberland : Henry Percy, his son. 

Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord FiTzwATER. 

Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. 

Lord Marshal: and another Lord. 

Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. 

Captain of a band of Welchmen. 

Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess of Gloster. 
Duchess of York. 
Lady attending on the queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, 
Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, dispersedly m England and Wale*. 




SCENE I. — London. A room in the palace. 

Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt^ and 
other nobleSy with him. 

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band. 
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal. 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear. 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 

Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him,'' 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
Or worthily as a good subject should. 
On some, known ground of treachery in him ? 

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
ment, — 
On some apparent danger seen in him, 
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 


K. Rkh. Then call them to our presence 3 face to face 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
Th' accuser, and th' accused, freely speak : — 

[Exeunt some Attendants 
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire. 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and Norfolk. 

Baling. May many years of happy days befal 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving litge ! 

Nor. Each day still better other's happiness j 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap. 
Add an immortal title to your crown ! 

K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flatters us 
As well appeareth by the cause you come 3 
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 

Baling . First, (heaven be the record to my speech!) 
In the devotion, of a subject's love. 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince. 
And free from other misbegotten hate. 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do 1 turn to thee. 
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak. 
My body shall make good upon this earth. 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ; 
Too good to be so, and too bad to live; 
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat 5 


And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move. 
What my tongue speaks, my right-dravv^n sword may 

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this. 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast. 
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: 
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech j 
Which else would post, until it had return'd 
These terms of treason doubled down liis throat. 
Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at himj 
Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain : 
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; 
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable 
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 

Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my 
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king j 
And lay aside my high blood's royalty, 
W^hich fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. 
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength. 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop j 
By that, and all the rites of knighthood elac. 


TJ^l I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 

Nor. I take it up j and, by that sword I swear. 
Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, 
I'll answer thee in any fair degree. 
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: 
And, when I mount, alive may I not light, 
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! 

K. Rich. Wliat doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
charge ? 
It must be great, that can inherit us 
So much as of a thought of ill in him. -' 

Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it 
true J — 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles. 
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ; 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments. 
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — 
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye,'— 
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land. 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
Further I say, — and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death j 
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries j 
And, consequently, like a traitor coward, 
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood i 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries. 
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth. 
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement} 


And. by the glorious worth of my descent. 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars !— • 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 

Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face. 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf. 
Till I have told this slander of his blood. 
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and ears: 
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
(As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow. 
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upright ^oul ; 
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou j 
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou lie&t! 
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers : 
The other part reserv'd I by consent; 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt. 
Upon remainder of a dear account. 
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 

Now swallow down that lie, For Gloster's death,— 

I slew him not; but to my own disgrace. 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
The honourable father to my foe. 
Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex ray grieved soul: 
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament. 

10 KING RICHARD II. act i 

I did confess itj and exactly begg'd 

Vour grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 

This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd. 

It issues from the rancour of a villain, 

A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 

Which in myself I boldly will defend j 

And interchangeably hurl down my gage 

Upon this overweening traitor's foot. 

To prove myself a loyal gentleman 

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : 

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 

Your highness to assign our trial day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by mej 
Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
This we prescribe though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
Forget, forgive 5 conclude, and be agreed 5 
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun j 
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age:-— 
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry? when? 

Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolkjthrow down j we bid ; there is no boot. 

Nor. Myself I throw, di*ead sovereign, at thy foot : 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name, 
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ; 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear j 


The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood . 

Give me his gage: — Lions make leopards tame. 

Nor. Yea, but not change their spots : take but my 
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord. 
The purest treasure mortal times a£Ford, 
Is — spotless reputation, that away. 
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done : 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me tiy; 
In that I live, and for that will I die. 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you begin 
Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin ! 
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight ? 
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 
Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue 
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear j 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace. 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. 

[Exit Gaunt 
K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day; 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swelling difference of your settled hate j 

n KING RICHAUD II. act i. 

Since we cannot atone you, we shall see 

Justice design the victor's chivah'v. — 

Marshal, command our officers at arms 

Be ready to direct these home-alarms. lExeunt, 

SCENE ll.^The same. A room in the Duke of 
Lancaster's palace. 

Enter GaIjnt, and Duchess of Gloster. 

Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims. 
To stir against the butchers of his life. 
But since correction lieth in those hands. 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct. 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven j 
Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth. 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one. 
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood. 
Or seven fair branches springing fiom one root: 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's coui"se. 
Some of those branches by the destinies cut: 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — • 
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded. 
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine j that bed, that womb 
That mettle, that self -mould, that fashion'd thee. 
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and breath'si 


Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
In some large measure to thy father's death. 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die. 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair : 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
Tl\ou show'st the naked pathway to thy life. 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: 
That which in mean men we entitle — patience. 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life. 
The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 

Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's substitute. 
His deputy anointed in his sight. 
Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully. 
Let heaven revenge j for I may never lift 
An angiy arm against his minister. 

Duck. Where then, alas ! may I complain myself ? 

Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence 

Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
0\\v cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear. 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
That they may break his foaming courser's baok. 
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant^to my cousin Hereford! 
vFarewell, old Gaimt; thy sometimes brother's wife. 
With her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : 
As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 


Duch. Yet one word more 3 — Grief boundeth where 
it falls, 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
I take my leave before I have begun j 
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all: — Nay, yet depart not so; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go j 
I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what? — 
With all good speed at Plashy visit me. 
Alack, and what shall good old York there see. 
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls. 
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? 
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? 
Therefore commend me; let him not come there. 
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : 
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; 
JThe last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. {_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry 

Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, ^c. attending. 

Enter the Lord Marshal, and Aumerle. 

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd> 

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. 

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold. 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

y^um. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. 

FUmrish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes 
his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several Noblemen 
who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and an* 


swered by another trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk 
in armour^, preceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the justice of his cause. 

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art. 
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms : 
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ; 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath 3 
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! 

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !) 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth. 
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue. 
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me ; 
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm. 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

[He takes his seat. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour; pr€' 
ceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms. 
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
Thus plated in habiliments of war j 
And formally according to our law 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. 

Mar What is thy name ? and wherefore com'st thou 

16 KING RICHARD II. act h 

Before King Richard, in his royal lists ? 

Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy quarrel? 

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Am 1 3 who ready here do stand in arms. 
To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour. 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk, ^ 

T^hat he's a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me; 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! 

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, 
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
Except the marshal, and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's handj 
And bow my knee before his majesty : 
For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage 3 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave. 
And loving farewell, of our several friends. 

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness. 
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. 

K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed. 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 

Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear ; 
As confident, as is the falcon's flight 

Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 

My loving lord^ [To Lord Marshal.] I take my leave of 
you;— ^ 


Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — 

Not sick, although I have to do with death ; 

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.—— 

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: 

O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — [To Gaunt. 

Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate. 

Doth with a two -fold vigour lift me up 

To reach at victory above my head, — 

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers j 

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point. 

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat. 

And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 

Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prospe- 
rous ! 
Be swift like lightning in the execution ; 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
Fall Hke amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 

Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive! 

[He takes his seat. 

Nor. [Ruling.'] However heaven, or fortune, cast my lot. 
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman : 
Never did captive with a freer heart 
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement. 
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle vvitli mine adversary. — 
Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers,— 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: 

13 KING RICHARD II. act x. 

As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 
Go I to fight J Truth hath a quiet breast. 
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 

Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 

Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

IThe King and the I^ords return to their seats 
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 

Baling . [Rising^ Strong as a tower in hope, I cry — 

Mar. Go bear this lance \To an officer^ to Thomas 
duke of Norfolk. 

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 

To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
A traitor to his God, his king, and him. 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of 

On pain to be found false and recreant. 
Both to defend himself, and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal j 
Courageously, and with a free desire. 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Mar. Sound, trumpets j and set forward, combatants 

[A charge sounded 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 

K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
And both return back to their chairs again :— 
Withdraw with us: — and let the trumpets sound. 


While we return these dukes what we decree.— 

lA long flourish 
Draw near, [To the combatants 

And list, what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swordsi 
TAnd for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts. 
With rival-hating envy, set you on 
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep j] 
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums^ 
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms. 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace. 
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood j— 

Therefore, we banish you our territories : 

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death. 
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields. 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 

Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,— 
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me 5 
And those his golden beams, to you here lent. 
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom. 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 
The fly-slow hours shall not determinate 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — 
The hopeless word of — never to return 
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 

20 KING RICHARD II. act i 

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege. 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air. 
Have I deserved at your highness' hand. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years. 
My native English, now I must forego : 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more. 
Than an unstringed viol or a harp ; 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up. 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue. 
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lipsj 
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse. 
Too far in years to be a pupil nowj 
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death. 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath ? 

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 

Nor. Then thus I turn riie from my country's light. 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. 

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; 
Swear by the duty that vou owe to heaven, 
(Our part therein we ^^anish with yourselves,) 
To keep the oath that we administer: — 
You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!) 
Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 
Nor never look upon each other's face ; 
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 


This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate j 
Nor never by advised purpose meet. 
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Boling. I swear. 

Nor. And I, to keep all this. 

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy j— 
By this time, had the king permitted us. 
One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along v 

The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 

Nor. No, Bolingbroke j if ever I were traitor. 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence ! 
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know 5 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
Farewell, my liege: — Now no way can I stray j 
Save back to England, all the world's my way. lExit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
Pluck'd four awayj — Six frozen winters s])ent. 
Return [To Boling.] with welcome home from banish- 

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs. 
End in a word ; Such is the breath of kings* 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me. 
He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby j 


For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, 

Can change their moons, and bring their times about 

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light. 

Shall be extinct with age, and endless night 3 

My inch of taper will be burnt and done. 

And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give : 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age. 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage j 
Thy word is current with him for my death ; 
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice. 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave -, 
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? 

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour 
You urg'd me as a judge j but I had rather. 
You would have bid me argue like a father :— 
O, had it been a stranger, not my child. 
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
A partial slander sought I to avoid. 
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, 
I was too strict, to make mine own away 5 
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue. 
Against my will, to do myself this wrong. 

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell: — and, uncle, bid him so j 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

IFlourish. Exeunt King Richard and train 

Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not know 
From where you do remain, let paper show. 


Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride. 
As far as land will let me, by your side. 

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ? 

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you. 
When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone. 

Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. 

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thqu tak'st for pleasure. 

Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so. 
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of tliy home-return. 

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
Will but remember me, what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love. 
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages; and in the end, 
Hiu ing my freedom, boast of nothing else. 
But that I was a journeyman to grief? 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits. 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not, the king did *banish thee ; 
But thou the king : Woe doth the heavier sit. 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
, Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honour. 


And not — the king exU'd thee : or suppose. 

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 

And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 

Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 

To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: 

Suppose the singing birds, musicians j 

The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence strew'dj 

The flowers, fair ladies j and thy steps, no more 

Than a delightful measure, or a dance : - 

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 

The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 

Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand> 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite. 
By bare imagination of a feast ? 
Or wallow naked in December snow. 
By thinking on fantastick summer's heat? 
O, no ! the apprehension of the good. 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more. 
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy 
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. 

Boling, Then, England's ground, farewell 3 sweet 
soil, adieu; 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! 

Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can, 

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 



SCENE IV. — The same. A room in the king's castle. 

Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green ; Aumerle 

K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his WB.y} 

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so. 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were 

Aum. 'Faith, none by me : except the north-east wind. 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awak'd the sleeping rheum ; and so, by chance. 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted 
with him? 

Aum Farewell: 
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief. 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd ho rs. 
And added years to his short banishment. 
He should have had a volume of farewells 5 
But, since it would not, he had none of me. 

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin j but 'tis doubt. 
When time shall call him home from banishment. 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
Observ'd his courtship to the common people :— 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts. 
With humble and familiar courtesy ) 

VOL. VI ^ 

26 KING RICHARD II. act i 

What reverence he did throw away on slaves j 

Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, 

And patient underbearing of his fortune. 

As 'twere, to banish their affects with him. 

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster- wench j 

A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well. 

And had the tribute of his supple knee. 

With — Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;^-' 

As were our England in reversion his. 

And he our subjects* next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland i— 
Expedient manage must be made, my liege j 
Ere further leisure yield them further means. 
For their advantage, and your highness* loss. 

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. 
And, for our coffers — ^with too gieat a court. 
And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light. 
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand : If that come short. 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters j 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich. 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold. 
And send them after to supply our wants 3 
For we will make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 

Bushy, what news ? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, mylorc^ 
Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste. 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 


K. Rich. Where lies he > 

Bushy. At Ely-house. 

K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind. 
To help him to his grave immediately! 
The lining of his coflfers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.— • 
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! 

, [Exeunt 


SCENE I. — ^London. A room in Ely-house. 

Gavht on a couch; the Duke of Yoilk, and others standing 
by him. 

Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe my 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. 

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with yo ir 
• breath J 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention, like deep harmony: 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; 
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. 
He, that no more must say, is listen'd more 

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose j 
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before : 

The setting sun, and musick at the close. 

as ' KING RICHARD II. act ii 

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; 
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 

York. No 3 it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds 
As, praises of his state : then, there are found 
Lascivious metres j to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen: 
Report of fashions in proud Italy j 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after, in base Imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? 
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose j 
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. 

Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ,• 
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last ; 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves : 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; 
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes,- 
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder : 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle. 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
This fortress, built by nature for herself. 
Against infection, and the hand of war: 
This happy breed of men, this little world; 


This precious stone set in the silver sea. 

Which serves it in the office of a wall. 

Or as a moat defensive to a house. 

Against the envy of less happier lands j 

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England 

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 

Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth. 

Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 

(For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 

As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 

Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son : 

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land. 

Dear for her reputation through the world. 

Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) 

Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : 

England bound in with the triumphant sea. 

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame. 

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; 

That England, that was wont to conquer others. 

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 

O, would the scandal vanish with my life. 

How happy then were my ensuing death ! 

Enter King Richard, and Queen j Aumerle, Bushy, 
Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby. 

York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth) 
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ? 

K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with aged 

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my compositioii ! 
Old Gaunt, indeed ? and gaunt in being old : 

so KING RICHARD II. act ii 

Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; 
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt ? 
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd j 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: 
The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon. 
Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks j 
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
Whose hoUow womb inherits nought but bones. 

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names ? 

Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that 
live ? 

Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. 

K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st — thou flatter' st 

Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. 

Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee illj 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land. 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick : 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee : 
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown. 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head j 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge. 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 


Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons. 

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; 

Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd. 

Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 

It were a shame, to let this land by lease : 

But, for thy world, enjoying but this land. 

Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ? 

Landlord of England art thou now, not king: 

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; 

And thou 

K, Rich. a lunatick lean-witted fool. 

Presuming on an ague's privilege, 

Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 

Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood. 

With fury, from his native residence. 

Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, 

Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son. 
For that I was his father Edward's sonj 
That blood already, like the pelican. 
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : 
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, 
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) 
May be a precedent and witness good. 
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood : 
Join with the present sickness that 1 have j 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!^ 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be !— 

32 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live, that lo\ e and honour have. 

lExit, borne out by his Attendants. 

K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have : 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 

York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. 

K. Rich. Rights you say true : as Hereford's love, so 
his : 
As theirs, so mine^ and all be as it is. 

Enter Northumberland. 

Norih. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your 

K. Rich. What says he now ? 

North. Nay, nothings all is said; 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent, 

York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe, 

K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he j 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: 

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns j 
Which live like venom, where no venom else. 
But only they, hath privilege to live. 
And for these great aifairs do ask some charge. 
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess d. 
• York, How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how .ong 


Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ? 

Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment. 

Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs. 

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace. 

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — 

I am the last of noble Edward's sons. 

Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first j, 

In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce. 

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 

Than was that young and princely gentleman ; 

His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 

AccompUsh'd with the number of thy hours j 

But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, 

And not against his friends : his noble hand 

Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 

Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 

His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood. 

But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 

O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. 

Or else he never would compare between. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 

York. O, my lieg^ 

Pardon me, if you please j if not, I pleas'd 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands. 
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? 
Is not Gaunt dead ? and doth not Hereford live>^ 
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ^ 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take fiom, tin» , 

34 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

His charters, and his customary rights j 

Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; 

Be not thyself, for how art thou a king. 

But by fair sequence and succession ? 

Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!') 

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 

Call in the letters patents that he hath 

By his attornies-general to sue 

His livery, and deny his ofFer'd homage. 

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, 

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 

Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

K. Rich Tnink what you will ; we seize into our hands 
His pxate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 

York. I'll not be by, the while : My liege, farewell : 
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; 
But by bad courses may be understood. 
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight ; 
Bid Aim repair to us to Ely-house, 
To see this business : To-morrow next 
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow; 
And we create, in absence of ourself, 
Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
For he is just, and always lov'd us well. — 
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; 
Be meny, for our time of stay is short. IFlourish. 

lExeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, 
Green, and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 

IVillo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 


North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Ross. My heart is great) but it must break with 
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 

North. Nay, speak thy mind 3 and let him ne'er speak 
That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ? 

Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to th' duke of 
Hereford ? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man; 
Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. 

Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him; 
Unless you call it good, to pity him. 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, 'such wrongs 
are borne. 
In him a royal prince, and many more 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform. 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all. 
That will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'dwith grievous taxes. 
And lost their hearts : the nobles hath he fin'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd ; 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : 
But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? 

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not. 
But basely yielded upon compromise 
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wam 

S6 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. 

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. 

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding. 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails. 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer 5 
And unavoided is the danger now. 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 

North. Not so J even through the hollow eyes of death, 
I spy life peering; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

Willo, Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost 

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
We three are but thyself 3 and, speaking so. 
Thy words are but as thoughts j therefore, be bold. 

North. Then thus : — I have from Port le Blanc, a bay 
In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence. 
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] 
That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, 
Ur John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis 


A.11 tliese well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
H'ith eight tall ships, three thousand men of war. 


Are making hither ^vith all due expedience^ 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay 
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing. 
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown. 
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt. 
And make high majesty look like itself, 
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg : 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. 

Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them that 

TVillo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. 


SCENE II. — The same. A room in the palace. 
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
You promis'd, when you parted with the king, 
To lay aside life-harming heaviness. 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 

Queen. To please the king, I didj to please myself 
I cannot do it j yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief. 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks. 
Some imborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb. 
Is commg towards me; and my inward soul 
With nothing trciribles ; at something it grieves. 
More than with parting from my lord the king. 

38 KING RICHARD 11. act ii 

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows^ 
Which show like grief itself, but are not so : 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears^ 
Divides one thing entire to many objects j 
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon. 
Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry. 
Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty. 
Looking awry upon your lord's departure. 
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail j 
Which, look'd on as it is, is iiought but shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen. 
More than your lord's departure weep not ; more's not 

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye. 
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so -, but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be, 
I cannot but be sad 3 so heavy sad. 
As, — though, in thinking, on no thought I think,— 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit^ my gracious lady. 

Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd 
From some fore-father grief j mine is not so j 
For nothing hath begot my something grief j 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 
'Tis in reversion that I do possess; 
But what it is, that is not yet known j what 
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 

Enter Green. 

Green. God save your majesty!— and well met^ 
gentlemen : — 
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 


Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, he is j 
For his designs cra-e haste, his haste good hopej 
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? 

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope. 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land : 
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
At Ravenspurg. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true : and that is worsej— 
The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy, 
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- 
And all the rest of the revolting faction 
Traitors ? 

Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worcester 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolingbroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe. 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; 
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother. 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me ? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope 3 he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 

40 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life. 
Which false hone lingers in extremity. 

Enter York. 

Green. Here comes the duke of York. 

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; 

O, full of careful business are his looks ! 


For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : 
Comfort's in heaven j and we are on the earth. 
Where notliing lives but crosses, care, and grief. 
Your husband he is gone to save far off. 
Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
Here am I left to underprop his land j 

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 

York. He was ? — Why, so ! — go all which way it will !— 
The nobles they are fled, the commons cold. 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :— 
Hold, take my ring. 

Serv. My lord, 1 had forgot to tell your lordship : 
To-day, as I came by, I called there ; — 
But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 

York. What is it, knave ? 

Serv. An hour before I came, tlie duchess died. 


York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
I know not what to do : — I would to God, 
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) 
The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — 
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland? — 
How shall we do for money for these wars ? — 
Come, sister,— cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me,— - 
Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide 

some carts. 
And brirng away the armour that is there. — 

[Exit Servant. 
Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know 
How, or which way, to order these affairs, 
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands. 
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; 
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend j the other again, 
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ; 
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I'll 
Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men. 
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 

I should to Plashy too ; ^ 

But time will not permit : — All is uneven, 
And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[Exeunt York and Queen. 

Bushij. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power. 
Proportionable to the enemy. 
Is all impossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love. 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

42 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

Bagot, And that's the wavering commons : for their 
Lies in their purses ; and who so empties them. 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. 

Bagot. If judgement lie in them, then so do we. 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle 3 
The earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little office 
The hateful commons will perform for us j 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — 
Will you go along with us ? 

Bagot. No J I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain. 
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling- 

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes 
Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; 
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 

Bushy. Farewell at oncej for once, for all, and ever. 

Green. Well, we may meet again. 

Bagot, I fear me, never. [Exeunt, 

SCENE III.— TVje wilds in Glostershire. 
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with force*, 

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now \ 

North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. 


Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome : 

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar. 

Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 

But, I bethink me, what a weary way 

From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found 

In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company j 

Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 

The tediousness and process of my travel : 

But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 

The present benefit which I possess : 

And hope to joy, is little less in joy. 

Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 

Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath done 

By sight of what I have, your noble company. 

Boling. Of much less value is my company. 
Than your good words. But who comes here? 

Enter Harry Percy. 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.— 
Harry, how fares your uncle ? 

Perq/. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his 
health of you. 

North. Why, is he not with the queen? 

Percy. No, my good lord 3 he hath forsook the court. 
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
The household of the king. 

North. What was his reason ? 

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. 

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor 
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
To offer service to the duke of Hereford} 
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to dbcover 

44 KING RICHARD II. act ii. 

What power the duke of York had levied there j 
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy ? 

Percy. No, my good lord j for that is not forgot. 
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. 

North. Then learn to know him now^ this is the duke. 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service. 
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young 5 
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, 
I count myself in nothing else so happy. 
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends 5 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love. 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 

North. How far is it to Berkley ? And what stir 
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? 

Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men,*as I have heard: 
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour j 
None else of name, and noble estimate. 

Enter Ross and Willoughby. 

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 

Boling. Welcome, my lords : I wot, your love pursues 
A banish'd traitor; all my treasury 
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd. 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. 

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 


Boling. Evermore thanks, th' exchequer of the poor 5 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years. 
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here ? 

Enter Berkley. 

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 

Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 

Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; 
And I am come to seek that name in England : 
And I must find that title in your tongue. 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord 3 'tis not my meaning. 
To raze one title of your honour out: — 
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) 
From the most glorious regent of this land. 
The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time. 
And fright our niative peace with self-born arms. 

Enter York, attended. 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you 
l-iere cornea his grace in person. — My noble uncle ! 


York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee. 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. 

Boling. Mv gracious uncle ! — 

York. Tut', tut ! 
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : 
I am no traitor's uncle 5 and that word — grace. 
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
Why have those banisli'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's giound ' 
But then more why j ^Why have they dar'd to march 

46 KING RICHARD II. act xi 

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom j 

Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war. 

