Complete Plays, The (208 page)

C
HARACTERS
OF
THE
P
LAY

King Henry the Fourth
.
Henry, Prince of Wales
, son to the King.
Prince John of Lancaster
, son to the King.
Earl of Westmoreland
.
Sir Walter Blunt
.
Thomas Percy
, Earl of Worcester.
Henry Percy
, Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur
, his son.
Edmund Mortimer
, Earl of March.
Richard Scroop
, Archbishop of York.
Archibald, Earl of Douglas
.
Owen Glendower
.
Sir Richard Vernon
.
Sir John Falstaff
.
Sir Michael
, a friend to the Archbishop of York.
Poins
.
Gadshill
Peto
.
Bardolph
.

Lady Percy
, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer
, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer.
Mistress Quickly
, hostess of the Boar's Head in Eastcheap.

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.

Scene: England and Wales.

A
CT
I

S
CENE
I. L
ONDON
. T
HE
PALACE
.

Enter King Henry, Lord John Of Lancaster, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others

King Henry IV

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 commenced in strands afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood;
Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight,
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
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 now is 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.

Westmoreland

My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight: when all athwart there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
A thousand of his people butchered;
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done as may not be
Without much shame retold or spoken of.

King Henry IV

It seems then that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

Westmoreland

This match’d with other did, my gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

King Henry IV

Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
Stain’d with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balk’d in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon’s plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

Westmoreland

In faith,
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

King Henry IV

Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son,
A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
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 surprised,
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

Westmoreland

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

King Henry IV

But I have sent for him to answer this;
And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be uttered.

Westmoreland

I will, my liege.

Exeunt

S
CENE
II. L
ONDON
. A
N
APARTMENT
OF
THE
P
RINCE
’
S
.

Enter the Prince Of Wales and Falstaff

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he,’that wandering knight