And ostentation of despised arms ? 

Com'st thou because th' anointed king is hence? 

Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind. 

And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth. 

As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself. 

Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of meili 

From forth the ranks of many thousand French j 

O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine^ 

Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee. 

And minister correction to thy fault! 

Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fixult; 
On what condition stands it, and wherein ? 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree,— 
In gross rebellion, and detested treason: 
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come> 
Before the expiration of thy time. 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 

Baling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; 
But as 1 come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace. 
Look on my wrongs with an indiflferent eye : 
You are my father, for, raethinks, in you 
I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father ! 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wand' ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
Plnck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? 
If that my cousin king be king of England, 
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman j 


Had you first died, and he been thus trod down. 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here. 
And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and soldj 
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do ? I am a subject. 
And challenge law : Attornies are denied me ; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 

Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. 

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. 

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this,— 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs. 
And labour'd all I could to do him right : 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms. 
Be his own carver, and cut out his way. 
To find out right with wrong, — it may not he; 
And you, that do abet him in this kind. 
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is 
But for his own : and, for the right of that. 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid -, 
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms 5 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess. 
Because my power is weak, and all iU left : 
But, if I could, by him that gave me life, 
I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the kingj 
But, since I cannot, be it known to you. 


I do remain as neuter. So, fare you weilj— 
Unless you please to enter in the castle. 
And there repose you for this night. 

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
But we must win your grace, to go with us 
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held 
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices. 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 

York. It may be, I will go with you : — but yet TU 
pause ; 
For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
Things past redress, are now with me past care. [Exeunt, 

SCENE IW.—A camp in Wales. 
Enter Salisbury, and a Captain. 

Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days. 
And hardly kept our countrymen together. 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king; 
Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; 
The king reposeth all his confidence 
In thee. 

Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead ; we will not stay 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd. 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth. 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; 
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — 
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
The other, to enjoy by rage and war: 


These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.— 

Farewell j our countrymen are gone and fled. 

As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit. 

Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a shooting star. 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament! 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west. 
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: 
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [^ExU. 


SCENE I.— Bolingbroke'5 camp at Bristol. 

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy 
WiLLouGHBY, Ross : Officers behind with Bushy and 
Green, prisoners. 

Boling. Bring forth these men. — 
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls 
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) 
With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
For 'twere no charity ; yet, to wash your blood 
From oflF my hands, here, in the view of men, 
I will unfold some causes of your death. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. 
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 
You have, in manner^ with your sinful hours, 

VOL. VI ^ 

50 KING RICHARD II. act hi 

Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; 

Broke the possession of a royal bed. 

And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 

With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 

Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 

Near to the king in blood ; and near in love. 

Till you did make him misinterpret me. 

Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries. 

And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds. 

Eating the bitter bread of banishment : 

Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 

Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods j 

From my own windows torn my household coat, 

Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, — • 

Save men's opinions, and my living blood,*— 

ro show the world I am a gentleman. 

This, and much more, much more than twice all this. 

Condemns you to the death: — See them deliver'd over 

To execution and the hand of death. 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 

Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take our 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 

Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despateh'd. 
lExeunt Northumberland and others, with 
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; 
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: 
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends j 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have despateh'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 


Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away; 
To fight with Glendower and his complices j 
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The coast of Wales. A castle in view 

Flourish : drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, 
Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and Soldiers. 

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand ? 

Aum. Yea, my lord : How brooks your grace the air. 
After late tossing on the breaking seas ? 

K. Rich. Needs must I like it wellj I weep for joy. 

To stand upon my kingdom once again. 

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs '- 
As a long parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting j 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth. 
And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense* 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their wayj 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder 3 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; 
This earth shaU have a feeling, and these stonef 

52 KING RICHARD II. act hi. 

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. 

Bishop. Fear not, my lordj that Power, that made 
you king. 
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of a*.. 
The means that heaven yields must be embruc d, 
And not neglected j else, if heaven would. 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse ; 
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too lemiss; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security. 
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. 

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not. 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen. 
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
And darts his light through every guilty hole. 
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs. 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at tlieniselves ? 
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,— 
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. 
Whilst we were wand'ring with th' antipodes,— 
Shall see us rising in our throne the east. 
His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
Not able to endure the sight of day. 
But, self-afii'ighted, tremble at his sin. 
Not all the water in the rougn rude sea 
Can wash the balm from an anointed king : v 

The breath of worldly men cannot depose 


The deputy elected by the Lord : 

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd. 

To lift shrewd steel against cmr golden crown, 

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight. 

Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right- 

Enter Salisbury. 

Welcome, my lord ; How far off lies your power ^ 

Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, 
Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue. 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
O, call back yesterdayj bid time return. 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! 
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. 

Aum. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace so 
pale ? 

K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men 

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled j 
And, till so much blood thither come again. 

Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side j 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 

Jlum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. 

K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king ? 
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. 
Is not the king's name forty thousand names ? 
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes 

54 KING RICHARD II. act hi. 

At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground. 
Ye favourites of a king -, Are we not high ? 
High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
Comes here? 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege. 
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. 

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd; 
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care j 
And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? 
Greater he shall not be j if he serve God, 
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so : 
Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend j 
They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; 
The worst is — death, and death will have his day. 

Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm*d 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day. 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores. 
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears j 
So high above his limits swells the rage 
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalpf 
Against thy majesty j boys, with women's voices. 
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : 
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 


Of double-fatal yew against thy state j 
Yea, distafF-wonien manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, 
And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

K, Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so iU 
Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 
What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my 

J^. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemp- 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart ! 
Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
Again uncurse their souls j their peace is made 
With beads, and not with hands: those whom you 

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound. 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 

Jum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, 

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power ? 

K. Rich. No matter where j of comfort no man speak; 
Let's talk of gi-aves, of worms, and epitaphs j 

66 KING RICHARD II. act hi. 

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath. 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own, but death; 
And that small model of the barren earth. 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground. 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war j 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ; 
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'dj 
All murder d : — For within the hollow crown. 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king. 
Keeps dctith his court : and there the antick sits. 
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
As if this flesh, which walls about our life. 
Were brass impregnable ; and, humour'd thus. 
Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king! 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn rev'rence ; throw away respect. 
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty. 
For you have but mistook me all this while : 
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
Need friends : — Subjected thus, 
How can you say to me — I am a king ? 

Ckir, My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes. 


But presently prevent the ways to wail. 

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. 

Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 

And so your follies fight against yourself. 

Fear, and be slain j no worse can come, to fight : 

And fight and die, is death destroying death j 

Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 

Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of himj 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Bolingbroke, 
I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown j 

An easy task it is, to win our own. 

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

The state and inclmation of the day: 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye. 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small. 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken •-• 
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke j 
And all your northern castles yielded up. 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his party. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me fortVi 


Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 

What say you now ? What comfort have w^ iujw ' 

By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, 

That bids me be of comfort anv more. 

6S KING RICHARD II. act iir. 

Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine awayj 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
That power I have, discharge 3 and let them go 
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow. 
For I have none : — Let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

Aum. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong. 

That v/ounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers, let them hence; — Away, 
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 


SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint castle. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and forces ' 
York, Northumberland, and others. 

Baling. So that by this intelligence we learn. 
The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed. 
With some few private friends, upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord ; 
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day. 
When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 

North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief. 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been, 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. 


York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should. 
Lest you mis-take : The heavens are o'er your head. 

Boling. I know it, uncle j and oppose not 
Myself against their will. — ^But who comes here> 

Enter Percy. 

Well, Harry j what, will not this castle yield ? 

Percy. The castle royally is mann*d, my lord. 
Against thy entrance. 

Boling. Royally! 
Why, it contains no king? 

Percy. Yes, my good lord. 

It doth contain a king ; king Richard lies 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone : 
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop j besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 

North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. 

Boling. Noble lord, [To North. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle j 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. 
Harry Bolingbroke 

On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand ; 
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart. 
To his most royal person : hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power j 
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd. 
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : 
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my power. 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen : 
The whlcb^ how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 

so KING RICHARD II. act in. 

It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, ' 
My stooping duty tftnderly shall show. 
Go, signify as much -, while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. — 

[Northumberland advances to the castle wWi 
a trumpet. 
^t's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, 
rhat from the castle's totter'd battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
With no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: 
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
My waters J on the earth, and not on him. 
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 

A parle sounded, and answered by another trumpet wit bin 
Flourish. Enter on the walls King Richard, the Bis hop 
of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury. 

York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear. 
As doth the blushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east j 
AVhen he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
Yet looks he like a king ; behold. His eye, 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controlling majesty; Alack, alack, for woe, 
Tiiat any harm should stain so fair a show! 

K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we sto^ 


To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 

[To Northumberland 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
If we be not, show us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter. 
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And tliough you think, that all, as you have done. 
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us. 

And we are barren, and bereft of friends j 

Yet know,' — my master, God omnipotent. 
Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf. 
Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. 
That lift your vassal hands against my head:, 
And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) 
That every stride he makes upon my land. 
Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
The purple testament of bleeding war^ 
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
Shall ill become the flower of England's face j 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 

North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; 

€2 KING RICHARD II. act hi. 

And by the honourable tomb he swears. 
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones j 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious headj 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ; 
And by the worth and honour of himself. 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,— 
His coming hither hath no further scope. 
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: 
Which on thy royal party granted once. 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust. 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is justj 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king re- 
turns } 

His noble cousin is right welcome hither j 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction : 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast. 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.— 
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, 


To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? 
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 

j4um. No, good my lord ; let's fight with gentle words. 
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords, 

K. Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue a* 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 


On yon proud man, should take it off again 

With words of sooth ! O, that I were as great 

As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 

Or that I could forget what I have been ! 

Or not remember what I must be now ! 

Swell'st thou, proud heart ? I'll give thee scope to beat. 

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 

Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must he 
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd ? 
The king shall be contented : Must he lose 
The name of king ? o'God's name, let it go : 
I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads j 
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage j 
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown; 
My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood j 
My scepter, for a palmer's walking-stafiFj 
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave: — 
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway. 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sov'reign's head : 
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; 

And, buried once, why not upon my head ? 

Aumerle, thou weep'st j My tender-hearted cousin !— 

We'll make foul weather with despised tears; 

Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer com. 

And make a dearth in this revolting land. 

Or shall we play the wantons vdth our woes. 

And make some pretty match with shedding tears ? 

As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place. 

64 KING RICHARD II. act hi 

Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earthy and, therein laid, — There lies 
Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyesf 
Would not this ill do well? — Well, well, I see 
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — ^ay. 

North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 
To S})eak with you 3 may't please you to come down? 

K.Rich. Down, down, I come j like glistering Phaeton, 
Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 

[North, retires to Boling. 
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base. 
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
In the base court ? Come down ? Down, court ! down 

king ! 
For night-owls shriek, where mountain larks should 
sing. [Exeunt, from above. 

Boling. What says his majesty? 

North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick man : 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard, and his Attendants, below, 

Boling. Stand all apart. 

And show fair duty to his majesty. 

My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee. 
To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love^ 
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 


Up, cousin, up ', your heart is up, I know. 
Thus high at least, [Touching his own head!] although 
your knee be low. 

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 

K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all 

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord. 
As my true service shall deserve your love. 

K.Rich. Well you deserve: — The^ well deserve to 
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father. 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have, I'll give, and willin"* *•-- .- 
For do we iul!St; ^h'di luTZZ will have us do. — 
Set on towards London : — Cousin, is it so ? 

Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then I must not say, no. 

[f lourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.—Langley. The Duke of York** garden. 
Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. 

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden. 
To drive away the heavy thought of care? 

1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 

Queen. 'Twill make me thinks 

The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
Runs 'gainst the bias. 

1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. - 

Queen. My legs can keep np measure in delight^ 

66 KING RICHARD II. act hi. 

When my poor heart no measure keeps in ginef : 
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 

1 Lady. Madam, well tell tales. 

Qtieen. Of sorrow, or of joy? 

1 Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl : 

For if of joy, being altogether v/anting. 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow j 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: 
For what I have, I need not to repeat; 
And what I want, it boots not to complain. 

1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 

Queen. 'Tis well, that thou hast cause; 

But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weep. 

1 Lzd"^. I could weep, madam, would it do you good, 

Queen. And I could weep, V^Ould weeping uo me good. 
And never boiTow any tear of thee. 
But stay, here come the gardeners : 
J-«et's step into the shadow of these trees.— 

Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. 

My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so 
Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. 

[Queen and Ladies retire, 
Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks, 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
Give some supportance to the bending tvdgs.— 
Go thou, and like an executioner. 
Cut off the heads of too-fast growing sprays. 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth; 


All must be even in our government. 

You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

I Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale. 
Keep law, and form^ and due proportion. 
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate ? 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
Is full of weeds j her fairest flowers chok'd up. 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd. 
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars ? 

Gard. Hold thy peace :— • 

He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring. 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did sheltef. 
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. 
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke j 
I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

1 Serv. What, are they dead ? 

Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh ! What pity is it. 
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land. 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; 
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood. 
With too much riches it confound itself : 
Had he done so to great and growing men. 
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 

68 KING RICIL\RD II. act ni. 

1 Serv. What, think you then> the king shall be 
depos'd ? 

Gard. Depress'd he is already j and depos'd, 
'Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night 
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 
That tell black tidings. 

Queen. O, I' am press'd to death. 

Through want of speaking! — ^Thou, old Adam's 
likeness, IComingfrom her concealment 

Set to dress this garden, how dares 
Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ? 
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man? 
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ? 
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth. 
Divine ^.:! dCVnfill' Say, wliere, when, and how; 
Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch. 

Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I, 
To breathe this news ; yet, what 1 say, is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd: 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
And some few vanities that make him light ; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers. 
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you'll find it so j 
1 speak no more than every one doth know. 

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 


Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go. 
To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
Shoukl grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?— ■ 
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
I would^ the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. 

lExeimt Queen and Ladies. 
Gard. Poor Queen ! so that thy state might be no 
I would, my skill were subject to thy curse.— » 
Here did she drop a tear 3 here, in this place, 
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. lExetmt, 


SCENE 'I.— London. Westminster Hall. 

The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the 
Lords temporal on the left ; the Commons below. Enter 
Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northumber- 
land, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, tSishop of 
Carlisle, ^660^ of Westminster, and Attendants. 
Officers behind, with Bagot. 

Boling. Call forth Bagot : 

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mindj 
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
Who wrought it with the king, and vVho perform'd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. 

70 KING RICHARD II. act it. 

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. 

Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. 

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
I heard you say, — Is not my arm of length, 
That reachethfrom the restful English court 
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? 
Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
The oflfer of an hundred thousand crowns, 
rhan Bolingbroke's return to England j 
Adding withal, how blest this land would be. 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes, and noble lorda^ 

What answer shall I make to this base man? 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars. 
On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. 
There is my gage, the manual seal of death. 
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest. 
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false. 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 

Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 

Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so. 

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, 
Tliere is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
By that fair sun that shows me where thou statid'st> 
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it. 
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death*,. 


If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liestj 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 

Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. 

Aum. FitzAvater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true. 
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: 
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage. 
To prove it on thee to th' extremest point 
Of mortal breathing j seize it, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 

Lord. I take the earth to th' like, forsworn Aumerle j 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn j 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I'll throw at all : 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast. 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, 1 do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence thenj 
And you can witness with me, this is true. 

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. 

Fltz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy! 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword. 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge. 
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. 

♦^2 KING RICHARD II. act iw 

In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn 5 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

^itz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meec SuiTey m a wilderness, 
*nd spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies. 
And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith. 
To tie thee to my strong correction. — • 
As 1 intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this. 
If he may be repeaVd to try his honour. 

Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeaVd he shall be. 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all his land and signories; when he's return'd, 
.Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.— 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross, 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : 
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
To Italy J and there, at Venice, gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 

Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? 

Car. As sure as I live, my lord. 


Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom 
Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants. 
Your differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 

Enter York, attended. 

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand : 
Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 

Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. 

Car. Marry, God forbid !— 
Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
Would God, that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upright judge 
Of noble Richard j then true nobless would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
What subject can give sentence on his king? 
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject? 
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear. 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them : 
And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath. 
And he himself not present ? O, forbid it, God, 
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 

VOU VI ^ ^ 

74 KING RICHARD II. act iv 

My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
And if you crown him, let me prophecy, — 
The blood of English shall manure the ground. 
And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; 
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny. 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. 
O, if you rear this house against this house. 
It will the woefuUest division prove. 
That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so. 
Lest child, child's children, cry against you — ^woe ! 

North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your pains. 
Of capital treason we arrest you here : — 
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
Without suspicion. 

York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 

Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest. 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer: — 
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle, 
And little look'd for at your helping hands. 

Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers hearing 
the crown, &;c. 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 


Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 

Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd 

To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee:— 

Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 

To this submission. Yet I well remember 

The favours of these men : Were they not mine ? 

Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ? 

So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve. 

Found truth in all, but one 3 I, in twelve thousand, none. 

God save the king ! — ^Will no man say, amen ? 

Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 

God save the king! although I be not he 5 

And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.— 

To do what service am I sent for hither ? 

York. To do that office, of thine own good will. 

Which tired majesty did make thee oflFer, 

The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Henry Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. Give me the crown ; — Here, cousin, seize 
the crown J 
Here, on this side, my hand j on that side, thine. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well. 
That owes two buckets filling one another,* 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down,*unseen, and full of water: 
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 

Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. 

K. Rich. My crown, I am 5 but still my griefs are mine = 
You may my glories and my state depose. 
But not my griefs j still am I king of those. 

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. 

K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down. 

76 KING RICHARD II. act iv. 

My care is — ^loss of care, by old care done ; 
Your care is — gain of care, by new care won: 
The cares I give, I have, though given away^ 
They tend the crown, yet still with nie they stay. 

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown? 

'K.Rich. Ay, noj — no, ay; — for I must nothing 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me how I will undo myself: — 
I give this heavy weight from off my head. 
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand. 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart j 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm. 
With mine own hands I give away my crown. 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state. 
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths : 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ; 
My acts, deci'ees, and statutes, I deny : 
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! 
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! 
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ; 
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! 
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit. 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
God save king Heniy, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days ! — 
What more remains ? 

North. No more, but that you read 

[Offering a paper. 
These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
Committed by your person, and your followers, 
Against the state and profit of this land; 


That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 

K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out 
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy offences were upon record, 
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop. 
To read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st. 
There should'st thou find one heinous article, — 
Containing the deposing of a king, 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven: — 
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me. 
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands. 
Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. 
And water cannot wash away your sin. 

North. My lord, despatch j read o'er these articles. 

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see : 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much. 
But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest : 
For I have given here my soul's consent. 
To imdeck the pompous body of a kingj 
Make glory base j and sovereignty, a slave ; 
Proud majesty, a subject j state, a peasant. 

North. My lord, 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thouhaught, insulting man. 
Nor no man's lordj I have no name, no title,— 
No, not that name was given me at the font,— 
But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day. 
That I have worn so many winters out. 

78 KING RICHARD II. act iv 

And know not now what name to call myself! 

O, that I were a mockery king of snow. 

Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 

To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 

Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,) 

An if my word be sterling yet in England, 

Let it command a mirror hither straight ; 

That it may show me what a face I have. 

Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. 

[Exit an Attendant, 

North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 

K. Rich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me ere I come to 

Boling. Uige it no more, my lord Northumberland. 

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 

K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough. 
When I do see the very book indeed 
Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself. 

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 

Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — 

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck 

So many blows upon this face of mine. 

And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glass, 

Like to my followers in prosperity. 

Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face. 

That eveiy day under his household roof 

Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face. 

That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? 

Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies. 

And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ? 


A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the glass against the ground 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — 
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy' d my face. ~ 

Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich, __ Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see : — 
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
And these external manners of lament 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief. 
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul j 
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king. 
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon. 
And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it ? 

Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than a king : 
For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects} being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Boling. Yet ask. 

K. Rich. And shall I have? 

Boling. You shall. 

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither? 

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights 

Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower 


K. Rich. O, good! Convey? — Conveyers are you all. 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeu7it King Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. 

Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down 
Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. 

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, 
and AuMERLE. 

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Car. The woe's to come j the children yet unborn 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ? 

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein. 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise: — 
I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears 3 
Come home with me to supper j I will lay 
A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt, 


SCENE I. — ^London. A street leading to the Tower 
Enter Queen, and Ladies. 

Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way 
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower. 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 


Is doom'd a prisoner by proud BoHngbroke • 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. 

Enter King Richard, and Guards. 

But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
My fair rose wither : Yet look up j behold > 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.— 
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand 5 
Thou map of honour j thou king Richard's tomb. 
And not king Richard j thou most beauteous inn. 
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee. 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest? 

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so> 
To make my end too sudden ; learn, good soul. 
To think our former state a happy dream ; 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweety 
To grim necessity; and he and I 
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 
And cloister thee in some religious house: 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 

Qiteen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind 
Tf ansform'd, and weakened ? Hath Bolingbroke 
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? 
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw. 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like. 
Take thy correction miklly ? kiss the rod. 
And fawn on rage with base humility. 
Which art a lion, and a king of beast&l 



K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed j if aught but beasts, 
I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France : 
Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st. 
As from my death-bed, my last living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire 
With good old folks j and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages, long ago betid : 
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief. 
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
And, in compassion, weep the fire out: 
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black. 
For tne deposing of a rightful king. 

Enter Northumberland, attended. 

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd j 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. — — 
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you j 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,—- 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, 
>hall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 
•'hough he divide the realm, and give thee half. 
It is too little, helping him to allj 
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way 
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again. 
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 


The love of wicked friends converts to fear; 
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both. 
To worthy danger, and deserved death. 

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. 

K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ? — Bad men, ye violate 
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; 
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.— 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made- 
Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
^Vhere shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp. 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. 

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? 

K.Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love, but little policy. 

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here : 
Better far oflF, than — near, be ne'er the near*. 
Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans. 

Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. 

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief. 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part ; 
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [TJiey kis.u 

84 KING RICHARD II. act v. 

Queen. Give me mine own again j 'twere no good part, 
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. IKiss again. 
So, now I have mine own again, begone, 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: 
Once more, adieu j the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A room in the Duke of York'* 

Enter York, and his Duchess. 

Duck. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest. 
When weeping made you break the story off 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 

York. Where did I leave? 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window's tops. 
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, — 
i^ounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course. 
While all tongues cried — God save thee, Bolingbroke! 
¥ou would have thought the very windows spake. 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls. 
With painted imag'ry, had said at once, — 
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! 
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. 
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen: 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 


Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while > 
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 
After a well-gi'ac'd actor leaves the stage. 
Are idly bent on him that enters next. 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on Richard 5 no man cried, God save him^ 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred headj 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,— 
His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
The badges of his grief and patience, — 
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted. 
And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events j 
To whose high will we boand our calm contents. 
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now. 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Enter Aumerle. 

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 

York. Aumerle that was j 

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend. 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 
I am in parliament pledge for his truth. 
And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 

Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets now. 
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? 

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: 
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 

York, Well, bear you well in this new spring of 

86 KING RICHARD II. act v. 

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and triumphs? 

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 

York. You will be there, I know. 

Aum. If God prevent it not 3 I purpose so. 

York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 
bosom ? 
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. 

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 

York. No matter then who sees it : 

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me 5 
It is a matter of small consequence. 
Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 

York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
I fear, I fear, 

Duch. What should you fear? 

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into 
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 

York. Bound to himself ? what doth he with a bond 
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. — 
Boy, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me 3 I may not show 

York. 1 will be satisfied 3 let me see it, I say. 

[Snatches it, and reads. 
Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave ! 

Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? 

York. Ho! who is within there? lEnter a Servant. 
Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy ! what treachery is here ! 

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? 

York, Give me my boots, I sayj saddle my^horse:— - 


Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 

I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant. 

Duch. What's the matter? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 

Duch. I will not peace: — What is the matter, son? 

Aum. Good mother, be content j it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

Duch. Thy life answer ! 

Re-enter Servant, with boots. 

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. ' 

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art 
amaz'd : — 
Hence, villain -, never more come in my sight. — 

[To the Servant. 

York. Give me my boots, I say. 

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ? 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. 
And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
Is he not like thee ? is he not thine own ? 

York. Thou fond mad woman. 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament. 
And interchangeably set down their hands. 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none; 

We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him^^ 

York. Away, 
Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son, 
I would appeach him. 


Vuch. Hadst thou groan'd for him. 

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 

But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect. 

That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 

And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 

He is as like thee as a man may be. 

Not like to me, or any of my kin. 

And yet I love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit, 

Duch. After, Aumerle j mount thee upon his horse ; 

Spur, post; and get before him to the king. 

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 

I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 

And never will I rise up from the ground. 

Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away; 

Begone. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Windsor. A room in the castle. 

£7i/er Bolingbroke as Icing ; Perct, and other JjoxdiS. 

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 
*Tis full three months, since I did see him last:*— 
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
T would to God, my lords, he might be found: 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there. 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent. 
With unrestrained loose companions ; 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes. 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy. 


Takes on the point of honour, to support 
So dissolute a crew. 

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince; 
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 

Boling. And what said the gallant? 

Perq/. His answer was, — he would unto the stewsfj 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove. 
And wear it as a favour j and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 

Boling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through both 
I see some sparkles of a better hope. 
Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
But who comes here ? 

Enter Au merle, hastily. 

Aum. Where is the king? 

Boling. What means 

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ? 

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty. 
To have some conference with your grace alone. 

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.— 
[Exeunt Percy and Lords. 
What is the matter with our cousin now ? 

Aum. For ever mav my knees grow to the earth, 

My tongue cleave to my roof withi*i my mouth. 
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or spea)i. 

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be. 
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. ) 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key. 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Bdling. Have thy desire. [Aumerle locks the door. 

90 KING RICHARD II. act v. 

York. [JVithin.'] My liege, beware j look to thyself 3 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. 

Aam. Stay thy revengeful hand 5 
Thou hast no cause to fear. 

York. [Within.'\ Open the door, secure, fool-hardy 
king : 
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

[BoLiNGBROKE opms the door. 

Enter York. 

Baling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; 
Recover breath j tell us how near is danger. 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past : 
I do repent me j read not my name there. 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. , 

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. — 
1 tore it from the traitor'^ bosom, kingj 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!— 
O loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
From whence this stream through muddy passages. 
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! 
Thy overflow of good converts to badj 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 


York. So shall my virtue be his vice's baved j 
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame. 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies. 
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
Thou kill'st me in his life^ giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 

Duch. [Within.'] What ho, my liege ! for God's sake 
let me in. 

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager 

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great kingj 'tis Ir 
Speak with me, pity me, open the doorj 
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 

Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious things 
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. — 
My dangerous cousin, let your mother inj 
I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin. 

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut oiF, the rest rests sound; 
This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 

Enter Duchess. 

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted manj 
Love, loving not itself, none other can. 

York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make 
here ? 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle 
liege. [Kneels, 

Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 
Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: 

92 KING RICHARD II. act v. 

For ever will I kneel upon my knees. 
And never see day that the happy sees. 
Till thou give joy j until thou bid me joy. 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aum, Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. 


York. Against them both, my true joints bended be 

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his facej 
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest 5 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied j 
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: 
His weaiy joints would gladly rise, I knowj 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy j 
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have 
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up; 

But, pardon, first j and afterwards, stand up. 
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach. 
Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now; 
Say — pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet; 
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king ; say, pardonnez nioy 

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? 
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord. 
That set'st the word itself against the word !— 


Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our landj 
Tiie chopping French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : 
Or, in thy j)iteous heart plant thou thine earj 
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. I do not sue to stand. 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee 1 
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again j 
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain. 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Boling. "With all my heart 

I pardon him. 

Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and the 
With all the rest of that consorted crew, — 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: 
They shall not live within this world, I swear. 
But I will have them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu: 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 

Duch. Come, my old son 3 — I pray God make thee new. 


SCENE lY.^Enter Exton, and a Servant. 

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what wotds 
he spake ? 


Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? 
Was it not so ? 

Serv. Those were his very words. 

Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice. 
And urg'd it twice together j did he not? 

Serv. He did. 

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; 
As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart ; 
Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go j 
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. ^Exeunt. 

SCENE V.—Pomfret. The dungeon of the castle. 
Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This prison, where I live, unto the world : 
And, for because the world is populous. 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do itj — Yet I'll hammer it out. 
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; 
My soul, the father : and these two beget 
A geneiation of still-breeding thoughts. 
And these same thoughts people this little world; 
In humours, like the people of this world. 
For no thought is contented. The better sort,— 
As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd 
With scruples, and do set the word itself 
Against the word : 

As thus, — Come, little ones; and then again^— * 
It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a needle's eye. 


Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 

Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 

May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 

Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 

And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, — 

That they are not the first of fortune's slaves. 

Nor shall not be the last j like silly beggars. 

Who, sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,- — 

That many have, and others must sit there : 

And in this thought they find a kind of ease. 

Bearing their own misfortune on the back 

Of such as have before endur'd the like. 

Thus play I, in one person, many people. 

And none contented : Sometimes am I king j 

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 

And so I am : Then crushing penury 

Persuades me I was better when a kingj 

Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by. 

Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 

And straight am nothing : — But, whate'er I am. 

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. 

With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd 

With being nothing. — Musick do I hear? [Musick. 

Ha, ha! keep time: — How sour sweet musick is. 

When time is broke, and no proportion kept! 

So is it in the musick of men's lives. 

And here have I the daintiness of ear. 

To check time broke in a disorder'd string; 

But, for the concord of my state and time. 

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. 

For now hath time made me his numb' ring clock : 

^ • KING RICHARD II. act v 

My thoughts are minutes -, and, with sighs, they jar 
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch. 
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. 
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is. 
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart. 
Which IS the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans. 
Show minutes, times, and hours: — but my time 
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's pi'oud joy. 
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' th' clock. 
This musick mads me, let it sound no more ; 
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits. 
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 

Enter Groom. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peerj 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou ? and how com'st thou hither. 
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog 
That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
Wlien thou wert kingj who, travelling towards York, 
With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometimes master's face. 
O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld. 
In London streets, that coronation day. 
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary 1 
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ; 
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! 


K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend^ 
How went he under him ? 

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. 

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his backl 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal handj 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, 
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back ? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee. 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse j 
And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
Spur-gaird, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. 

Enter Keeper, with a dish. 

Keep. Fellow, give place 3 here is no longer stay. 

[To the Groom. 
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. 
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 
shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? 
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who 
Lately came from the king, commands the contraiy. 

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee ! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

[Beats the Keeper. 
Keep. Help, help, help! 

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. 

K. Rich. How now ? what means death in this rude 

VOL. VI ^ 



Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. 

^Snatching a weapon, and killing one. 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[fle kills another, then Exton strikes him down. 
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire. 
That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. ^Dies. 

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: 
Both have I spilt; O, would the deed were good! 
For now the devil, that told me — I did well. 
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I'll bear; — 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunti 

SCENE VI. — ^Windsor. A room in the cattle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords 
and Attendants. 

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear. 
Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 

VVelcome, my lord : What is the news? 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happinesa 
The next news is,—- 1 have to London sent 
The heads ot Salisbuiy, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent : 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 

IPresenting a paper 


Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains } 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitzwater. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seelyj 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors. 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot j 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, with the Bishop o/" Carlisle. 

Percif. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, 
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy. 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave j 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room. 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life j 
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 

Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. 

Exton. Great king, within this cof&n I present 
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 

Boling. Exton, I thank thee notj for thou hast 
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. 
Upon my head> and all this fomous land. 


Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need. 
Nor do I thee j though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour. 
But neither my good word, nor princely favour : 
With Cain go wander through the shade of night. 

And never show thy head by day nor light. 

Lords, I protest, my soul is fiiU of woe. 

That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow : 

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, , 

And put on sullen black incontinent j 

I'll make a voyage to the Holy land. 

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : — 

March sadly after; grace my mournings here. 

In weeping after this untimely bier. \^Exeuni. 




Kino Henry IV. Part I.j The transactions contained 
in this historical drama are compiised within the peiiod 
of about ten months ; for the action commences with tlie 
news brought of Hotspur havings defeated the Scots under 
Archibald earl of Douglas at Holniedon, (or Halidown-hill,) 
which battle was fought on Holy-rood day, (the 14th of 
September,) 1402; and it closes with the defeat and death 
of Hotspur at Shrewsbury; which engagement happened 
on Saturday the 21st of July, (the eve of Saint Mary 
Magdalen,) in the year 1403. Theobald. 

This play was first entered at Stationers* Hall, Feb, 25, 
1597, by Andrew Wise. Again, by M. Woolff, Jan. 9, 1598. 
For the piece supposed to have been its original, see Six old 
Plays on which Shakespeare founded^ &c. published by 
S. Leacroft, Charing-Cross. Steevens, 

Shakespeare has apparently designed a regular connection 
of these dramatick histories from Richard the Second to 
Henry the Fifth. King Henry, at the end of Richard the 
Second, declares his purpose to visit the Holy Land, which 
he resumes in the first speech of this play. The complaint 
made by King Henry in the last Act of Richard the Second, 
of the wildness of his son, prepares the reader for the 
frolicks which are here to be recounted, and the characters 
which are now to be exhibited. Johnson. 

This comedy was written, I believe, in the year 1597. See 
Jn Attempt to ascertain the Order of Shakespeare $ Plays, 
Vol. II. Malonc. 


King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, prince of Wales. > ^ ^» * 

Prince JOHS 0/ Lancaster, \ ''"^ *' ''** **'^- 

J^ar/ o/" Westmoreland, ) ^. , . ^, ,. 

Sir WALTER Blunt, K''*^^^' *' *^' *»'»«'• 

Thomas Percy, earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, earl o/* Northumberland: 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, hit ton, 

Edmund Mortimer, earl of March. 

Scroop, archbishop of York. 

Archibald, earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir JoH.v Falstaff. 





Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 
Lady Mo rtim er , daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer* 
Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 

Lordsy Officers^ Sheriff", Vintner, Chaniherlain, Drawers, 
two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. 

SCENE, England. 




SCENE I. — London. A room in the palace. 

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter 
Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. 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 Erinnys of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children s blood; 
No more shall trenching war channel her fields. 
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes. 
Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 

All of one nature, of one substance bred,^ 

Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery. 
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way j and be no more oppos'd 
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife^ 

06 FIRST PART OF act i. 

No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends. 
As far as to the sepulcher 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 5 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb 
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields. 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet. 
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you-— we will gO) 
Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree. 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 

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 ; 
Wl)ose 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 corps 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 
Brake off our business for the Holy land. 

West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious 


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 j 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse. 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

K. Hen. Here is a dear and 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 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 ? 

M'est. In faith. 
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak*st me sad, and mak*5t 
me sin 
In envy that my lord Northumberland 
Should be the father of so blest a son : 
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue j 

108 FIRST PART OF act i 

Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant j 

Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride: 

Whilst I, by looking on the {)raise 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 ex.ehang'd 

In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 

And call'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet ! 

Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 

But let him from my thoughts : — ^What think you, coz'. 

Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners. 

Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd, 

To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, 

I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. 

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

K. Hen. But 1 have sent for him to answer thisj 
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 j 
For more is to be said, and to be done, 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

fVest. 1 will, my liege. {^Exeunt 

SCENE II. — Tlie same. Another room in the palace. 
Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 

P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of 


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

Fed. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we, 
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars j and 
not by Phoebus, — he, that wandering knight so fair. 
And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king, — as, 
God save tliy grace, (majesty, I should say 3 for grace 
thou wilt have none,) 

P. Hon. What! none? 

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

P. Hen. Well, how then ? come, roundly, roundly. 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, 
let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be 
called thieves of the day's beauty 5 let us be — Diana's 
foresters, gentlemen of tlie shade, minions of the moon : 
And let men say, we be men of good government j 
being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste 
mistress the moon, under whose countenance we — steal. 

P. Hen. Thou say'st wellj and it holds well too: foi 
the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb 
and flow like the sea ; being governed as the sea is, by 
the moon. As, for j)roof, now : A purse of gold most 
resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most disso- 
hitely spent on Tuesday morning} got with swearing— 

no FIRST PART OF act t 

lay by J and spent with crying — bring in: now, in 
as low an ebb as ihe toot of the ladder,- and, by and 
by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. 

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

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of 

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 ? 

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostesd 
a(f the tavern ? 

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

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part ? 

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

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

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

P. Hen. Noj thou shalt. 

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

P. Hen. Thou judgest false ajready; I mean, thou 
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become 
a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and, in some sort it jumps with 


my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell 

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ? 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits : whereof the hang- 
man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melan- 
choly as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. 

P. Hen. Or an old lion^ or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 

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

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes j and art, 
indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet young 
prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with 
vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a 
commodity of good names were to be bought : An old 
lord of the council rated me the other day in the street 
about you, sir 5 but I marked him not: and yet he 
talked very wisely ; but I regarded him not : and yet he 
talked wisely, and in the street too. 

P. Hen. Thou did'st well ; for wisdom cries out in 
the streets, and no man regards it. 

Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration 3 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} and now am I, if a man 
should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. 
I must give over this life, and 1 will give it over j by the 
Lord, an I do not, I am a villain 3 I'll be damned for 
never a king's son in Christendom. 

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow. 

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one ; an I do not, 
call me villain, and baflBe me. 

112 FIRST PART OF act i. 

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

Enter Poins, at a distance. 

Fal. Why, Hal, *tis my vocation, Hal j '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, to a true man. 

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.— What says mon- 
sieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar ? 
Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, tliat 
thou soldest him on Good-friday last, for a cup of 
Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? 

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

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

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, 
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are pilgrims 
going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders 
riding to London with fat purses : I have visors for you 
all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies to- 
night in Rochester J 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 j if 
you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. 


Fal. Hear me, Yedward j if I tany at home> and go 
not, I'll hang you for going. 

Poins. You will, chops ? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 

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

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood 
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 

P, lien. Well, then once in my days I'll be a mad- 

Fal. Why, that's well said. 

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

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

P. Hen. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me 
alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
adventure, that he shall go. 

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

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Farewell AU- 
hallown summer ! [Exit Falstaff. 

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

114 FIRST PART OF act i 

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

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

P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by 
our horses, by our habits, and by every other appoint- 
ment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them 
in the wood ; our visors we will change, after we leave 
them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the 
nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. 

P. Hen. 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 backj and for the 
third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll for- 
swear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incom^- 
prehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, 
when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, he fought 
with J what wards, what blows, what extremities he 
endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest. 

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

Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins 

P. Hen. 1 know you all, and will a while uphold 
Tlie unyok'd humour of your idleness ; 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun j 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world, 
Tbat^ when he please again to be himself^ 


Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. 

By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 

Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 

If all the year were playing holidays. 

To sport would be as tedious as to work ) 

But, when they seldom come, thej 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 j 

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, lExit, 

SCENE III. — The same. Another room in the palace. 

Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, 
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. 

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

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 

116 FIRST PART OF acti 

The scourge of greatness to be used on itj 

And that same greatness too which our own hands 

Have holp to make so portly. 

North. My lord, 

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I 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. 
You have good leave to leave us ) when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 

[Exit Worcester. 
You were about to speak. [To North. 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

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

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But, I remember, when the fight was done. 
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap*d, 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home j 
He was perfumed like a milliner 3 
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 j — — 
Who, therewith angiy, when it next came there. 
Took it in snuflf: — and still he smiPd, and talk'dj 


And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 

He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly. 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He question'd me ; among the rest demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay. 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not whatj 

He should, or he should not; — for he made me maa. 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet. 

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman. 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark !) 

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise j 

And that it was great pity, so it was. 

That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 

Whicli many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 

So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns. 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 

And, I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation. 

Betwixt n\y 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 

118 FIRST PART OF act i 

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 ransome straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer 3 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
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 
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 i 
For I shall never hold that man my friend. 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransome 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 

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood j 
Who then, affiighted with their bloody looks, 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 


Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 

Never did bare 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 
He never did encounter with Glendowerj 
I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone. 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art not ashamed ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, 
We license your departure with your son: — 
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train. 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them : — I will after straight. 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart. 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause 
awhile j 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-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. 

120 FIRST PART OF act i. 

And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' th' dusti 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i' th' air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. 

\To Worcester. 

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

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

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

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

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

Hot. But, soft, 1 pray you; Did King Richard 
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 starv'd 
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot , 


Of murd'rous subornation,— shall it be. 
That you a world of curses undergo j 
Being the agents, or base second means. 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?— 
O, pardon me, that I descend so low. 
To show the line, and the predicament. 
Wherein you range under this subtle king. — 
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days. 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power. 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose. 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke> 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken. 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent > 
No J 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, 

fVor. 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 j 
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit. 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud. 
On the unsteadfast footing oi a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim :— 

VOL. VI ^ 



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 fathom-line could never touch the ground. 
And pluck up drovt^ned 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! 

War. 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. Tliose same noble Scots, 
That are your prisoners, 

Hot. I'll keep them all; 

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

Wor. You start away. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. ^ Nay, I will; that's flat : 

He said, he would notVansome Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 
But I will find him, when he lies asleep. 
And in hig ear I'll holla — 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. 

fVor. Hear you. 

Cousin 3 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'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

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

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood j 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ? 

Hot. Whyj look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with 
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't!-^it is in Gloucestershire; — 
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; 
His uncle York; — where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true : 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! 
Look, — when his infant fortune came to age, 
Atidf^' gentle Harry Percy, — and, kind cousin,-^ 

124 FIRST PART OF act i. 

O, t he devil take such cozeners ! God forgive me !— 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

fVor, Nay, if you have not, to't again 3 
We'll stay your leisure. 

Hot. 1 have done, i'faith. 

TVor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransome straight. 
Arid make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland; which, — for divers reasons, . 
Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd. 
Will easily be granted. — ^You, my lord, — 

[To Northumberland. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, — 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd. 
The archbishop. 

Hot. OfYork, is'tnot> 

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

Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well. 

North, Before the game's a-foot, 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? 

fVor. And so they shall. 

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

fVor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed> 
To save our heads by raising of a head : 


For, bear ourselves as even as w^e can, 

The king vviU always think him in our debt 3 

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. 

War. 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 5 
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
(As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet,^ 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong anns,^ 
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 ! 



SCENE I. — Rochester. An inn yard. 
Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand, 

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

Ost. IfVUhin] Anon, anon. 

126 FIRST PART OF act ii. 

1 Car. I pry'thee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few 
flocks in the point j the poor jade is wrung in the 
withers out of all cess. 

Enter another Carrier. 

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, 
and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots • 
this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler 

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

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

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

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and 
then we leak in your chimney j and your chamber-lie 
breeds fleas like a loach. 

1 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged, 
come away. 

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

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

Enter Gads hill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 
1 Ctw. 1 think it be two o'clock. 


Gads. I pry'thee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
gelding in the stable. 

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye 3 I know a trick worth 
two of that, i'faith. 

Gads. I pry' thee, lend me thine. 

ZCar. Ay, when? canst tell? — Lend me thy lantern^ 
quoth a? — marry, I'll see the hanged first. 

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

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

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. IWithin.'] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

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

Enter Chamberlain. 

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

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' 
clerks, I'll give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee, keep that for 

128 FIRST PART OP act ii. 

the hangman 5 for, I know, thou worship'st saint 
Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 

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

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? will 
she hold out water in foul way ? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored her. 
We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have the receipt 
of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith ; I think you are more be- 
holden to the night, than to fern-seedj for your talking 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a share in 
our purchase, as I am a true man. 

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

Gads. Go to j Homo is a common name to all men. 
Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. 
Farewell, you muddy knave lExeunt. 

sciNE ir. KING HENRY IV. 129 

SCENE II.--7%e road by Gadshill. 

Enter Prince Heihry, and P01NS5 Bardolph a«d Peto, 
at some distance. 

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter 5 I have removed FaU 
staffs horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
P. Hen. Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff; 

Fal, Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal y What a brawl-^ 
ing dost thou keep ? 

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill; rH 
go seek him. {^Pretends to seek Poins 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company . 
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know 
not where. If I travel but 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 hang* 
ing for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his com- 
pany hourly any time this two-and-twenty yeare, and 
yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the 
rascal have not given me medicines to make me love 
him, I'll be hanged j it could not be else; I have 
drunk medicines. — Poins! — Hal! — a plague upon yout 
both! — Bardolph! — Peto!^ — I'll starve, ere I'll rob a. 
foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, 
to turn ti*ue man, and leave these rogues, I am the 
veriest varlet that ever chewed with a. tooth. Eight 
yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles^ 
afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it 

130 FIRST PART OF act ii 

well enough: A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be 
true to one another ! [Theij whistle.'] Whew ! — A plague 
upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me 
my horse, and be hanged. 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay thine ear 
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the 
tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being 
down ? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot 
again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What 
a plague mean ye to colt me thus ? 

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 

Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my 
horse J good king's son. 

P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler! 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent gar- 
ters I If I be 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 poison : When a jest is so forward, 
and afoot too, — I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So I do, against my will. 

Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. What news ? 

Gads. Case ye, case ye j on with your visors ; there's 
money of the king's coming down the hill; *tis going 
to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. You lie, you rogue J 'tis going to the king's tavern. 


Gads, There's enough to make us all. 

Fal. To be hanged. 

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow 
lane j Ned Poins, and I will walk lower : if they 'scape 
from your encounter, then they light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight, or ten. 

Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us ? 

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch ? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
father 'j but yet no coward, Hal. 

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
nedge 3 when thou needest him, there thou shalt find 
him. Farewell, and stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. 

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ? 

Poins. Here, hard byj stand close. 

[Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I j 
every man to his business. 

Enter Travellers. 

1 Trav. Come, neighbour} the boy shall lead our 
horses down the hill: we'll walk afoot a while, and 
ease our legs. 

Thieves. Stand. 

Trav. Jesu bless us ! 

Fal. Strike} down with themj cut the villains* 
throats: Ah! whorson caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ! 
they hate us youth : down with them j fleece them. 

1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. 

Fal Hang ye, gorbellicd knaves j Are ye undone? 

132 nRST PART OF act ii 

No, ye fat chufi&; I would, your store were here! On, 
bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ? young men must live : 
You are grand-jurors are ye? We'll jure ye, i'faith. 

[Exeunt Falstaff, &c. driving the Travellers outi 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men : Now 
could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to 
London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for 
a month, and a good jest for ever. 

Poins, Stand close, I hear them coming. 

Re-enter Thieves. 

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to 
norse oefore day. 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 a wild duck. 

P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them. 

Poins. Villains. 

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poms set upon 
them. Falstaff, aftei' a blow or two, and the 
rest, run away, leaving their booty behind them.^ 

P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse ; 
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaflf sweats to death. 
And lards the lean earth as he walks along ; 
Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. 

Pot/15. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt, 


SCENE III.— -Warkworth. A room in the castle, 
"Enter Hotspur, reading a Utter. 

But, for mine own part, my lord, I could he well 
contented to he there, in respect of the love I bear your 
house. — He could be contented, — Why is he not then ? 
In respect of the love he bears our house : — he shows 
in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our 
house. Let me see some more. The purpose you under- 
take, is dangerous; — ^Why, that's certain ; 'tis dangerous 
to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my lord 
fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, 
safety. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous; the friends 
you have named, uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and 
your whole plot too light, for the counterpoise of so great 
an opposition. — Say you so, say you so ? I say unto yov 
again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. 
What a lack-brain is this ? By the Lord, our plot is 
a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and 
constant : a good plot, good friends, and full of ex- 
pectation : an excellent plot, very good friends. What 
a frosty-spirited rogue is this ? Why, my lord of York 
commends the plot, and the general course of the action. 
'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain 
him 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 month ? and are they 
not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan 
rascal is this ? an infidel ? Ha ! you shall see now, in 
very sincerity of fear and cold hearty will he to th« 

.34 FIRST PART OF act ii. 

king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could 
divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a 
dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action ! 
Hang him ! let him tell the king : We are prepared : 
I will set forward to-night. 

Enter Lady Percy. 

How no\y, Kate? I must leave you within these two 
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 r 
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 3 
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 nmrmur tales of iron wars : 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed j 
Cry, Courage! — to thejieldl And thou hast talk'd 
Of sallies, and retires j of trenches, tents. 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets 3 
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin j 
Of prisoner's ransome, 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 bestir' d thee in thy sleep. 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow. 
Like bubbles in 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 haste. 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 ! is GilUams with the packet gone ? 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 

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. [Exi^ Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st, my lady ? 

Lady. What is it carries you away? 

Hot. 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 enterprize : But if you go — — 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly to this question that I ask. 
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

186 FIRST PART OF act t^ 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trifier! — 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 would'st thou have witA 

Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed? 
Well, do not then j for, since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me I 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride } 
And when I am o'horse-back, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Katej 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
Whither I must, I must; aixd, to conclude. 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wfse ; but yet no further wise. 
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are; 
But yet a woman : and for secrecy. 
No lady closer j for I well believe. 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not knowf 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 

Lady. How ! so far ? 

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate f 
Whither 1 ga, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.— 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady. It must, of force. 



SCENE IV.— Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's Head 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little, 

Poins. Where hast been, Hal ? 

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very 
base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother 
to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all by their 
Christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and Francis. They 
take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be 
but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; 
and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; 
but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, — by the 
Lord, so they call me 3 and when I am king of England, 
I shall command all the good lads in 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 an hour, that I can drink with any 
tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, 
Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not 
with me in this action. But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten 
which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of 
sugar, clapped even now in my hand by an under- 
skinker; one that never spake other English in his 
life, than — Eight shillings and sixpence, and — You are 
welcome; with this shrill addition, — Anon, anon, sir! 
Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, 
Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I 

138 FIRST PART OF act ii. 

pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while 1 
question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the 
sugar ; and do thou never leave calling — Francis, that 
his tale to me may be nothing but — anon. Step aside, 
and I'll show thee a precedent. 

Poins. Francis! 

P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 

Poirw. Francis! [Exit Foils s. 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the Pome- 
gi'anate, Ralph. 

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 

Fran. My lord. 

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? 

Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to— 

Poins. IWithin.'] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Five years! by'rlady, a long lease for the 
clmking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so 
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and 
to shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it ? 

Fran. O lord, sir ! I'll be sworn upon all the books 
in England, I could find in my heart— 

Poins. [Within.'] Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis ? 

Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I shall be — 

Poins. [Within.'] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the sugar 
thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not } 

Fran, O lord, sir ! I would, it had been two. 


P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : ask 
me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 

Poins. [PVithin.'] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

P. Hen. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis : but to-morrow, 
Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis^ 
when thou wilt. But, Francis,— 

Fran. My lord ? 

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal- 
button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis- 
garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,- — 

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean ? 

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your only 
drink : for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet 
will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much 

Fran. What, sir? 

Poins. [Within.'] Francis! 

P.Hen. 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 ? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] My 
lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the 
door; Shall I let them in? 

P.Hen. Let them alone awhile, and -then open the 
door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 

Re-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir, 

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieve* 
are at the door 3 Shall we be merry ? 

140 FIRST PART OF act n. 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark yej 
What cunning match have you made with this jest of 
the drawer? come, what's the issue? 

P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have show'd 
themselves humours, since the old days of goodman 
Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
at midnight. [Re-enter Francis with wine.'] What's 
o'clock, Francis? 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words 
than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! — His in- 
dustry is — up-stairs, and down-stairs j his eloquence, 
the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's 
mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that kills me some 
81X or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his 
nands, and says to his wife, — Fye upon this quiet life' 
I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how niany hast 
thou killed to-day P Give my roan horse a drench, says he ; 
and answers. Some fourteen, an hour after j a trifle, 
a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in FalstafF^ I'll play Percy, and 
that damned braw^n shall play dame Mortimer his wife. 
Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance 
too ! marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. — 
Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and 
mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all 
cowards! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there 
no virtue extant ? [He drinks. 

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet 


tale of the son ? if thou didst, then behold that com- 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too : There 
is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man : 
Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in 
it J a villainous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jackj die 
when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not 
forgot upon the face of the earthy then am I a shot- 
ten herring. There live not three good men unhanged 
in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: 
God help the while ! a bad world, I say ! I would, 
I were a weaver j I could sing psalms or any thing : 
A plague of all cowards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? 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 sub- 
jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never 
wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales ! 

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what's the 
matter ? 

Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that j and 
Poins there? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fet paunch, an ye call me coward, 
I'll stab thee. 

Fal. 1 call thee coward ! I'll see thee damned ere I 
call thee coward : but I would give a thousand pound, 
I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight 
enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees youi 
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. 

P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped sine* 
thou drunk'st last. 

14^ FIRST PART OF act ii 

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
still say I. [He drinks, 

P. Hen. What's the matter? 

Fal. What's the matter ? there be four of us here 
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 

P. Hen. Where is it, Jack ? where is it ? 

Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred 
upon poor four of us. 

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with 
a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd 
by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doub- 
let j four, through the hosej my buckler cut through 
and through -, my sword hacked like a hand-saw, ecce 
signum. 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 less than truth, they are 
villains, and the sons of darkness. 

P. Hen. 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 map of them; 
or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh 
men set upon us, 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. 

P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ? 

Fal. All? I know not what ye call, all j but if I fought 
not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there 
were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack 
then am I no two-legged creature. 


Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : for I have peppered 
two of them : tvi^o, I am sure, I have paid ; two rogues 
in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if I tell thee 
a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knovvest 
my old ward ; — here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me, 

P. Hen. What, four? thou said'st but two, even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust 
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their 
seven points in my target, thus. 

P. Hen. 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. 

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have more 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
nine in buckram, that I told thee of, 

P. Hen. So, two more already. j^ 

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. 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two ! 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 

144 FIRST PART OF act ii 

begotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and 
let drive at me ; — for it was so dark, Hal, that thou 
could'st not see thy hand. 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
them 5 gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou 
clay-brained guts 3 thou knot ty-pated fool 3 thou whore- 
son, obscene, greasy tallow-keech, 

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the 
truth, the truth? 

P. Hen. Why, how could'st thou know these men in 
Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st not 
see thy hand? come tell us your reason; What sayest 
thou to this ? 

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion:' No 3 were I at the 
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell 
you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! 
if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give 
no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this san- 
guine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, 
this huge hill of flesh ; 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
neats-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — O, for 
breath to utter what is like thee! — you tailor's yard, 
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuckj 

P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again . 
and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, 
hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four j you bound 

them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark now, 

how plain a tale shall put you down. — Then did we two 


set on you four: and, with a word, out-faced you from 
your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here 
in the house: — and, FalstafF, you carried your guts 
away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for 
mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull- 
calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
hast done; and then say, it was in fight? What trick, 
what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now 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, hear ye, my masters : Was it for me to kill 
the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon the true prince ? 
Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules : but 
beware instinct ; the lion will not touch the true prince. 
Instinct is a great matter ; I was 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 I-<ord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 

Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray 

to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold. All 
the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall 
we be merry? shall we have a play extempore? 

P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall be, thy 
running away. 

Fal Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 

Enter Hostess. 

Host. My lord the prince, 

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess ? what say'st 
thou to me ? 
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court 

VOL. VI ^ 

146 FIRST PART OF act it. 

at door, would speak with you : he says, he comes from 
your father. 

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal 
man, and send him 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 him his answer? 

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do. Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. lExit. 

P. Hen. Now, sirs j by'r lady, you fought fair j — so did 
you, Petoj — so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, 
you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true 
prince J no, — ^fye! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest. How came FalstafiTs 
sword so hacked? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said, 
he would swear ti-uth out of England, but he would 
make you believe it was done in fight j and persuaded 
us to do the like. 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass, 
to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our gar- 
ments with it, and taswear it was the blood of true men. 
I did that I did not this seven year before, I blushed to 
hear his monstrous devices. 

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen 
years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever 
bince thou hast blushed extempore : Thou hadst fire and 
fcword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st awayj What 
instinct hadst thou for it ? 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you 
behold these exhalations? 


P. Hen. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend? 
P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, 
my sweet creature of bombast? How long is't ago. 
Jack, sinj.e thou sawest thine own knee? 

Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, 
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon 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 villainous news abroad : here was 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 Amaimon the bastinado, and made 
Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman 
upon the cross of a Welsh 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, that runs o'horse-back up a hill 

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
pistol kills a sparrow flying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he 
wiU not run. 

148 FIRST PART OF act ii 

P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
him so for running? 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will not 
budge a foot. 

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, 
and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more: 
Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is 
turned white with the news j you may buy land now as 
cheap as stinking mackarel. 

P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June, 
and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads 
as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like, 
we shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, Hal, 
art thou not horribly afeard ? thou being heir apparent, 
could the world pick thee out three such enemies again, 
as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil 
Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy 
blood thrill at it? 

P. Hen. 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 me, 
practise an answer. 

P. Hen. 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 scepter, and this cushion my crown. 

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden 
scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown, 
for a pitiful bald crown ! 

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out o. 
thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of sack. 


to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I 
have wept J for I must speak in passion, and 1 will do 
it in king Camhyses' vein. 

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility. 

Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, fur trickling tears are 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry 
players, as I ever see. 

Fed. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain. 
— Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy 
time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the 
camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, 
yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. 
That thou art my son, 1 have partly thy mother's word, 
partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villainous tiick 
o^ 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; — Why, 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 be 
asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and 
take purses ? a question to be asked. There is a thing, 
Hariy, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known 
to many in our land by the name of pitch : this pitch, 
as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the 
company thou keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak 
to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in 
passion J not in words only, but in woes also: — And yet^ 

150 FIRST PART OF act ii. 

there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in 
thy company, but I know not his name. 

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ? 

Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent j of 
a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
carriage 3 and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r-lady, 
inclining to threescore j and now I remember me, his 
name is FalstafF: if that man should be lewdly given, 
he deceiveth mej for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. 
If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit 
by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue 
in that Falstaflf: him keep with, the rest banish. And 
tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast 
thou been this month ? 

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand 
for me, and I'll play my father. 

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so 
majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by 
the heels for a rabbet-sucker, or a poulter's hare. 

r. Hen. Well, here I am set. 

F«i. And here I stand : — judge, my masters. 

P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. The complaints 1 hear of thee are grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false ; — nay, I'll tickle 
ye for a young prince, i'faith. 

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy ? henceforth 
ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away 
from grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness 
of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy companion. Why 
dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that 
bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of drop- 
sies^ that huge bombard of sack^ that stuffed cloak-bag 


of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding 
in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that 
father ruffian, that vanity in years ? Wherein is he good, 
but to taste sack and drink it ? wherein neat and cleanly, 
but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, bvit 
in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein vil- 
lainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in 
nothing ? 

FaL I would, your grace would take me with you ; 
Whom means your grace ? 

P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of 
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 

P. Hen. I know, thou dost. 

Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in 
myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, 
(the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it : but 
that he is (saving your reverence,) a whoremaster, that 
I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help 
the wicked ! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many 
an old host that I know, is damned: if to be fat be to be 
hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, 
my good lordj banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish 
Poins : but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, 
true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore 
more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish 
not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's 
company 3 banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 

P. Hen. 1 do, I will. [A knocking heard 

[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Babdolfh 

152 FIRST PART OF act ii. 

Re-enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord) the sherifif, with a most 
monstrous watch, is at the door. 

Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have much 
to say in the behalf of that FalstaflP. 

Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! — — 

Fal. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick : 
What's the matter ? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door : 
they are come to search the house j 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. 

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. 

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, 
so J if not, let him enter : if I become not a cart as 
well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! 
I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as 

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras j— the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and 
good conscience. 

Fal. Both v/hich I have had: but their date is out, 
and therefore I'll hide me. 

lExeunt all but the Prince and Poins 

P. Hen. Call in the sheriff. 

Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 

Now, master sheriff 3 what's your will with me? 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hath foUow'd certain men unto this house. 


P. Hen. What men? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lordj 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here 5 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my woi-d to thee. 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
Send him to answer thee, or any man. 
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal : 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 

Sher. 1 will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
Have in this robbery lost tlnee hundred marks. 

P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men. 
He shall be answerable j and so, farewell. 

Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow j Is it not? 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 

\Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 

P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. 
Go, call him forth. 

Poins. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras, and 
snorting like a horse. 

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath : Search 
his pockets. [Poins searcAes.] What hast thou found > 

Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. 

P. Hen. Let's see what they be : read them. 

Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, 4d. 
Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
Item, Bread, a halfpenny. 

P. Hen. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of 

154 FIRST PART OF act hi. 

bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What there is 
else, keep close j we'll read it at more advantage : there 
let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning: 
we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honour- 
able. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot j and, 
I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. The 
money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be 
with me betimes in the mornings and so good morrow^ 

Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Ereunt 


SCENE I. — ^Bangor. A room in the Archdeacon'5 hotise 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and 

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 j and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven 


Hot. And you in hell, as often ajs he hears 
Owen Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity. 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of bur ning 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 ne'er been born. 

Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born* 

Hot. And 1 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 

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colick 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 moss-grown towers. At your birth. 
Our grandam earth, having this distempei-ature. 
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 j 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 

156 FIRST PART OF Act in. 

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 is no man speaks better Welsh : 

I will to dinner. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will malfe 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 cull 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 tellmg truth j Tell truth, and shame the d^vil. — 
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. 

Mori. Come, come. 
No more of this unprofitable chat. 

Glend. Three times hath Heniy Bolingbroke made 
Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye, 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him. 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? 

Glend.Comey here's the map 3 Shall we divide our right. 
According to our three-fold order ta'en? 


Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits, very equally : 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto. 
By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore. 
And all the fertile land within that bound. 
To Owen Glendower: — and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn : 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
(A business that this night may execute,) 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth. 
To meet your father, and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet. 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : — 
Within that space, {To Glend.] you may have drawn 

Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 

Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords. 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave ; 
For there will be a world of water shed. 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 

Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here. 
In quantity equals not one of yours : 
See, how this river comes me cranking in. 
And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
A huge half moon, a monstrous can tie out, 
I'll have the current in this place damm'd upj 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run. 
In a new channel, fair and evenly : 

158 FIRST PART OF act hi. 

It shall not wind with such a deep indent. 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it dotli* 

Mort. Yea, 
But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side; 
Gelding the opposed continent as much. 
As on the other side it takes from you. 

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here 
And on this north side win this cape of land ; 
And then he mns straight and even. 

Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. 

Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 

Hot. Will not you? 

Glend. No, nor you shall not. 

Hot Who shall say me nay ? 

Glend. Why, that will I. 

Hot. Let me not understand you then. 

Speak it in Welsh. 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you ; 
For I was train'd up in the English court: 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well. 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
A virtue that v/as never seen in you. 

Hot. Many, and I'm glad of it with all my heart 5 
I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew. 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: 
I had rather hear a braze.i canstick turn'd. 
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 


Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 

Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land 
To any well-deserving friend j 
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me 
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone ? 

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night : 
I'll haste the writer, and, withal. 
Break with your wives of your departure hence : 
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad. 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 

Mort. Fye, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father ! 

Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me. 
With telling me of the mold warp and the ant. 
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies ; 
And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, 
A couching lion, and a ramping cat. 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. 1 tell you what, — 
He held me, but last night, at least nine hours. 
In reckoning up the several devils' names. 
That were his lackeys : I cried, humph, — and well,— 

go to,— 
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious 
As is a tired horse, a railing wife j 
Worse than a smoky house : — I had rather live 
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far. 
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me. 
In any summer-house in Christendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman j 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments 3 valiant as a lion. 

160 FIRST PART OF act hi. 

And wond'rous affable j and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
He holds your temper in a high respect, 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope. 
When you do cross his humour j 'faith, he does : 
I warrant you, that man is not alive. 
Might so have tempted him as you have done. 
Without the taste of danger and reproof^ 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 

IVor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blamej 
And since your coming hither have done enough 
To put him quite beside his patience. 
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault : 
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood, 
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage. 
Defect of manners, want of government. 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: 
The least of which, haunting a nobleman, 
Loseth men's hearts ; and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
Beguiling them of commendation. 

Hot. WeU, I am school'dj good manners be your 
speed ! 
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 

Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies. 

Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,— 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 

Gknd. My daughter weeps; she will not part with 
She'll be a soldier too she'll to the wars. 


Mort. Good father, tell her> — that she, and my aunt 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 

[Glendower speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and 
she answers him in the same. 

Glend. She's desperate here 3 a peevish self-will'd 
One no persuasion can do good upon. 

ILady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh 
Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens, 
I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame. 
In such a parley would I answer thee. [Lady M. speaks, 
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine. 
And that's a feeling disputation : 
But I will never be a truant, love. 
Till I have learn'd thy language -for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd. 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower. 
With ravishing division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 

[Lady M. speaks again 

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this. 

Glend. She bids you 
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down. 
And rest your gentle head upon her lap. 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you. 
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep. 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness j 
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep. 
As is the difference betwixt day and night. 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 

16^ FIRST PART OF act hi. 

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing : 
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so j 
And those musicians that shall play to you. 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence j 
Yet straight they shall be here : sit, and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: 
Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy 

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. 

Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then the 
music plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh; 
And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. 
By'r-lady, he's a good musician. 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical j 
for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, 
ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. 

Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken ? 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee ! 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What's that? 

Hot. Peace ! she sings. 

A Welsh SONG sung hy Lady M. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear 


like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth; 

and. As true as I live ; and. As God shall mend me ; 

and, As sure as day: 

And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths. 

As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. 

Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 

A good mouth-filling oath ; and leave in sooth. 

And such protest of pepper-gingerbread. 

To velvet-guards, and Sunday- citizens. 

Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast 
teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within 
these two hours ; and so come in when ye will. [Exit. 

Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer j you are as slow. 
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By this our book 's drawn j we'll but seal, and then 
To horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my heart. lExeunt 

SCENE II. — London. A room in the palace. 
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 

K. Hen. Lords, give us leave -, the Prince of Wales 
and I, 
Must have some conference : But be near at hand. 
For we shall presently have need of you. — 

[Exeunt Lords 
I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done. 
That in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for mej 
But thou dost, in thy passages of life. 

164 FIRST PART OF act hi 

Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd 

For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven. 

To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else. 

Could such inordinate, and low desires. 

Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts 

Such barren pleasures, rude society. 

As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to. 

Accompany the greatness of thy blood. 

And hold their level with thy princely heart ? 

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse. 
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,— 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd and iiregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

K.Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, Harry, 
At thy aflfections, which do hold a wing 
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood : 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been. 
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men. 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company ; 


Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 

Had still kept loyal to possession j 

And left me in reputeless banishment, 

A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 

By being seldom seen, I could not stir. 

But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 

That men would tell their children. This is he; 

Others would say, — Where P which is Bolingbroke? 

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven. 

And dress'd myself in such humility. 

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts. 

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 

Even in the presence of the crowned king. 

Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new; 

My presence, like a robe pontifical. 

Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state. 

Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 

And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 

The skipping king, he ambled up and down 

With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits. 

Soon kindled, and soon burn'd: carded his state; 

Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; 

Had his great name profaned with their scorns j 

And gave his countenance, against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comparative : 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

Enfeoff'd himself to popularity : 

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes. 

They s\irfeited with honey ; and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof x little 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So, when he had occasion to be seen. 

166 FIRST PART OF act in. 

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 

Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes> 

As, sick and blunted with community, 

Aflbrd no extraordinary gaze. 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: 

But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down. 

Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries j 

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou : 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege. 

With vile participation ; not an eye 

But is a-weary of thy common sight. 

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more 5 

Which now doth that I would not have it do. 

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord. 
Be more myself. 

K. Hen. For all the world. 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgj 
And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot. 
He hath more worthy interest to the state. 
Than thou, the shadow of succession: 
For, of no right, nor colour like to right. 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm; 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou> 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on. 
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
What never-dying honour hath he got 


Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds. 

Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms. 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority, 

And military title capital. 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ? 

Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes. 

This infant warrior in his enterprizes 

Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him once. 

Enlarged him, and made a friend of him. 

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 

And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, 

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 

Capitulate against us, and are up. 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 

Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear. 

Base inclination, and the start of spleen. 

To fight against me under Percy's pay. 

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 

To show how much degenerate thou art. 

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; 
And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head. 
And, in the closing of some glorious day. 
Be bold to tell you, that I am your sonj 
When I will wear a garment all of blood. 
And stain my favours in a bloody mask. 
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
That this same child of honour and renown. 

168 FIRST PART OF act hi. 

This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 

And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet: 

For every honour sitting on his helm, 

'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 

My shames redoubled ! for the time will come. 

That I shall make this northern youth exchange 

His glorious deeds for my indignities. 

Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 

To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf) 

And I will call him to so strict account. 

That he shall render every glory up. 

Yea, even the slightest worsliip of his time, 

Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 

This, in the name of God, 1 jiromise here : 

The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 

I do beseech your majesty, may salve 

The long-grown woimds of my intemperance: 

If not, the end of life cancels all bands; 

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths. 

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

K.Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this: — 
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. 

Enter Blunt 

How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed. 

Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,— 
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met. 
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury: 
A mighty and a fearful head they are. 
If promises be kept on every hand. 
As ever offer'd foul play in a state, 

K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; 


With him my son, lord John of Lancaster j 

For this advertisement is five days old : — 

On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 

Fonvard ; on Thursday, we ourselves will march : 

Our meeting is Bridgnorth : and, Harry, you 

Shall march through Glostershire 3 by which account. 

Our business valued, some twelve days hence 

Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 

Our hands are full of business : let's awayj 

Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. lExeunt 

SCENE HI. — Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's Head 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolfh. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this 
Ust action ? do I not bate ? do I not dwindle ? Why, 
my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown ; 
I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, 
and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall 
be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength 
to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside 
of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's 
horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous 
company, hath been the spoil of me. 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live 

Fal. Why, there is it : — come, sing me a bawdy song; 
make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gen- 
tleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; 
diced, not above seven times a week ; went to a bawdy- 
house, not above once in a quarter — of an hour ; paid 
money that I borrowed, three or four times ; lived well^ 


itO FIRST PART OF act in. 

and in good compass : and now I live out of all order, 
out of all compass. 

Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must 
needs be out of all compass 3 out of all reasonable 
compass, sir John. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my 
life : Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in 
the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee 3 thou art the 
knight of the burning lamp. 

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. 

Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good use of it as 
many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: 
I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and 
Dives that lived in purple ; for there he is in his robes, 
burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to 
virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my oath should be, 
By this fire : but thou art altogether given over j and 
wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of 
utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the 
night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst 
been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no 
purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, 
an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a 
thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee 
in the night betwixt tavern and tavern : but the sack 
that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights 
as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. 
I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, 
any time this two and thirty years ; Heaven reward me 
for it! 

Bard. 'Sblood, I woidd my face were in your belly! 

Fal. God-a-raercy ! so should I be sure to be heart- 


Enter Hostess. 

How now, dame Partlet the hen ? have you inquired 
yet, who picked my pocket ? 

Host. Why, sir John ! what do you think, sir John ? 
Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have 
searched, 1 have inquired, so has my husband, man by 
man, boy by boy, servant by servant 3 the tithe of a 
hair was never lost in my house before. 

Fal. You lie, hostess j Bardolph was shaved, and lost 
many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked : 
Go to, you are a woman, go. 

Host. Who I ? I defy thee : I was never called so in 
mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 

Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir John • 
I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, 
and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: 
I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them away 
to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight 
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, 
for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, 
four and twenty pound. 

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. 

Host. He? a,las, he is poor; he hath nothing. 

Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call 
you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his 
cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make 
a younker of me? eiiall I not take mine ease in mine 
inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost 
a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. 

172 FIRST PART OF act hi 

Host. O Jesu ! I have heard the prince tell him, 
1 know not how oft, that that ring was copper. 

Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup j and 
if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he 
would say so. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Falstaff 
meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife. 

Fal How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i' faith? 
must we all march? 

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion ? 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How 
does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an honest man. 

Host. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou. Jack ? 

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the 
arras, and had my pocket picked : this house is turned 
bawdy-house, they pick pockets, 

P. Hen. What didst thou lose. Jack? 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds 
of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grand- 

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord j and I said, I heard 
your grace say so : And, my lord, he speaks most vilely 
of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is j and said, he 
would cudgel you. 

P. Hen. What! he did not? 

Host. There's neither faith, truth, not* wOiiianhood 
in me else. 

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed 


prune j nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox ; 
and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's 
wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fed. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. 

Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou 
should'st know it J I am an honest man's wife: and, 
setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call 
me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast 
to say otherwise. 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou ? 

Fal. What beast ? why an otter. 

P. Hen. An otter, sir John ? why an otter? 

Fal. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh 5 a man knows 
not where to have her. 

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so 5 thou 
or any man knows were to have me, thou knave thou ! 

P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slanders 
thee most grossly. 

Host. So he doth you, my lord 3 and said this other 
day, you ought him a thousand pound. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound ? 

Fal. A thousand pound, HaP a million: thy love is 
worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, he 
would cudgel you. 

Fal. Did I, Bardolph? 

Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea ; if he said, my ring was copper. 

P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Barest thou be as good as 
thy word now ? 

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man. 

174 FIRST PART OF act hi. 

I dare : but, as thou ai-t prince, I fear thee, as I fear 
the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion? 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: 
Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father ? nay, 
an I do, I pray God, my girdle break ! 

P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about 
thy knees ! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, 
nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ; it is fdled up with 
guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with 
picking thy jjocket! Why, thou w|ioreson, impudent, 
embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket 
but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, 
and one poor penny- vvorth of sugar-candy to make thee 
long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any 
other injuries but these, 1 am a villain. And yet you 
will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art 
thou not ashamed ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest, in the state 
of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should poor Jack 
FalstafF do, in the days of villainy ? Thou seest, I have 
more flesh than another man; and therefore more 
frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket? 

P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, 1 forgive thee: Go, make ready break- 
fast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy 
guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest 
reason: thou seest, I am pacified. — Still? — Nay, pr'y- 
thee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news 
at court: for the robbery, lad, — How is that an- 
swered ? 

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel 
to thee -.—The monfey is paid back again. 


Fal, O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double 

P, Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may 
do any thing. 

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, 
and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

P. Hen. I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of foot. 

Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I 
find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the 
age of two and twenty, or thereabouts ! I am heinously 
unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, 
they offend none but the virtuous -, I laud them, I praise 

P. Hen. Bardolph 

Bard. My lord. 

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, 
My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmoreland.— 
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse j for thou, and I, 
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. ■ 

Meet me to morrow in the Temple-hall 
At two o'clock i'th' afternoon: 

There shalt thou know thy charge j and there receive 
Money, and order for their furniture. 
The land is burning j Percy stands on high; 
And either they, or we, must lower lie. 

[Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. 

Fal, Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my 

breakfast; come: — 
O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Exit 

ir« FIRST PART OF act it 


SCENE I. — The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : If speaking truth. 
In this fine age, were not thought flattery. 
Such attribution should the Douglas have. 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the world. 
By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy 
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place 
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour : 
No man so potent breathes upon the ground. 
But I will beard him. 

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well :— 

Enter a Messenger, with letters. 

What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank you 

Mess. These letters come from your father, — 

Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 

'Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick. 
In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
Under whose government come they along ? 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 

Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed ? 

Mess, He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth j 


And at the time of my departure thence, 
He was much fear'd by his physicians. 

Wor. I would, the state of time had first been whole. 
Ere he by sickness had been visited j 
His health was never better worth than now. 

Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect 
The very life-blood of our enterprize 3 

Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 

He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 

And that his friends by deputation could not 

So soon be drawn j nor did he think it meet^ 

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 

On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — 

That with our small conjunction, we should on. 

To see how fortune is dispos'd to us: 

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now > 

Because the king is certainly possess'd 

Of all our purposes. What say you to it ? 

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: — 
And yet, in faith, 'tis not j his present want 
Seems more than we shall find it : — Were it good 
To set the exact wealth of all our states 
All at one cast ? to set so rich a m:ain 
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
It were not good : for therein should we read 
The very bottom and the soul of hope 5 
The veiy list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should | 

Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 

178 FIRST PART OF act iy 

Is to come in: 

A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

fVor. But yet, I would your father had been here. 
The quality and hair of our attempt 
Brooks no division: It will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away. 
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; 
And think, how such an apprehension 
May turn the tide of fearful faction. 
And breed a kind of question in our cause : 
For, well you know, we of the offering side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement j 
And stop all sight-holes, eveiy loop, from whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon us: 
This absence of your father's draws a curtain. 
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I, rather, of his absence make this usej — 
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprize. 
Than if the earl were here: for men must think. 
If we, without his help, can make a head 
To push against the kingdom j with his help. 
We shail o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. — 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are wliole. 

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a word 
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. 


Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong. 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 

Hot. No harm: What more? 

Ver. And further, I have learn'd,— • 

The king himself in person is set forth. 
Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hoi. He sliall be welcome too. Where is his son. 
The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside. 
And bid it pass ? 

F&r. All furnish'd, all in arms. 

All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind; 
Bated like eagles having lately bath'd j 
Glittering in golden coats, like images j 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on. 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat. 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 

Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in 
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim^ 

180 FIRST PART OF act w. 

And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war. 

All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them : 

The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit. 

Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire. 

To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. 

And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse. 

Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt. 

Against the bosom of the prince of Wales : 

Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. 

Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 

O, that Glendower were come ! 

Ver. ' There is more news: 

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along. 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 

Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 

JVor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 

Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto ? 

Fer. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be; 

My father and Glendower being both away. 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us make a muster speedily : 
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 

Doug. Talk not of dying ; I am out of fear 
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 


SCENE n. — A public road near Coventry. 
Enter Falstatf and Bardolph. 

Fal Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry 3 fill me 
a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through; 
we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. 


Bard. Will you give me money, captain ? 

Fal. hay out, lay out. 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour^ and if it 
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. 
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. 

Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. 

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and 
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press 
me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : inquire 
me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked 
twice on the bans ; such a commodity of warm slaves, 
as had as lief hear the devil as a drum j such as fear the 
report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt 
wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, 
with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, 
and they have bought out their services j and now my 
whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, 
gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus 
in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked 
his sores: and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; 
but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to 
younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade- 
fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and a long peace 3 
ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced 
ancient : and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them 
that have bought out their services, that you would 
think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, 
lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draiFand 
husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told 
me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the 

182 FIRST PART OF act iv. 

dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll 
not march through Coventry with them, that's flat: — 
Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as 
if they had gyves on j for, indeed, I had the most of 
them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in 
all my company : and the half-shirt is two napkins, 
tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders like a 
herald's coat without sleeves j and the shirt, to say the 
truth, stolen from my host at Saint Albans, or the red- 
nose innkeeper of Daintry. But that's all one; they'll 
find linen enough on every hedge. 

Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. 

P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt? 

Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a devil 
dost thou in Warwickshire ? — My good lord of West- 
moreland, I cry you mercy j I thought, your honour 
had already been at Shrewsbury. 

West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I 
were there, and you tooj but my powers are there 
already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all; 
we must away all night. 

Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as a cat 
to steal cream. 

P. Hen. I think, to steal cre^jn indeed; for thy theft 
hath already made thee butter. But tell me. Jack, 
VVhose fellows are these that come after? 

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. 

P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for pow- 
der, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit, as well as better : 
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 


fVest. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are exceeding 
poor and bare ; too beggarly. 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not where 
they had that : and for their bareness, — I am sure, 
they never learned that of me. 

P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste j 
Percy is already in the field. 

Fal. What, is the king encamped ? 

West. He is, sir John 3 I fear, we shall stay too long. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast. 
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon. 

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 

fVor. It may not be. 

Doug. You give him then advantage. 

Ver. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so?' looks he not for supply? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advis'dj stir not to-night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well; 

You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, 
(And I dare well maintain it with my life,) 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 
I hold as little counsel with weak fear, ■ 

As you my lord, or any Scot that lives:— 

184 FIRST PART OF act iv 

Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle. 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. , Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 

I wonder much, being men of such great leading. 
That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition : Certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up : 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day 3 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep. 
Their courage with hard labour tame aj^d dull. 
That not a horse is half the half himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-bated, and brought lowj 
The better part of ours is full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours : 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 

[The trumpet sounds a parley 

Enter Sir Walter Blunt 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, 
If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. 

Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt 3 And 'would to God 
You were of our determination ! 
Some of us love you well : and even those some 
Fnvy your great deserving, and good namej 
Because you are not of our quality. 
But stand against us like an enemy. 

Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so. 
So long as, out of limit, and true rule. 
You stand against anointed majesty! 


But, to my charge. — ^The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs 3 and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty: If that the- king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot,— 
Which he confesseth to be manifold, — 
He bids you name your griefs -, and, with all speed. 
You shall have your desires, with interest 3 
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these. 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 

Hot. The king is kind 3 and, well we know, the king 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father, and my uncle, and myself. 
Did give him that same royalty he wears : 
And, — when he was not six and twenty strong. 
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — 
My father gave him welcome to the shore : 
And, — when he heard him swear, and vow to God, 
He came but to be duke of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery, and beg his peace 3 
With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — 
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. 
Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm 
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 
The more and less came in with cap and knee j 
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages 3 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 
Laid gifts before him, profFer'd him their qaths* 
Gave him their heirs 3 as pages foUow'd him. 
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. 

yS6 HRST PART OF act iv 

He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — 
Steps me a little higher than his vow 
Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgj 
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : 
Cries out upon abuses; seems to weep 
Qver his country's wrongs ; and, by this face. 
This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 
Of all the favourites, that the absent king 
In deputation left behind him here. 
When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then, to the point. 

In short time after, he depos'd the king; 
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; 
And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: 
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March 
(Who is, if every owner were well plac'd. 
Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, 
There without ransome to lie forfeited: 
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories ; 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong: 
And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
This head of safety; and, withal, to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 


Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king ? 

Hot. Not so, sir Walter; we'll withdraw awhile. 
Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in the morning early shall mine uncle 
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love. 

Hot. And, may be, so we shall. 

Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do! 


SCENE IV. — ^York. A room in the Archbishop's house. 
Enter the Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman. 

Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ; bear this sealed brief. 
With winged haste, to the lord mareshal; 
This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
To whom they are directed : if you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

Gent. My good lord, 
I guess their tenor. 

Arch. Like enough, you do. 

To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day. 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must 'bide the touch : For, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am truly given to understand. 
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power. 
Meets with lord Harry : and I fear, sir Michael, — 
What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
(Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
And what with Owen Glendovver's absence, thence^ 
(Who with them was a rated sinew too. 
And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,) — 

18S FIRST PART OF act iv. 

I fear^ the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king". 

Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear 3 there's 
And Mortimer. 

Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. 

Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry 
And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arch. And so there is : but yet the king hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together; — 
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; 
And many more cor-rivals, and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. 

Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; 
And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed : 
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, — 

For he hath heard of our confederacy, 

And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him; 
Therefore, make haste : I nuist go write again 
To other friends ; and so farewell, sir Michael. 

lExeunt severally 



SCENE I. — 'The King's camp near Shrewsbury. 

Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John of 
Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Fal- 


K. Hen, How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale 
At his distemperature. 

P. Hen. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes -, 
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves. 
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. 

K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize ; 
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — 

Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. 

How now, my lord of Worcester ? 'tis not well. 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 
As now we meet : You have deceiv'd our trust j 
And made us doff our easy robes of peace. 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to't? will you again unknit 
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? 
And move in that obedient orb again. 
Where you did give a fair and natural light} 
And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
Of broached mischief to the unborn times? 

290 FIRST PART OF act v. 

Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours j for, I do protest, 
I have not sought the day of this dislike. 

K.Hen. You have not sought for it! how comes it 

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. 

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks 
Of favour, from myself, and all our house j 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you, my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time j and posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand^ 
When yet you were in place and in account 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother, and his son. 
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — 

And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 

That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state; 
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right. 
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head 3 
And such a flood of greatness fell on you, — 
What with our helpj what with the absent king; 
What wiih the injuries of a wanton time; 
The seeming suffei'ances that you had borne; 
And the contrarious winds, that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Irish wara. 


That all in England did repute him dead,— 

And, from this swarm of ikir advantages. 

You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 

To gripe the general sway into your hand: 

Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster^ 

And, being fed by us, you us'd us so 

As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 

Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest; 

Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk. 

That even our love durst not come near your sight. 

For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 

We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly 

Out of your sight, and raise this present head: 

Whereby we stand opposed by such means 

As you yourself have forg'd against yourself j 

By unkind usage, dangerous countenance. 

And violation of all faith and troth 

Sworn to us in your younger enterprize. 

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated, 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents. 
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause; 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havock and confusion. 

P. Hen^ In both our ai-mies, there is many a soul 
Shall payiull dearly for this encounter. 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 

192 FIRST PART OF act V 

In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes, — 
This present enterprize set off his head,— • 
I do not think, a braver gentleman. 
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young. 
More daring, or more bold, is now alive. 
To grace this latter age with notle deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry j 
And so, I hear, he doth account me too : 

Yet this before my father's majesty, 

1 am content, that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation; 
And will, to save the blood on either side, 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 

K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
Albeit, considerations infinite 
Do make against it: — No, good Worcester, no. 
We love our people well; even those we love. 
That are misled upon your cousin's part : 
And, will they take the offer of our grace. 
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his : 
So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do : — But if he will not yield. 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us. 
And they shall do their office. So, be gonej 
We will not now be troubled with reply : 
We offer fair, take it advisedly. 

\Exeunt Worcester and Ve&KOm 

P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life! 
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 


K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge j 
For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 

[Exeunt King, Blunt, and Prince John, 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 

Fal. 'Tis not due yetj I would be loath to pay him 
before his day. What need I be so forward with him 
that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no mattery Honour 
pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off 
when I come on, how then ? Can honour set to a leg ? 
No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of 
a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? 
No. What is honour? A word. What is in that 
word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A trim 
reckoning ! — Who hath it ? He that died o' Wednesday. 
Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it 
insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not 
live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not 
suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it : Honour is a mere 
scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit, 

SCENE 11.— The rebel camp. 

Enter Worcester and Vernon. 

ff^or. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, 
The liberal kind offer of the king. 
Ver. 'Twere best, he did. 
Wor. Then are we all undone. 


194 FIRST PART OF act v 

It is not possible, it cannot be. 

The king should keep his word in loving us j 

He will suspect us still, and find a time 

To punish this offence in other faults : 

Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : 

For treason is but trusted like the fox; 

Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up. 

Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 

Look how we can, or sad, or merrily. 

Interpretation will misquote our looks ; 

And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. 

The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 

My nephew's trespass may be well forgot. 

It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood j 

And an adopted name of privilege, — 

A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : 

All his offences live upon my head. 

And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; 

And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 

We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 

Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 

In any case, the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enter Hotspur and Douglas j and Officers and Soldiers, 

Hot. My uncle is return'd: — Deliver up 
My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news? 
Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 
Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 
Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. lExit. 


JFor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 

Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid ! 

Wor. 1 told liim gently of our grievances^ 
Of his oath-breaking 5 which he mended thus,— 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
He calls us rebels, traitors j and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 

Re-enter Douglas. 

Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. 
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear itj 
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 

JVor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before th'i 
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. 

Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads j 
And that no man might draw short breath to-day. 
But I, and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me. 
How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? 

Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life 
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly. 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man; 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; 
Spoke your descrvings like a chronicle ; 
Making you ever better than his praise. 
By still dispraising praise, valued with you : 
And, which became him like a prince indeed. 
He made a blushing cital of himself; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace* 
As if he master' d there a double spirit. 

196* FIRST PART OF act v. 

Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 

There did he pause : But let me tell the world,— 

If he outlive the envy of this day, 

England did never owe so sweet a hope. 

So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured 
Upon his follies; never did I hear 
Of any prince, so wild, at liberty : — 
But, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 

That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 

Arm, arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers, 

Better consider what you have to do, 
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
Can lift your blood up with persuasien. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 

Hot. I cannot read them now. — 
O gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 
To spend that shortness basely, were too long. 
If life did ride upon a dial's point. 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 
If die, brave death, when princes die with us! 
Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair. 
When the intent of bearing them is just. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. 
Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale. 
For I profess not talking ; Only this — 


Let each man do his best : and here draw I 
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
With the best blood that I can meet withal 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now, — Esperance! — Percy! — and set on.— 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that musick let us all embrace : 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
A second time do such a courtesy. 

[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. 

SCENE III.— P/ain near Shrewsbury. 

Excursio7iSy and parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. 
Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. 

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
Thou crossest me -■ what honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head ? 

Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; 

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus. 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 

Blunt. They tell thee true. 

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought 
Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee. 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot j 
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and Blunt is slain. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, 
I never had trifimph'd upon a Scot. 

198 HRST PART OF act v 

Doug. All's done^ all's won; here breathless lies the 

Hot Where? 

Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full well • 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; 
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes ! 
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 

Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 

Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats 3 
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece. 
Until I meet the king. 

Hot. Uj), and away j 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt 

Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
1 fear the shot here ; here's no scoring, but upon the 
pate. — Soft! who art thou ? Sir Walter Blunt 3 — there's 
hohour for you: Here's no vanity! — I am as hot as 
molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead out of 
me ! I need no more weight than my own bowels. — 
I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered : 
there's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive j 
and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. 
But who comes here? 

Enter Prince Henry. 

p. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here ? lend me thy 
sword : 


Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 

Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies. 

Whose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend thy sword. 

Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a 
while. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in aims, as 
I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made 
him sure. 

P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. Lend 
me thy sword, I pr'ythee. 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou 
get'st not my' sword 3 but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 

P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case ? 

Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will sack 
a city. [The Prince drav)s out a bottle of sack. 

P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now? 

[Throws it at him, and exit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him If he 
do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come in his, 
willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not 
such grinning honour as sir Walter hath : Give me life : 
which if I can save, so ; if not, honour comes unlooked 
for, and there's an end. . [Exit. 

SCENE lV.—j7iother part of the field. 

Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince Henry, 
Prince John, and Westmoreland. 

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much :■— 
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 

P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up. 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends 

200 ^ FIRST PART OF act v. 

K. Hen. I will do so : — 
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. 

P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your 
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
The prince of Wales from such a field as thisj 
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 

P. John. We breathe too long: — Come, cousin 
Our duty this way lies 5 for God's sake, come. 

\_Exeunt Prince John and Westmobeland. 

P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, 
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; 
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 

K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point. 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an ungrown warrior. 

P. Hen. O, this boy 

Lends mettle to us all! [Exit, 

Alamms. Enter Douglas. 

Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads: 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colours on them. — What art thou. 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king? 

K.Hen. The king himself} who, Douglas, grieves 
at heart. 
So many of his shadows thou hast met. 
And not the very king. I have two boys. 
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field : 


But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
I will assay thee j so defend thyself. 

Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : 
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be. 
And thus I win thee. 

[They fight; the King being in danger j enter 
Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like 
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee j 
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. — 

{They fight; Dovglas files. 
Cheerly, my lord ; How fares your gi-ace ? — 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, 
And so hath Clifton 3 I'll to Clifton straight. 

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while : — 
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
And show'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life. 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 

P. Hen. O heaven ! they did me too much injury. 
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you j 
Which would have been as speedy in your end. 
As all the poisonous potions in the world. 
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 

K.Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. [Exit King Henry. 

Enter Hotspur. 
Hot If I mistake not, thou art Hany Monmouth. 

202 FIRST PART OF act v. 

P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

P. Hen. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more : 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere j 
Nor can one England brook a double reign. 
Of Hariy Percy, and the prince of Wales. 

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
To end the one of us; And 'would to God, 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine. 

P. Hen. I'll make it greater ere I part from thee j 
And all the budding honours on thy crest 
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. 

Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities, [Theyjight. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal Well said, Hal!, to it, Hal!— Nay, you shall find 
no boy's play here, I can tell you. 

Enter Douglas ; hejights with Falstaff, who falls down 
as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is 
wounded, and falls. 

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth, 
I better brook the loss of brittle life. 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; 
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my 


But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophecy. 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 


Xries on iny tongue: — ^No, Percy, thou art dust. 

And food for [Dies. 

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well, 
great heart ! — 
lU-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound j 
But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead. 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face j 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! 
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave. 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — 

[He sees Falstaff on the ground. 
What ! okl acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
I could have better spar'd a better man. 
Or, I should have a heavy miss of thee. 
If I were much in love with vanity. 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day. 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray : — 
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by j 
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 

Fal. [Rising sloicly.'] Embowelled ! if thou embowel 
me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat 
me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, 
or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. 
Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit: To die, is to 

204 FIRST PART OF act v. 

be a counterfeit^ for he is but the counterfeit of a man, 
who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit 
dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counter- 
feit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The 
better part of valour is — discretion ; in the which better 
part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this 
gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should 
counterfeit too, and rise ? I am afraid, he would prove 
the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure^ 
yea, and I'll swear I killed him. Why may not he rise, 
as well as I ? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody 
sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbiiig him.'] with a new 
wound in your thighs come you along with me. 

[Takes Hotspur on his back. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 

P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou 
Thy maiden sword. 

P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here ? 

Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead ? 

P. Hen. 1 did 3 I saw him dead, breathless and 

Upon the ground. 

Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy 
That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak 5 
We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — 
Thou art not what thou seem'st. 

Fal. No, that's certain j I am not a double man : 
but if I be not Jack FalstafF, then am I a Jack. There 
is Percy : [Throwing the body down."] if your father will 
do me any honour, so j if not, let him kill the next Percy 
himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. 


P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 

Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world is given 
to lying ! — I grant you, I was down, and out of breath ; 
and so was he : but we rose both at an instant, and 
fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be 
believed, so; if not, let them, that should reward 
valour, bear the sin upon their own hearls. I'll take 
it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: 
if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make 
him eat a piece of my sword. 

P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John.— 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. 

[A retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field. 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

^Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. 

Fal I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great, 
I'll grow less 3 for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live 
cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 

[Exit, bearing off the body, 

SCENE Y. --Another part of the field. 

The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, 
Prince John, Westmoreland, and others, wif^ Wor- 
cester, and Vernon, prisoners. 
K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.— 

Ill-spirited Worcester ! did we not send grace. 


Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
And would'st thou turn our offers contrary ? 
Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ? 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl, and many a creature else. 
Had been alive this hour. 
If, like a christian, thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 

fVor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me toj 
And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too : 
Other offenders we will pause upon. — 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
How goes the field ? 

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him. 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the restj 
And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd. 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is j and I beseech your gi'ace, 
I may dispose of him. 

K. Hen. With all my heart. 

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong : 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomeless, and free : 
His valour, shown upon our crests to-day. 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds. 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 

K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our 
power. — 


You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 

Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed. 

To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 

Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 

Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, 

To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. 

Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway. 

Meeting the check of such another day : 

And since this business so fair is done. 

Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt 



Second Part of King Henry IV.] The transactions 
comprized in this history take up about nine years. The 
action commences with the account of Hotspur's being de- 
feated and killed [1403 ;] and closes with the death of King 
Henry IV. and the coronation of King Henry V. [1412-13.J 


This play\?a8 first entered at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 
1600. . Steevens. 

7%c Second Part of King Henry IK I suppose to have 
been written in 1598. See Jn Attempt to ascertain the 
Order of Shakespeare's Plays, Vol. II. Malone. 

Mr. Upton thinks these two plays improperly called TTie 
First and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. The first 
play ends, h'» says, with the peaceful settlement of Heni7 in 
the kingdom hy the defeat of the rebels. This is hardly true ; 
for the rebels are not yet finally suppressed. The second, he 
tells us, shows Henry the Fifth in the various lights of a 
good-natured rake, till, on his father's death, he assumes a 
more manly character. This is true ; but this representation 
gives us no idea of a dramatiek action. These two plays will 
appear to every reader, who shall peruse them without am- 
bition of critical discoveries, to be so connected, that the 
second is merely a sequel to the first ; to be two only because 
they are too long to be one. Johnson. 


King Henry the Fourth: 

HexNry, prince of Wales, qfterwards King 

Henry V. ; 
Thomas, duke qf Clarence; 
Prince John of Lancaster, qfterwards }• his sons. 

(2 Henry Vj Duke of Bedford ; 
Prince Humphrey of Gloster, afterwards 

(2 Henry V.) Duke of Gloster; 
Earl of Warwick ; J 

JE'aWo/'WESTMORELAND; ^ofthe king's party. 
GowER; Harcourt; * 
Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. 
A Gentleman attending on the chief justice. 
Earl of Northumberland; ~\ 

Scroop, archbishop of York; (^enemies to 

Lord Mowbray ; Z/ordf Hastings; ( the king. 

Lord Bardolph ; Sir John Colevile ; ) 
Travers an<? Morton, domesticks (j/* Northumberland. 
Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. 
PoiNS and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry. 
Shallow and Silence, country justices. 
Davy, servant to Shallow. 
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, 

Fang and Snare, sheriff's officers. 
Rumour. A Porter. 
A Dancer, speaker of the Epilogue. 

Lady Northumberland. 

Lady Percy. 

Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet. 

Lord* and other Attendants ; Officer s. Soldiers, Messenger^ 
Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Sfc. 

SCENE, England. 


Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle. 
Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 

Rum. 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 j 
The which in every language I pronounce. 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, while covert enmity. 
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence j 
Whilst the big year, swol'n 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 j 
And of so easy and so plain a stop. 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
Tke still-discordant wavering multitude. 


Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
My well-known body to anatomize 
Among my houshold? 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 3 
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 learn'd of me ; From Rumour's tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 
wrongs. lExit. 




SCENE I.—ITie same. 
The Porter before the gate; Enter Lord Bardolph. 

Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho?— Where is the 
carl ? 

Port. What shall I say you are ? 

Bard. Tell thou the earl. 

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard j 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate. 
And he himself will answer. 

Enter Nohthumberland. 

Bard. Here comes the earl. 

North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute now 
Should be the father of some stratagem : 
The times are wild 3 contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose. 
And bears down all before him. 

816 SECOND PART OF act i. 

Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 

North, Good, and heaven will ! 

Bard. As good as heart can wish :— 

The king is almost wounded to the death 3 
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 foUow'd, and so fairly won. 
Came not, till now, to dignify the times. 
Since Caesar's fortunes ! 

North. How is this deriv'd? 

8aw you the field ? came you fiom Shrewsbury r 

Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from 
thence j 
A gentleman well bred, and of good name. 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the wayj 
And he is furnish'd with no certainties. 
More than he haply may retail from me. 

Enter Tkavers. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come witii 

Tra. 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 j 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 5 and, starting'so. 
He seem'd in running to devour the way. 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha ! Again. 

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? 
Of Hotspur, coldspur ? that rebellion 
Had met ill luck! 

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what 3 — 

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. 

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by 
Give then such instances of loss ? 

Bard. 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. 

ErUer Morton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
Foretells the nature of a tragick volume: 
So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood 

Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ? 


*m SECOND PART OF ac* i. 

M&r. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
To fright our party. 

North. 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 dead in look, so woe-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd : 
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. 
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 
This thou would'st say, — Your son did thus, andthusj 
Your brother, thusj so fought the noble Douglas 5 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; 
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed. 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 
Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. 

Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: 
But, for my lord your son, 

North. Why, he is dead. 

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
He, that but feai-s 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 thy earl, his divination liesj 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace. 
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid : 
Your sjjirit is too true, your fears too certain. 

North. 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 deadj 
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, 
Remember'd knolling a departing friend. 

Bard, I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 

Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe 
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen : 
But these mine eyes saw him in blood^^ state, 
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd. 
To Harry Monmouth 3 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 tempei'd courage in his troops : 
For from his metal was his party steel'd; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and neavy lead. 
And as the thing that's heavy in itself. 
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss. 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear. 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim. 
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety. 
Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword 
Had three times slain th' appearance of the king. 

220 SECOND PART OF act i. 

'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
Of those that tiirn'd their backs ; and, in his flight. 
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is, — that the king hath wonj 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. 

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
In poison there is physick; 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-weaken' d joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life. 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms j even so my limbs, 
VVeaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief. 
Are thr?ce themselves : hence therefore, thou nice crutch; 
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel. 
Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif ; 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, 
Wliich 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 lingering act; 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On bloody courses, the mde scene may end. 
And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 

Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. 


Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your 

Mor. 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 smnm'd the account of chance, before you said, — 
Let us make head. It was your presurmise. 
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 befallen. 
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth. 
More than that being which was like to be ? 

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss. 
Knew that we ventur'd 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 all put forth ; body, and goods. 

Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble lord> 

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, 

The gentle archbishop of York is up. 
With well-appointed powers ; he is a man, 
Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
My lord your son had only but the corps, | 
But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight : 

2<?2 SECOND PART OF act i. 

For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
Tlie action of their bodies from their souls j 
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 : 
iSuppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts. 
He's follow'd both with body and with mindj 
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 5 
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land. 
Gasping for life under great Bolingbrokej 
And more, and less, do flock to follow him. 

North. I knew of this before 3 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 j 
Never so few, and never yet more need. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— London. A street. 

Enter 5ir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword 
and buckler. 

Fal. 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 
more diseases than he knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: 

scEifE II. KING HENRY IV. » 9^ 

The brain of this foolish-compounded clay^ man, is not 
able to vent any thing that tends 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. 
T do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath 
overwhelmed 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 judgement. Thou whoreson 
mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than 
to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an 
agate till now : but I will set 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 fledged. I will sooner 
have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he 
shall get one on his cheek ; and yet he will not stick to 
say, his face is a face-royal : God may finish it when he 
will, it is not a hair amiss yet : he may keep it still as 
a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out 
of it 3 and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man 
ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his 
own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure 

him. What said master Dumbleton about the satin 

for my short cloak, and slops ^ 

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
assurance than Bardolph : he would not take his bond 
and yours ; he liked not the security. 

Fal. Let him be damned like the glijtton! may his 
tongue be hotter ! — A whoreson Achitophel ! a rascally 
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 thorough witii 

^24 SECOND PART OF act i. 

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 looked he 
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 j 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 
lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph? 

Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your wor- 
ship a horse. 

Fal. 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 manned, horsed, and wived. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed 
the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 

Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ? 

Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? 

Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good 
service at Shrewsbury j and, as I hear, is now going 
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. 

Atten. Sir John Falstaff ! 

Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 

Oi. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing 
good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow j I must speak 
with him. 

Atten, Sir John,— 


Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! 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. 

At ten. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. 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. 

Aiten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and 
your soldiership aside j and give me leave to tell you, 
you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than 
an honest man. 

Fal. 1 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 takest leave, thou wert better be 
hanged: You hunt-counter, hence! avaunt! 

Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Cn. Just. Sir John FalstaiF, a word with you. 

Fal. 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. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expe- 
dition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty is 
returned with some discomfort from Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : — You would not 
come when I sent for you. 

«26 ' SECOND PART OF act i. 

Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen into 
this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, let me 
speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, 
an't please yom' lordship j a kind of sleeping in the 
blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 

Fal. It hath its original from much grief 5 from study, 
and perturbation of the brain : I have read the cause of 
his effects in Galen ; it is a kind of deafness, 

Ch. Just. I think, you are faller> Into the disease 3 for 
you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. 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. 

Ch. Just. To puni«h you by the heels, would amend 
the attention of your ears j and I care not, if I do become 
your physician. 

Fat. 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. 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
against you for your life, to come speak with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in 
the laws of this land-sei-vice, 1 did not come. 

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in great 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste 
is great. 


Fal. I would it were otherwise j I would my mean . 
were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the 
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound : 
your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gildec. 
over your night's exploit on Gads-hill : you may thank 
the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action 

Fal. My lord ? 

Ch. Just, But since all is well, keep it so : wake not 
a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. 

Ch.Just. What! you are as a candle, the better part' 
burnt out. 

Fal. A wassel candle, my lord ; all tallow : if I did 
say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, but 
should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down^ 
like his ill angel. 

Fal. Not so, my lord 3 your ill angel is light j but, I 
hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without 
weighing : and yet, in some res])ects, I grant, I cannot 
go, I cannot tell: Virtue is of so little regard in these 
coster-monger times, that tiiie valour is turned bear- 
herd : Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick 
wit wasted in giving reckonings : all the other gifts ap- 
pertinent 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 measure 
the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your g$ill» 

2*23 SECOND PART OF act.i. 

and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must 
confess, are wags too. 

Ch. Just. 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 ? Fye, fye, fye, sir John ! 

Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in 
the afternoon, with a white head, and something around 
belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with hollaing, and 
singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I 
will not- the truth is, I am only old in judgement and 
unaerstandmg ; and he that will caper with me for a 
thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have 
at him. For the boxo'th'ear that the prince gave 
you, — he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like 
a sensible lord. I have checked him for it} and the 
young lion repents : marry, not in ashes, and sackcloth j 
but in new silk, and old sack. 

Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better com- 
panion ! 

Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! I 
cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince 
Harry : I hear, you are going with lord John of Lan- 
caster, against the archbishop, and the earl of Nor- 

Fal. 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, an I brandish 
any thing but my 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 can- 
not last ever: But it was always yet the trick of our 
English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it 
too common. If you 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 rust, than to be scoured to 
nothing with perpetual motion. 

Ch.Just. Well, be honest, be honest 3 And God bless 
your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, 
to furnish me forth ? 

Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny j you are too im- 
patient to bear crosses. Fare you well : Commend me 
to my cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. 

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. — A man 
can no more separate age and covetousness, than he 
can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls 
the one^ and the pox pinches the others and so both 
the degrees prevent my curses. — ^Boy !— 

Page. Sir? 

Fal. What money is in my purse ? 

Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 

Fal. 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 j this to the prince j this to 
the earl of Westmoreland 3 and this to old mistress 

230 SECOND PART OF act i. 

Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since 
I perceived the first white hair on my chin : About it j 
you know where to find me. lExit 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. It is no matter, if 
I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, and my pen- 
sion shall seem the more reasonable: A good wit will 
make use of any things I will turn diseases to com- 
modity. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — ^York. A room in the Archbishop's palace^ 

Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Hastings, 
Mowbray, and Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known 
our means j 
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 ? 

Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms; 
But gladly would be better satisfied. 
Haw, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice j 
ftnd our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth 
thus J — 
Whether our present fire and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without Northumberland? 


Hast. With him^ we may. 

Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point . 

But if without him we be thought too feeble. 
My judgement 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 uncertain, should not be admitted. 

Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed, 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, 
Eating the air on promise of supply. 
Flattering himself with 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, leap'd into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt. 
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 

Bard. Yes, in this present quality of warj — 
Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) 
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
We see th' appearing buds 5 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 j 
And when we see the figure of the house. 
Then must we 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. 

S32 SECOND PART OF act i. 

And set another up,) should we survey 
The plot of situation, and the model j 
Consent upon a sure foundation ; 
Question surveyors 3 know our own estate. 
How able such a work to undergo. 
To weigh against his opposite 3 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 itj 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. 

Hast. 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 a body strong enough, 
Ev^ as we are, to equal with the king. 

Bard. What ! is the king but five and twenty thousand? 

Hast. To us, no more 5 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. 

Arch. That he should draw his several strength* 
And come against us in full puissance. 
Need not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so. 

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 


Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither r 

Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: 
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth : 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on j 

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 would'st 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 j 
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up. 
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times ? 
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die. 
Are now become enamour'd on his grave: 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head. 
When through proud London he came sighing on 
After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st now, earth, yield m that king again, 
And take thou this ! O thoughts of men accurst ! 
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. 

Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbei-s, and set on? 

Hast, We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. 


334 SECOND PART OF act ii 


SCENE I.— London. A street. 

Enter Hostess j Fang, and his Boy, with her; and Snare 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman? 
will a' stand to't? 

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? 

Host. O lord, ay : good master Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John FulstaflF. 

Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered him 
and all. 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for 
he will stab. 

Host. Alas the day! take heed of him 5 lie stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly : in good 
faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon 
be out : he will foin like any devil 3 he will spare neither 
man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for hi\ 

Host. No, nor I neither : I'll be at your elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him oiice j an a* come but within 
my vice ; — 

Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you, he's 
an infinite thing upon my score : — Good master Fangjt 


hold him sure 3 — good master Snare, let him not 'scape, 
He comes continuantly to Pie-corner, (saving your 
manhoods,) to buy a saddle j and he's indited to dinner 
to the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, to master 
Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is 
entered, and my case so openly known to the world, 
let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark 
is a long loan for a poor lone woman to bear: and 
I have borne, and borne, and borne; and have been 
fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed 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. 

Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's the 
matter ? 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress 

Fal. Away, varlets! — Draw, Bardolph; cut me off 
the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. 

Host. Throw me in the channel ? I'll throw thee in 
the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly 
rogue ! — Murder, murder ! O thou honey-suckle villain ! 
wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's ? O thou 
honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed j a man- 
queller, and a woman-queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 

236 SECOND PART OF act n. 

Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. — Thou 
wo't, vvo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou ? do, do, thou 
rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you fusti- 
larian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended, 

Ch.Just. What's the matter? keep the peace here, 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you, 
stand to nie ! 

Ch. Just. How now, sir John ? what, are you brawling 
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 on 

Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please your 
grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is 
arrested at my suit. 

Ch. Just. For what sum ? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is for all, 
all I have: he hath eaten me out of house and homej 
he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his : — 
but I will have some of it out again, or I'll ride thee 
o'nights, like the mare. 

Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I have 
any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John ? Fye ! what man 
of good temper would endure this tempest of excla- 
mation ? Are you not ashamed, to enforce a poor widow 
to so rough a course to come by her own ? 


Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 

Host, 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 
m Whitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head for 
liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor; thou 
didst swear to me then, as I was a 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, andcall 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 a green 
wound ? And didst thou not, when she was gone down 
stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such 
poor people ; saying, that ere long they should call me 
madam ? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch 
thee thirty shillings ? I put thee now to thy book-oath ; 
deny it, if thou canst. 

Fal. 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. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false 
way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of 
words that come with such more than impudent sauei- 
ness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration : 
you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy- 
yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your 
uses both in purse and person. 

1i36 SECOND PART OP* act ii. 

Host. Vea, in troth, my lord. 

Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, 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. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap with- 
out reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent 
sauciness : if a man will make court'sy, and say no- 
thing, he is virtuous : No, my lord, my humble duty 
remembered, I will not be your suitor j I say to you, 
I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon 
hasty employment in the king's affairs. 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong : 
but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy 
the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside. 

Enter Gower. 

Ch. Just. Now, master Gower ; What news ? 

Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of Wales 
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman j ■ 

Host. Nay, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman ; Come, no more words 

of it. 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be 
fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my 

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and for thy 
walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the 
ptodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is 
worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, and these fly- 
bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. 


Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a 
better wench in England, Go, wash thy face, and 
'draw thy 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. 

Host. Pray thee, sir John, Let it be but twenty nobles ; 
i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good earnest, la. 

Fal. Let it alone ^ I'll make other shift: you'll be a 
fool still. 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
gown. I hope, you'll come to supper: You'll pay 
me all together? 

Fal Will I live?— Go, with her, with her 5 [To 
Bardolph.] hook on, hook on. 

Host, Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at 
supper ? 

Fal. No more words ; let's have her. 

[Exeimt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Page. 

Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 

Fal. What's the news, my good lord? 

Ch.Just. Where lay the king last night? 

Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : What's the news, my 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 

Gow. No J fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse. 
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. 

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord } 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently : 
Come, go along with me, good master Gowcr. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch. Just What's the matter? 

140 SECOND PART OF act ii. 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to 

Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here : I thank 
you, good sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, beincj 
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 

Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower? 

Ch. J}(st. What foolish master taught you these man- 
ners, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a 
fool that taught them me. — ^This is the right fencing 
grace, my lord 3 tap for tap, and so part fair. 

Ch. Just. Now, the Lord lighten thee ! thou art a 
groat fool. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The same. Another street. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins. Is it come to that ? I had thought, weariness 
durst not have attached one of so high blood. 

P. Hen. '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. 

P. Hen. 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 con- 
liderations make me out of love with my greatness. 
IVhat 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 hastj viz. these, and 

ictm n. KING HENRY IV. 241 

those that were the peach-colour'd ones ? or to bear 
the inventory of thy shirts j as, one for superfluity, and 
one other for use? — but that, the tennis-court-keeper 
knows better than I j for it is a low ebb of linen with 
thee, when thou keepest not racket there j as thou hast 
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low- 
countries have made a shift to eat up thy hoUand: 
and God knows, whether those that bawl out the mint 
of thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom : but the mid- 
wives say, the children are not in the faulty where- 
upon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily 

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 ? 

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 

Poins. Yes j and let it be an excellent good thing. 

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one tiling 
that you will tell. 

P. Hen. Why, 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. 

P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the 
devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy and 
persistency : Let the end tiy 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 soitow 


842 SECOND PART OF act ii 

Poins. The reason ? 

P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me, if I should 
weep } 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. 

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and thou 
ai't a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks j 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 accitesyour most worshipful thought, 
to think so ? 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so 
much engraffed to FalstafF. 

P. Hen. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can hear 
A with my own ears : the worst that they can say Oi 
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— — 

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had 
him from me christian; and look, if the fat villain have 
not transformed him ape. 

Enter Bardolph and Page. 

Bard. 'Save your grace ! 

P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page.] you 
bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush 
you now ? What a maidenly man at arms are you 
become? Is it such a matter, to get a pottle-pot's 
maidenhead ? 

Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a 
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from 


the window : at last, I espied his eyes ; and methought, 
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat, 
and peeped through. 

P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited ? 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away ! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away ! 

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy? 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was deli- 
vered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I call him her dream 

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.— 
There it is, boy. [^Gives him money, 

Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept from 
cankers! — Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 
you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
coming to town ; there's a letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how doth 
the martiemas, your master? 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician : 
but that moves not him ; though that be sick, it dies not. 

P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me 
as my dog : and he holds his places for, look you, how 
he writes. 

Poi?is. [Reads.'] Jolm FalstafF, knight, Every man 

must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name 
himself. Even like those that are kin to the kingj for 
they never prick their finger, but they say, There is some 
ef the kings blood spilt : How comes that ? says he, that 
takes upon him not to conceive : the answer is as ready 
as a borrower's cap j I am the king's poor cousin, wr. 

!M^ SECOND PART OF act n. 

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will 
fetch it from Japhet. But the letter : — 

Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the 
king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, greeting.-^ 
Why, this is a certificate. 

P. Hen. Peace! 

Poins. I will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity .*— - 
he sure means brevity in breathy short-winded. — 
/ commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. 
be not too familiar with Poins -, for he misuses thy fa- 
vours so much, that he swears, thou art to marry his 
sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou matfst, and so 

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. 

My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him 

eat it. 

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. 
But do you use me thus, Ned ? must I marry your sister ? 

Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune! but I 
never said so. 

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the timej 
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock 
us. — Is your master here in London? 

Bard. Yes, my lord. 

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in 
the old frank ? 

Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. What company? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 

P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? 


Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and 
mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 

P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman 
of my master's. 

P. Hen. 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 j I'll follow you. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph 3 — no word 
to your master, that I am yet come to town : There's 
for your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it. 

P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between 
Saint Alban's and London. 

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself 
to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen ? 

Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and 
wait upon him at his table as drawers. 

P. Hen. 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 eveiy 
thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow 
me, Ned. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Warkworth. Before the castie. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland 
and Lady Percy. 

North, I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter 

246 SECOND PART OF act ii 

Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
Put not you on the visage of the times, 
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more ; 
Do what you will : your wisdom be your guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 

Lady P. 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 j 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, — may heavenly gloiy brighten it ! 
For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
In the ft-rey 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 that 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 leav«, 
(Second to none, unseconded by you,) 


To look upon the hideous god of war 

In disadvantage; to abide a field, 

VVhere 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 j 

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. 

North. 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 j 
Or it will seek me in another place. 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons. 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. 
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves. 
First let them try themselves: So did your son; 
He was so suffer'd; 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. 

North. Come, come, go in with me : 'tis with my mind» 
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height. 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 

248 SECOND PART OF act ii 

But many thousand reasons hold me back : 

I will resolve for Scotland j there am I, 

rill time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — London. A room in the Boar's Head 
tavern, in Eastcheap. 

Enter two Drawers. 

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou orought there ? 
apple-Johns ? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
an apple-John. 

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest 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 angered him to the hearty but 
he hath torgot that. 

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: And 
see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise j mistress Teay- 
sheet would fain hear some musick. Despatch :'— The 
room where they supped, is too hotj they'll come in 

2 Drg.w. Sirrah, here wiU be the prince, and master 
Poins anon : and they will put on two of our jerkins, 
and aprons J and sir John must not know of it: 
Bardolph hath brought word. 

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis : it will 
be an excellent stratagem. 

2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 

Host. I'faith, sweet heart, 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 : 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 ? 

Dol. Better than I was. Hem. 

Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth 
gold. Look, here comes sir John. 

Enter Falstaff, singing. 

Fal. When Arthur first in court — Empty the Jordan.— 
And was a worthy king: [Exit Drawer.] How now^ 
mistress Doll? 

Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 

Fal. So is all her sect} an they be once in a calm^ 
they are sick. 

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you 
give me ? 

Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 

Bol. I make them! gluttony and diseases make 
them ; 1 make them not. 

Fal. If the cook help to make the gltittony, you help 
to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, Doll, we 
catch of you j grant that, my poor virtue, grant that. 

Dol. Ay, marry j our chains, and our jewels. 

Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and owches; — for to serve 
bravely, is to come halting off, you know: To come 
off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to sur- 
gery bravely ; to venture upon the charged chambers 
bravely : 

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself ! 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two 
never meet, but you fall to some discord : you are both 

250 SECOND PART OF act ii. 

in good troth, as rheumatick as two dry toasts j you 
cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What the 
good-year! one must bear, and that must be you: 
[To Doll.] you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the 
emptier vessel. 

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
full hogshead ? there's a whole merchant's venture of 
Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk better 
stuffed 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 Drawer. 

Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak 
with you. 

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither: it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, by 
my faith 3 I must live amongst my neighbours j 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; lived all this while, to have swaggering 
now: — shut the door, I pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — 

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John 5 there comes 
no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me j your ancient 
swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before master 
Tisick, the deputy, the other dayj and, as he said to 
me, — it was no longer ago than Wednesday last,— 
Neighbour Quickly, says he ; — master Dumb, our mini- 
ster, was by then -, — Neighbour Quickly, says he, receive 


those that are civil; for, saith he, you are in an ill name; — 
now he said so, I can tell whereupon j for, says he, you 
are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take 
heed what guests you receive: Receive, says he, no swag- 
gering companions. ^There comes none here j— you 

would bless you to hear what he said : — no, I'll no 

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess j a tame cheater, 
hej you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- 
hound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if 
her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — Call 
him up, drawer. 

Host. 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 j look you^ 
I warrant you. 

Dol. So you do, hostess. 

Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an 
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Pisf. 'Save you, sir John ! 

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge 
you with a cup of sack : do you discharge upon mine 

Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sirj you shall hardly offend 

Host. 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. 

152 SECOND PART OF act ii. 

Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy ; I will charge you. 

Dol. 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. 

Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 

Dol. 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 ? — What, with two 
points on your shoulder } much ! 

Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. 

Fal. No more. Pistol} 1 would not have you go off 
here : discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. 

Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet 

Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned cheater, art 
thou not ashamed to be called — captain ? If captains 
were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for 
taking their names upon you before you have earned 
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 stewed prunes, 
and dried cakes. A captain ! these villains will make 
the word captain as odious as the word occupy; wnich 
was an excellent good word before it was ill sorted: 
therefore captains had need look to it. 

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
Pist. Not I: tell thee what, corporal Bardolph;>— 
I QQuld tear her : — I'll be revenged on her. 
Page. Pray thee^ go down. 


Pist. rU see her damned first j — to Pluto's damned 
lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures 
vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down! down, 
dogs! down faitors! Have we not Hiren here? 

Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet 3 it is very late, 
i'faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your choler. 

Pist. These be good humours^ indeed ! Shall pack- 
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day. 
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 
And Trojan Greeks ? nay, rather damn them with 
King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ? 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 

Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a 
brawl anon. 

Pist. Die men, like dogsj give crowns like pins; 
Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. 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. 

Pist. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis : 
Come, give's some sack. 

Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me contenta.-— 
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 fiill points here j and are et ceteras nothing r 

Ihl. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif : What ! we have 
seen the seven stars. 

S54 SECOND PART OF act ii. 

Dot. Thrust him down stairs ; I cannot endure such 
a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Gallo- 
vvay nags ? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardoiph, like a shove-groat 
shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he 
shall be nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Pist. 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 ! 

Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 

Dol. I pray thee. Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. 

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out 

Host. Here's a goodly tunmlt ! 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. 

Dol. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone. 
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 

Host. Are you not hurt i'th' groin? methought, he 
made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 

Re-enter Bardolph. 

Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ? 
Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk ; you have hurt 
him, sir, in the shoulder. 
Fal. A rascal! to brave me! 


Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor ape, 
how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe thy face j — come 
on, you whoreson chops: — Ah, rogue! i'faith, I love 
thee. Thou art as valourous as Hector of Troy, worth 
five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the 
nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a 

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou dost, 
I'll canvas thee between a pair of sheets. 

Enter Musick. 

Page. The musick is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, 
Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me 
like quicksilver. 

Dol. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a church. 
Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when 
wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and foining o'nights, 
and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven ? 

Enter behind. Prince Henry and Poins, disguised like 

Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's 
head : do not bid me remember mine end. 

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have 
made a good pan tier, he would have chipped bread well. 

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit. 

Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit is 
as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there is no more 
conceit in him, than is in a mallet. 

Dol. Why does the prince love him so then ? 

9166 SECOND PART OF act ii 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness j and 
he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and fennel ; 
and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons ; and rides 
the wild mare with the boysj and jumps upon joint- 
stools J and swears with a good grace -, and wears his 
boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the legj and 
breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories, and such 
other gambol faculties he hath, 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. 

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears 

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 

P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his poll 
clawed like a parrot, 

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many 
years outlive performance ? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! 
what says the almanack 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. 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 

Dol. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most constant heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. 1 love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young 
boy of them all. 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of ? I shall receive 
money on Thursday : thou shalt have a cap to-morrow . 
A merry song, come: it grows late, we'll to bed. 
Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone 


DoZ. By my troth thou'It set me a weeping, an thou 
sayest so : prove that ever I dress myself handsome till 
thy return. Well, hearken the end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis. 

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 

Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ? — ^And art not 
thou Poins his brother ? 

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what 
a life dost thou lead ? 

Fal. A better than thou 3 I am a gentleman, thou 
art a drawer. 

P. Hen. Very true, sir -, and I come to draw you out 
by the ears. 

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by my 
troth, welcome to London. — Now the Lord bless that 
sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, are you come from Wales ? 

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, — 

by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. 

[Ljcaning his hand upon Don,. 

Dol. 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. 

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely 
did you speak of me even now, before this honest, 
virtuous, civil gentlewoman? 

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart ! and so she is, by 
my troth. 

Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 

P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when you 
ran away by Gads-hill: you knew, I was at your back; 
and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 

Fal. No, no, noj not so 3 I did not think, thou wast 
within hearing. 

258 SECOND PART OF act ii. 

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful 
abuse 5 and then I know how to handle you. 

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. 

P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me j and call me — pantler, 
and bfead-chipper, and I know not what? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse! 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, none. 
I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked 
might not fall in love with him: — 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, boys, none. 

P. Hen. 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 the boy of 
the wicked ? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in 
his nose, of the wicked ? 

Poins. Answer, tliou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irre- 
coverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where 
he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For tlie boy, — 
there is a good angel about him; but the devil outbids 
him too. 

P. Hen. For the women, 

Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already, 
and burns, poor soul! For the other, — I owe her 
money; and whether she be damned for that, I know 
Host. No, I warrant you. 

Fal. 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. 

Host. All victuallers do so : What's a joint of mutton 
or two in a whole Lent ? 

P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, 

Dol. What says your grace ? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against. 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door ? look to the door 
there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 

P. Hen. Peto, how now ? what news ? 

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster,* 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts. 
Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains. 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. 

P. Hen. 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 Henry, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night 
and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking 
heard.'] More knocking at the door? 

Re-enter Bardolph. 

How now ? what's the matter? 

Bard. Youmust away to court, sir, presently j a dozen 
captains stay at door for you. 

760 SECOND PART OF act hi 

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.] 

Farewell, hostess j — farewell, Doll. — You see, my good 
wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the un- 
deserver may sleep, when the man of action is called 
on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not sent away 
post, I will see you again ere I go. 

Dol. I cannot speak; — If my heart be not ready to 
burst: — Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. 

[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Host. 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. 

Bard. [Within!] Mistress Tear-sheet, 

Host. What's the matter? 

Bard. [Withiri^ Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my 

Host. O run, Doll, runi run, good Doll. [Exeunt, 


SCENE I. — A room in the palace. 
Enter King Henry in his nightgown, with a Page. 

K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick j 
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 

And well consider of them: Make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 


How many ^Aousand of my poorest subjects 

Are at this hour asleep! — Sleep, gentle sleep. 

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 

That thou no more wilt 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 luU'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile. 

In loathsome bedsj 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 surgej 

And in the visitation of the winds. 

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 

With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds. 

That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? 

Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude j 

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. 

WaT. Many good morrows to your majesty ' 
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ? 
War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 

262 SECOND PART OF act hi. 

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ? 

War. We have, my liege. 

K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom 
How foul it is J what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 

War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'dj 
Which to his former strength may be restor'd. 

With good advice, and little medicine: 

My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 

K.Hen. O heaven! 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 j 
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs. 
And laid his love and life under my foot; 
Yea, foi' my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To Warwick 
When Richard, — with his eye brimfuU 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, heaven knows, I had no such intent j 

But that necessity so bow'd the state. 

That I and greatnesss 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. 

fVar. There is a history in all men's lives. 
Figuring the nature 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 ; which in their seeds. 
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time} 
And, by the necessary form of this. 
King Richard might create a perfect guess. 
That great Northumberland, then false to him. 
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness 3 
Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
Unless on you. 

K. Hen. 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. 

War. It cannot be, my lord} 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo. 
The numbers of the fear'd :— Please it your grace, 

564 SECOND PART OP Act in. 

To go to bed ; upon my life, 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 j 

And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 

Unto your sickness. 

K. Hen. 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. — Court before Justice Shallow's house in 

Enfer Shallow and Silence, meeting i Mouldy, 
Shadow, Wart, FEfeBLE, Bull-calf, and Servants, 

Shal. Come on, come on, come onj give me your 
hand, sir ; give me your hand, sir : an early stirrer, by 
the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence? 

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 

Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and 
your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter 

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
William is become a good scholar: He is at Oxford, 
still, is he not? 

Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost. 

Shal. lie must then to the inns of court shortly: 
1 was once of Clement's-inuj where, 1 think, they will 
talk of mad Shallow yet. 

sc«N£ II. KING HENRY IV. 265 

Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin. 

^iial. By the mass, I was called any thing j and 
I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. 
There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and 
black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will 
Squele aCotswold 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 j and had 
the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack 
FalstafF, now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomat 
Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. 

Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon 
about soldiers ? 

Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw him 
break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he was 
a crack, not thus high : and the very same day did 
I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, be- 
hind Gray's-inn. O, the mad days that I have spent! 
and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 

Shal. 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 

Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 

Shal. Death b certain. — Is old Double of your town 
living yet ? 

Sil. Dead, sir. 

Siial. Dead I — See, see ! — he drew a good bow;'^-And 
dead ! — he shot a fine shoot : — John of Gaunt loved him 
well, and betted nmch money on his head. Dead !— ^ 
he would have clapped i'th' clout at twelve scope; and 

VOL. VI ^ 

^66 SECOND PART OF act iih 

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? 

Sll. Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may 
be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead ! 

Enter Bardolph^ and one with him. 

Sil. Here come two of sir John FalstaflF's men, as 
I think. 

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech 
you, which is justice Shallow? 

Shal. 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 ? 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you: my 
captain, sir John Falstaff : a tall gentleman, by heaven, 
and a most gallant leader. 

Shal. He greets me well, sir ; I knew him a good 
backsword man : How doth the good knight ? may 
I ask, how my lady his wife doth ? 

Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated, 
than with a wife. 

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said 
indeed too. • Better accommodated ! — it is good ; yea, 
indeed, it is : good phrases are surely, and ever were, 
very commendable. Accommodated! — it comes from 
accommodo : very good ; a good phrase. 

Bard. Pardon me, sir ; I have heard the word. Ph rase, 
call you it? By this good day, 1 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. Accommodated ; That is, when a man is. 


as they say, accommodated: or, when a man is, — 
being,*— whereby, — he may be thought to be accommo- 
dated ^ which is an excellent thing. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Shal. It is very just: — Look, here comes good sir 
John. — Give me your good hand, give me your wor- 
ship's good hand: By my troth, you look well, and 
bear your years very well : welcome, good sir Jolm. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert 
Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as I think. 

Shal. No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in com- 
mission with me. 

Fal. Good master Silence, it well bcJSts you should 
br3 of the peace. 

Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 

Fal. Fye ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have you 
provided me here half a dozen sufficient men ? 

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? where'sthe 
roll?— Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so: Yea, 
marry, sir: — ^Ralph Mouldy: — let them api)ear as 

I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; 

Where is Mouldy ? 

Moul. Here, an't please you. 

Shal. What think you, sir John? a good limbed 
fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? 

Moul. Yea, an't please you. 

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith! things. 


that are mouldy, lack use : Very singular good ! — In 
faith, well said, sir John^ rery well said. 

Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow. 

Moul. I was pricked 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 pricked me j there are other men 
flitter to go out than 1. 

Fal. Go toj peace. Mouldy, you shall go. Mouldy, 
it is time you were spent. 

Moul. Spent! 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace j stand aside j Know you 
where you are ? — For the other, sir John : — let me see ;—*■ 
Simon Shadow! 

Fal. Ay marry, let me have him to sit under : he's 
like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal. Where's shadow ? 

Shad. Here, sir, 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ? 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough 3 and thy father's 
shadow : so the son of the female is the sliadow of the 
male: It is often so, indeed 3 but not much of the 
father's substance. 

Shal. Do you like him, sir John ? 

Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him ;— 
for we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster- 

Shal. Thomas Wart! 

Fal. Where's he ? 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart? 

fVart. Yea, sir. 


Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John. 

Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon 
his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins : prick 
him no more. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! — you can do it, sir; you can do 
it : I commend you well. — Francis Feeble ! 

Fee. Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble? 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, he 
would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as many 
holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a 
woman's petticoat? 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir 5 you can have no more. 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said, cbu- 
rageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the vvrathful 
dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — Prick the woman's 
tailor well, master Shallow; deep, master Shallow. 

Fee. I would. Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would, thou wert a man's tailor; that thou 
might'st 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. 

Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.— Who is 

Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. 

Bull. Here, sir. 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow !— Come, prick in« 
Bull-calf till he roar again. 

270 SECOND PART OF act hi. 

Bull. O lord! good my lord captain, — 

FaL What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked } 

Bull. O lord, sir! I am a diseased man. 

Fal. What disease hast thou ? 

Bull. A whoreson cold, sirj a cough, sirj which 
I caught with ringing in the king's aflfairs, upon his 
coronation day, sir. 

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ; we 
will have away thy cold ; and I will take such order, 
that thy fiiends shall ring for thee. — Ts here all ? 

Shal. Here is two more called than yonr number j 
you must have but four here, sir; — and so, I pray you, 
go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot 
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth, 
master Shallow. 

Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay all 
night in the windmill in Saint George's fields. 

Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no more 
of that. 

Shal. Ha, it was a meriy night. And is Jane Night- 
work alive ? 

Fal. She lives, master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fal. Never, never : she would always say, she could 
not abide master Shallow. 

Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well ? 

Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. 

Shal. Nay, she must be old j she cannot choose but 
be old; certain, she's oldj and had Robin Night- work 
by old Night- work, before I came to Clement's-inn. 

Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. 


Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen fliat 
this knight and I have seen! — Ha, sir John, said 
I well ? 

Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, master 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ; in 
faith, sir John, we have 5 our watch-word vas. Hem, 
hoys! — Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner: — 
O, the days that we have seen ! — Come, come. 

[Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow, and Silence. 

Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my 
friend J and here is four Harry ten shillings in French 
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be 
hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part, sir, 
I do not care; but, rather, because I an* unwilling, 
and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so 
much. . 

Bard. Go to; stand aside. 

Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my old 
dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody to do 
any thing about her, when I am gone; and she is old, 
and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Fee. 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 his prince ; and, let it go which 
way it will, he that dies this year, is quit for the nei^t. 

Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow. 

Fee, 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind- 

m> SECOND PART OF act iii 

He-enter Palstaff, and Justices. 

Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 

Shal. Four, of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound to 
free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 

Fal. Go to J well. 

Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ? 

Fal. Do you choose for me. 

Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and 

Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf : — For you, Mouldy, stay 
at home still j you are past service : — and, for your part. 
Bull-calf, — ^grow till you come unto it ; I will none of you. 

Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong j they 
are your likeliest men, and I would have you served with 
the best. 

Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to choose 
a man ? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature, 
bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the 
spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart 5- — you see what a 
ragged appearance it is : he shall charge you, and dis- 
charge 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-faced fellow. 
Shadow, — give me this manj he presents no mark to 
the enemy J 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. 

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse j thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : — very well :— 


go to: — very good: — exceeding good.— O, give me ai 
ways a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot. — Well said, 
i'faith. Wart 3 thou'rt a good scab : hold, there's a testef 
for thee. 

Shal. 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 J bounce, would 'a say; and away again 
would 'a go, and again would 'a come : — I shall never 
see such a fellow. 

Fal. 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. 

Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your 
aflfairs, and send us peace! As you return, visit my 
house J let our old acquaintance be renewed : peradven- 
ture, I will with you to the court. 

Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. 

Shal. Go to 3 I have spoke, at a word. Fare you well 
[Exeunt Shallow and Silence. 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bardolph 3 
lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph, recndts, ^c] 
As 1 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 starved 
justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the 
wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about 
TurnbuU-street; and every third word a lie, duer paid 

«74 SECOND PART OF act hi. 

to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember 
liim at Clemen t's-inn, like a man made after supper of 
a cheese-paring: when he was naked, he was, for all 
the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically 
curved upon it with a knife: he was so forlorn, that 
his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible: he 
was the very Genius of famine; yet lecherous as a 
monkey, and the whores called him — mandrake: he 
came ever in the rear-ward of the fashion ; and sung 
those tunes to the over scutched-huswives 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 of 
Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him : and I'll 
be sworn he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard; 
and then he burst his head, for crouding among the 
marshal's men. I saw it; and told John of Gaunt, he 
beat his own name : for you might have truss'd 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 will be acquainted 
with him, if I return : and it shall go hard, but I will 
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. 



SCENE I.— -A forest in Yorkshire. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings,, 
and others. 

Arch. What is this forest call'd ? 

Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your grace. 

Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send discoveries forth. 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 

Hast. We have sent forth already. 

Arch. '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. 

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Hast. Now, what news? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile. 
In goodly form comes on the enemy : 

2T6 SECOND PART OF act iy 

And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. 
Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

jirch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? 

Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland, 

West. Health and fair greeting from our general. 
The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. 

^rch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace; 
What doth concern your coming ? 

West. 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 I'age, 
And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary ) 
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear d. 
In his true, native, and most proper sliape. 
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,— 
Wliose see is by a civil peace maintain'd j 
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd j 
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd j 
Whose white investments figure innocence. 
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, — 
Wherefore do you 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 j and your tongue divine 
To a loud trumpet, and a point of war? 

Arch. Wherefore do I this ? — so the question stands. 
Briefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd j 
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 a while like fearful war. 
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness 5 
And purge th' obsti-uctions, 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 vnongs we suffer. 
And find our griefs heavier than our ofTences. 
We see which way the stream of time doth run. 
And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere 
By the rough torrent of occasion : 
And have the summary of all our griefs, 
When time shall serve, to show in articles j 
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,) 

S7# SECOND PART OF act iv. 

Have 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. 

West. 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? 

Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth. 
To brother born an household cruelty, 
I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such redress; 
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. 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 ? 

West. 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-remember'd father's ? 

Mowb. 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, when Harry BoJingbroke, 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 3 
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid 
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 j and alt their lives. 
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword. 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 

West. You speak^ lord Mowbray, now you know not 
The earl of Hereford was reputed then 
In England the most valiant gentleman j 
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 3 and all their prayers, and 

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 ; every thing set off, 
That might so much as think you enemies. 

280 SECOND PART OF act iv. 

Mowh. But he hath forc'd us to compel this ofFei ; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so j 
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 wills, our heaits should be as good: — 
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd. 

Mowh. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. 

West. That argues but the shame of your offence : 
A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission. 
In veiy ample virtue of his father, 
To hear, and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 

West. That is intended in the general's name: 
I muse, you make so slight a question. 

Arch. 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 insinevv'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form ; 
And present execution of our wills 
To us, and to our purposes, consign'd; 
We come within our awful banks again. 
And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 

West, This will 1 show the general. Please you, lord*. 


In sight of both our battles we may meet • 
And either end in peace, which heaven so franre! 
Or to the place of diiFerence call the swords 
Which must decide it. 

Arch. My lord, we will do so. — [Exit West. 

Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me. 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 

Hast. 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. 

Mowb. Ay, 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. 

Arch. 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 j 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory. 
That may repeat and history his loss 
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. 

282 SECOND PART OF act iv. 

That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes; 
As he is striking, holds his infant up. 
And hangs reaolv'd correction in the arm 
That was uprear'd to execution. 

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rod* 
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. 

Arch. '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. 

Mowb. Be it so. 

Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. 

' Re-enter Westmoreland. 

West. The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your 

To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies ? 
Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then set 

Arch. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, we 

come. lExeunt. 

SCENE W.— Another part of the forest. 

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop, Hast- 
ings, and others: from the other side, Prince John of 
Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and Attendants. 

P. John. You are well encounter'd 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 h 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 5 

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 heaven. 

As a false favourite doth his prince's name. 

In deeds dishonourable? You have taken 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. 

Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 

I am not here against your father's peace : 
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense. 

S84 SECOND PART OF act v. 

Croud 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 shor'd from the 

jv 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 j 
And true obedience of this madness cur'd^ 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 

Hast. And though we here fall down. 

We have supplies to second our attempt j 
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them : 
And so, success of mischief shall be born ; 
And heir fiom heir shall hold this quarrel up, 
Whiles England shall have generation. 

P.John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
To sound the bottom of (he after- times. 

West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly. 
How far-forth you do like their articles ? 

P. 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 j 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning, and authority. — 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'dj 
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, 
Dischaige your poweis unto their several counties. 
As we will ours : and here, between the armies. 
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace j 


That all their eyes may bear those tokens home^ 
Df our restored love, and amity. 

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. 

P.John. I give it you, and will maintain my word: 
And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 

Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer.] and deliver to the 
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part: 
I know, it will well please themj Hie thee, captain. 

lExit Officer. 

Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 

West. 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 you 
Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 

Arch. I do not doubt you. 

West. I am glad of it.— 

Health to my lord, am^l gentle cousin, Mowbray. 

Mowh. You wish me health in very happy seasoa; 
For 1 am, on the sudden, something ill. 

Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever meriyj 
But heaviness foreruns the good event. 

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sorrow 
Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to-morrow. 

Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 

Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. 

[Shouts within. 

P. John. The word of peace is render'd ; Hark, how 
they shout ! 

Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. 

Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest,* 
For then both parties nobly are subdued. 
And neither party loser. 


P. John. Go, my lord. 

And let our army be discharged too. — [Exit Westm. 
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. 

Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, 

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 

[Exit Hastings. 

P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night 
together. — 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? 

fVest. The leaders, having charge from you to standi 
Will not go off until they hear you speak. 

P John. They know their duties. 

Re-enter Hastings. 

Hast. 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. 

West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings 3 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. 

Mov)b. Is this proceeding just and honourable? 

West. Is your assembly so ? 

Arch. Will you thus break your faith ? 

P. 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 scatter'd stray j 
Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.— 
Some guard these traitors to the block of death j 
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. ^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Another fart of the forest. 

Alarums: excursions. Enter Falstaff and Colevile, 

Fal. What's your name, sir ? of what condition are 
you J and of what place, I pray ? 

Cole. 1 am a knigLr, sir^ and my name is— Colevile 
of the dale. 

Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name j a knight is 
your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile shall 
still be your name 3 a traitor your degree; and the 
dungeon your place, — a place deep enough; so shall 
you still be Colevile of the dale. 

Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye 
yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for you ? If I do sweat, they 
are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death : 
therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observ- 
ance to my mercy. 

Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in that 
thought, yield me. 

Fal. 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 

«S8 SECOND PART OF act iv. 

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, 
and others. 

P.John. The heat is past, follow no further now^— 
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. — 

[Exit West. 
Now,. Falstaff, where have you been all this while ? 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. 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 expe- 
dition of thought ? I have speeded hither with the very 
extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine- 
score and odd posts : and here, travel-tainted as I am, 
have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir 
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and 
valorous enemy: But what of that? he saw me, and 
yielded J that I may justly say with the hook-nosed 
fellow of Rome, 1 came, saw, and overcame. 

P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 

Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield him : 
and I beseech your grace, let it be booked 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 
of it, Colevile kissing my foot : To the which course if 
I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two- 


pences 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 herj believe 
not the word of the noble: Therefore let me have 
right, and let desert mount. 

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 

Fal Let it shine then. 

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. 

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do 
me good, and call it what you will. 

P. John. Is thy name Colevile ? 

Cole. . It is, my lord. 

P. John. A famous rebel art thou Colevile. 

Tal. And a famous true subject took him. 

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are. 
That led me hither: had they been ml'd by me. 
You should have won them dearer than you have. 

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : but thou, 
like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away 5 and I thank 
thee for thee. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit i 

West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 

P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates. 

To York, to present execution : — 

Blunt, lead him hence j and see you guard him sure. 
[Exeunt some with Colevile, 

And now despatch we toward the court, my lords j 

I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 

Our news shall go before us to his majesty, — x 

Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him 5 

And we with sober speed will fbllow you. \ 



Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
through Glostershire : and, when you come to court, 
stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report. 

P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff : I, in my condition. 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 

Fal. I would, you had but the witj 'twere better than 
your dukedom. — Good faith, this same young sober- 
blcoded boy doth not love mej nor a man cannot make 
him laugh J — but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. 
There's never any of these demure boys come to any 
proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, 
and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind 
of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, 
they get wenches: they are generally fools and 
cowards 3— -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 j dries 
me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours 
which environ it: makes it ap])rehensive, quick, for^ 
getive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes j 
which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which 
is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second pro- 
perty 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 extreme. It illu- 
mineth 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 puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of 
courage; and this valour comes of sheriis: So that 


skill in the weapon is nothing, without sackj 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, steril, and bare land, 
manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent en*- 
deavour 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 human principle I would 
teach them, should be, — to forswear thin potations, 
and addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bardolph. 

How now, Bardolph ? 

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and 
there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: 
I have him already tempering between my finger and 
my thumb, and shortly v^U I seal with him. Come 
away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Westminster. A room in the palace. 

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, 
Warwick, and others. 

K. Hen, Now, lords, if heaven 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 collected. 
Our substitutes in absence well invested. 
And every thing lies level to our wish : , 

^92 SECOND PART OF act iv 

Only-j we want a little personal strength; 
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot. 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 

War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, 

Where is the prince your brother ? 

P. Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at 

K. Hen. And how accompanied? 

P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. 

K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with 

P. Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in presence here. 

da. What would my lord and father? 

K. Hen. 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 aifection. 
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy; 
And noble offices thou may'st eflfect 
Of mediation, after I am dead. 
Between his greatness and thy other brethren:—* 
Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love: 
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace. 
By seeming cold, or careless of his will. 
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity : 
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint; 
As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd i 


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 j 

Till that his passions, like a whale on ground. 

Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, 

And thou shah prove a shelter to thy friends j 

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. 

CUt. I shall observe him with all care and love. 

K.Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
Thomas ? 

Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 

K. Hen. And how accompanied ? can'st thou tell that? 

Cla, With Poins, and other his continual followers 

K.Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds j 
And he, the noble image of my youth. 
Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death j 
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, vnth what wings shall his aflfections fly 
Towards fronting peril ard oppos'd decay ! 

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: 
The prince but studies his companions. 

294 SECOND PART OF act iv. 

Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the language, 

'Tis needful, that the most immodest word 

Be look'd upon, and learn'd : 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 oflf his followers : and their memory 

Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 

By which his grace must mete the lives of others 3 

Turning past evils to advantages. 

K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb 
In the dead carrion. — Who's here? Westmoreland? 

Enter Westmoreland. 

West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness 
Added to that that I 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 every where. 
The manner how this action hath been borne. 
Here at more leisure may your highness read 5 
With every course, in his particular. 

K.Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird. 
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The liftipg up of day. Look ! here's more news. 

Enter Harcourt. 

Hot. From enemies heaven keep your majesty j 
And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of ! 
The earl Noithumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 


With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
The manner and true order of the fight. 
This packet, please it you, contains at large. 

K. Hen. 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 j 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: — 
O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoons 

P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 

Cla. O my royal father ! 

fVest. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up ! 

War. Be patient, princes j you do know, these fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him airj he'll straight be well. 

Cla. 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. 

P. Humph. The people fear me; for they do observe 
Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature : 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 

Cla. 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. 

296 SECOND PART OF act iv. 

War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 

P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 

K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
Into some other chamber : softly, 'pray. 

[^Thejj convey t/w King into an inner part of the room 
and place him on a bed. 
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
Unless some dull and favourable hand 
Will whisper musick to my weary spirit. 

War. Call for the musick in the other room, 

K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 

Cla. His eye i^ hollow, and he changes much. 

War. Less noise, less noise. 

Enter Prince Henry. 

p. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ? 

Cla. 1 am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none 
abroad ! 
How doth the king? 

P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 

P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ? 

Tell it him. 

P. Humph. He alter d much upon the hearing it. 

P. Hen. If he be sick 
With joy, he will recover without physick. 

War. Not so much noise, my lords : — sweet prince, 
speak low; 
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 

War. Will't please your grace to go along with us ? 

P. Hen. No } I will sit and watch here by the king. 
lExeunt all but P. Henry 


Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. 

Being so troublesome a bedfellow ? 

G 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 biggin 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 scalds 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. Lo, here it sits, — 

[Putting it on his head'. 
Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole 

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. [Exif, 

K,Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence !' 

Re-enter Warwick, and the rest: 
Oa^ Doth the king ealir 

29S SECOND PART OF act iv. 

War. What would your majesty? How fares your 

grace ? 
K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords > 
Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege. 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 

K. Hen. The prince of Wales ? Where is he ? let me 
see him : 
He is not here. 

fVar. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 

P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where 

we stay'd. 
K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from my 

pillow ? 
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
K. Hen. 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 j 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 brain* 

with care. 
Their bones with industry; 
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved goldj 
F<jr 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 pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey. 

We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees. 

Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 

Yield 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 ? 

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room. 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks j 
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow. 
That tyranny, which never quaif' d but blood. 
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 

K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown ? 

Re-enter Prince Henry. 

Lo, where he comes. — Gome hither to me, Harry :^ 
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 

[Exeunt Clarence, P. Humphrey, Lords, S^c 

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 

K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought { 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair. 
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine 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 offence; and, at my death. 

300 SECOND PART OF act ir. 

Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 

Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not. 

And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 

Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts} 

Which thou hast whetted on thy stony hearty 

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 dustj 

Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. 

Pluck down my officers, break my decrees j 

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 5 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 j 

England shall give him office, honour, might : 

For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks 

The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 

Shall flesh his tooth in 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 ! 

P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for my teai*s, 

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 j 
And He that wears the crown immortally. 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more. 
Than as your honour, and as your renown, 
I/et me no more fi-om this obedience rise, 
(Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit 
Teaeheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! 
Heaven 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 ray 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 the crown, as having sense. 
And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending. 
Hath fed upon the body of my father; 
Thei'efore, 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 honoured, most renowned. 
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege. 
Accusing it, I put it on my headj 
To tiy with it, — as with an enemy. 
That had before my face murder'd my father,— 

802 SECOND PART OF act it 

The quarrel of a true inheritor. 

But if it did infect my blood with joy. 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride j 

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! 

K.Hen. O my son! 
Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence. 
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. 
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by nciy bed 5 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. 
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
1 met this crown j 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 boisterous 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 see'st, with peril I have answered : 
For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
Acting that argument ; and now my death 
Changes the mode : 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 di. 

Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 

And all thy 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 Landj 

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 3 that action, hence borne out. 

May waste the memory of the former days. 

More would I, but my lungs are wasted so. 

That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 

How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 

And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

P. Hen. Mj gracious liege. 
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me j 
Then plain, and right, must my possession be: 
Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully mantain. 

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, Lords, 
and others. 

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. 
P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal 

K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son 

John ; 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 

S04 SECOND PART OF act y. 

From this bare, wither'd trunk : upon thy sight. 

My worldly business makes a period. 

Where is my lord of Warwick? 

P. Hen. My lord of Warwick \ 

K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? 

War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 

K. Hen. 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 j ^ 

Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land: — 
But, bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie 3 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 


SCENE I.— Glostersrhire. A hall in Shallow'* house. 
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 

Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to- 
night. What, Davy, I say! 

Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. 

Shal. I will not excuse you j you shall not be excused j 
excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no excuse shall 
serve 3 you shall not be excused.— -Why, Davy! 

Enter Davy 
Davy. Here, sir. 
Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy 3 let me 


see : — yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.— 
Sir John, you shall not be excused. 

Davy. Marry, sir, thus; — those precepts cannot be 
served: and, again, sir> — Shall we sow the headland 
with wheat ? 

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
cook J— Are there no young pigeons ? 

Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note^ 

for shoeing, and plough-irons. 

Shal. 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 o. 
William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day 
at Hinckley fair ? 

Shal. He shall answer it: Some pigeons, Davy^ 

a couple of short-legged hens 5 a joint of mutton: 
and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. 

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? 

Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him wellj A friend 
i'th' court is better than a penny in purse. Use his 
men well, Davy ; for they are arrant knaves, and will 

Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sirj for 
they have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, 

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. 

Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against that 
Visor J that Visor is an arrant knave, on my know- 

Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir: 

306 SECOND PART OF act v 

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 served your worship truly, sir, this eight years j 
and if 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 j therefore, I beseech your worship, let him 
be countenanced. 

Shal. Go to 3 I say, he shall have no wrong. Look 
about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, sir John? 
Come, off with your boots. — Give me your hand, master 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master 
Bardolph: — and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the 
Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. 

Fal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow. 
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make 
four dozen of such bearded hermit's-staves as master 
Shallow. It is a wonderful thin<^, to see the semblable 
coherence of his men's spirits and his : They, by ob- 
serving him, do bear themselves like foolish justices ; he, 
by conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like 
serving-man J 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 coula 
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 foux 
terms, or two actions,) and he shall laugh without in- 
tervallums, 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. 

Shal. [Within.'] Sir John ! 

Fal. I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shallow. 

[Exit Falstaff. 

SCENE II. — Westminster. J room in the palace. 

Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Justice. 

War. How now, my lord chief justice? whither away? 

Ch. Just. How doth the king ? 

War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended. 

Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 

War. He's walk'd the way of nature? 

And, to our purposes, he lives no more. 

Ch. Just. 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. 

War. Indeed, I think, the yoimg king loves you not, 

Ch. Just. I know, he doth not; and do arm myself. 
To welcome the condition of the time j 
Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 

308 SECOND PART OF act r. 

Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey Clarence, 
Westmoreland, and othei'S 

War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry : 
O, that the living Hariy had the temper 
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! 
How many nobles then should hold their places. 
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort ! 

Ch. Just. Alas ! I fear, all will be overturn'd. 

P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. 

P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. 

P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 

War. We do remember; but our argument 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 

P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us 
heavy ! 

Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! 

P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend>, 
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face 
Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own. 

P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find,. 
You stand in coldest expectation : 
I am the sorrier; 'would, 'twere otherwise. 

Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff feir| 
Which swims against your stream of quality, 

Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour. 
Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul j 
And never shall you see, that 1 will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. — 
If truth and upright innoceiicy fail me, 
I'll to the king my master that is dead, 
A,nd tell him who hath sent me after him. 

soiNfi II. KING HENRY IV. S09 

War. Heie comes the prince. 

Enter King Henry V. 

€h. Just. Good morrow 3 and heaven 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, to speak truth, 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 t 
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 3 
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 
Yet weep, that Harry's dead 3 and so will I : 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears. 
By number, into hours of happiness. 

P. John, S;c. We hope no other from your majesty. 

Khig. You all look strangely on me : — and you most, 

ITo i/ie Chief Justfce. 
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. 

Ch. Just. 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 

310 SECOND PART OF act v, 

Th' immediate heir of England ! Was this easy? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? 

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father 3 
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 judgement} 
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 j 
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 j 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 mej 
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 hold, 

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 bearj 

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 \H)ice 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 3—* 
My father is gone wild into his grave. 
For in his tomb lie my affections ; 
And with his spirit 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 fliow'd in vanity, till now: 
Novi^ 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 

51^ SECOND PART OF act r. 

In equal rank with the best govern'd nation j 
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.-^ 

[To the Lord Chief Justice. 
Our coronation done, we will accite. 
As I before remember'd, all our state : 
And (God consigning to my good intents,) 
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,— 
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. ^Exeunt, 

SCENE HI.— Glostershire. TJie garden of Shallow'* 


Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the 
Page, and Davy. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in an 
arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth j — come, 
cousin Silence J — and then to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, 
and a rich. 

Shal. Barren, barren, barren 5 beggars all, beggars 
all, sir John : — marry, good air. — Spread, Davy 3 spread, 
Davy J well said, Davy. 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses 3 he is your 
serving-man, and your husbandman. 

Shal. 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. 

Sit. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, — we shall 

Do nothing but eat, and make good cheei, [Singing. 

5CENE 111. KING HENRY IV. 313 

And praise heaven for the merry year; 
Whenjlesh is cheap and females dear. 
And lusty lads roam here and theie. 
So merrivh/. 
And ever among so merrily. 
Fal. There's a merry heart ! — Good master Silence^ 
I'll give you a health for that anon. 

Shal. Give master Bardolph some xvme, Davy. 
Davy. Sweet sir, sit 3 [Seating Bardolph and the Page 
at another table.'] I'll be with you anon : — most sweet sir, 

it. Master page, good master page, sit : proface ! 

What you want in meat, we'll have in drink. But you 
must bear 3 The heart's all. [Exit. 

Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph j — and my little 
soldier there, be merry. 

Sil. Be merry i be merry, my wifes as all; [Singing. 
For women are shrews, both short and tall: 
' Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. 

And welcome merry shrove-tide. 
Be merry, be merry, S^c. 
Fal. I did not think, master Silence had been a man 
of this mettle. 

Sil. Who I ? I have been merry twice and once, ere now. 

Re-enter Davy. 

Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats for you. 

[Setting them before Babdolph. 
Shal. Davy, — 

Davy. Your worship ? — I'll be with you straight. [To 
Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir? 

Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine, [Singing. 

And drink unto the leman mine; 
And a merry heart lioes long^a, 

VOL. VI ^ 

&14 SECOND PART OF act v 

Fal. Well said, master Silence. 

Sil. And we shall be merry j — now comes m the sweet 
of the night. 

Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 
Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; 
ril pledge tjou a mile to the bottom. 
' Shal. Honest Bardolpb, welcome: If thou wantest 
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — Wel- 
come, my little tiny thief j [To the Page.] and welcome, 
indeed, too. — I'll drink to master Bardolph, and to all 
the cavaleroes about London. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 

Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 

Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together. 
Ha! will you not, master Bardolph? 

Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 

Shal. I thank thee : — ^The knave will stick by thee, 
I can assure thee that : he will not out; he is true bred. 

Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 

Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be 
merry. IKnocking heard^ Look who's at door there: 
Ho ! who knocks ? [Exit Davy, 

Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, who drinks a bumper, 

Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 

And dub me knight: 
Is't not so ? 
Fal. 'Tis so. 

Sil. Is't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do some- 


Re-enter Davy. 

Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pistol 
come from the court with news. 

Fal, From the court, let him come ini.-^ 

Enter Pistol. 

How now. Pistol? 

Pist. God save you, sir John ! 

Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ? 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good.—* 
Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in 
the realm. 

Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a bej but goodrnan PuiF of 

Pist. 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. 

Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this 

sPist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base ! 
I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy newsi . 
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. 

Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? 
And shall good news be baffled ? 
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 

Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding 

Pist. Why then, lament therefore. 

S16 SECOND PART OF act v. 

Shal. Give me pardon, sirj — If, sir, you come with 
news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways; 
either to utter them, or to* conceal them. I am, sir, 
under the king, in some authority. 

Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak, or die. 

Shal. Under king Harry. 

Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ? 

Shal. Harry the fourth. 

Pist. A foutra for thine office !— 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king j 
Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth : 
When Pistol lies, do thisj and fig me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 

Fed. What ! is the old king dead ? 

Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak, are just. 

Fal. 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 

Bard. O joyful day ! — I would not take a knighthood 
for my fortune. 

Pist. What ? I do bring good news ? 

Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shallow, 
my loi'd Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's 
steward. Get on thy boots; we'll ride all night :—0, 
sweet Pistol- —Away, Bardolph. [Exit Baud.] — 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. 
Happy are they which have been my friends; and woe 
o my lord chief justice ! 

pist. 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 

Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might die, 
that I might have thee hanged : thou hast drawn my 
shoulder out of joint. 

1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over to 
me J and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I war- 
rant her : There hath been a man or two lately killed 
about her. 

Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll 
tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal; an 
the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better 
thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-fac'd villam. 

Host. 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 ! 

1 Bead. 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 among you. 

Dol. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer! 
I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue- 
bottle rogue ! you filthy famish'd correctioner ! if yon 
be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles. 

1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 

Host. O, that right should thus overcome might! 
Well; of sufferance comes ease. 

Dol, Come, you rogue, come J bring me to a justice. 

.119 SECOND PART OF act v. 

Host. Ay; come, you starved blood-houad. 
^ Dol. Goodman death ! goodman bones ! 
Host. Thou atomy thou ! 

Dol. Come, you thin thing ; come^ you rascal ! 
1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A public place near Westminster Abbey. 
Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 

1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 

2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 

1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from 
the coronation : Despatch, despatch. lExeunt Grooms. 

Enter Falstapp, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and 
the Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; I will 
make the king do you grace : 1 will leer upon him, as 
*a comes by; and do but mark the countenance that 
ne will give me. 

Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 

Fal. Come here. Pistol; stand behind me. — O, if 
I had had time to have made new liveries, I would 
have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. 
[To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor show 
doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion. 

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 

JRfZ. As it were^ to ride day and night; and not to 


deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to 
shift me. 

Shal. It is most certain. 

Fal. But to stand rtained with travel, and sweating 
with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else; put- 
ting all alFairs else in oblivion; as if there were nothing 
else to be done, but to see him. 

Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est: 
'Tis all in every part. 

Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. 

Pist. 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; 
Haul'd thither 

By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
llouzeup revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto'ssnake^ 
For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. 

Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. 

Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 

Enter the King and his train, the Chief Justice among them. 

Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 

Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal 
imp of fame! 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 

King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. 

Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 'tis 
you speak ? 

Fal. 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 dream'd of such a kind of man. 

So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane: 

But, being awake, 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 j 

Presume not, that I am the thing I was : 

For heaven 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 evil : 

And, as we hear you do reform yourselves. 

We will, — according to your strength, and qualities,— 

Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord. 

To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — 

Set on. [Exeunt King, and his train. 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 

iShal. Ay, marry, sir Johnj which I beseech you to 
let me have home with me. 

Fal. 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 advancement; I will be the man yet, that shall 
Baake you great. 


Shal. 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 

Fed. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that you 
heard, was but a colour. 

Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. 

Fal. Fear no colours j go with me to dinner. Come, 
lieutenant Pistol -, — come, Bardolph : — I shall be sent 
for soon at night. 

Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, Officers, S^c. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstatf to the Fleet ; 
Take all his com[)any along with him. 

Fal My lord, my lord, 

Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon. 
Take them away. 

Pist. Sifortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. 
[Exeunt ¥xi^ Shal. Pist, Bard. Page, and Officers. 

P. John. I like tiiis fair proceeding of the king's: 
He hath intent, his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for j 
But all are banish'd, till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 

Ch. Just. And so they are. 

P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord. 

Ch. Just. He hath. 

P. 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 musick, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
C'ome, will you hence ? [Exeunt, 



First, mtjfear; then, my court' sy: last, my speech. My 
fear is, your displeasure; my courtesy, 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 did mean, 
indeed, to pay you with this; which, if, like an ill ven- 
ture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle 
creditors, lose. Here, I promised 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 

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 con- 
science will make any possible satisfaction, and so will I. All 
the gentlewomen here have forgiven me; if the gentlemen 
will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentle- 
women, which was never seen before in such an assembly. 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much 


loyed wuhfat meaty our humble author will continue the 
story f wit^ Sir John in it, and make you merry with fair 
Katharine of France : where, for any thing I know, FaUtaff 
shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your 
hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this it 
not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, 
1 will hid you good night: and so kneel down before you;-^ 
»ut, indeed, to pray for the queen. 


Shakespeare, William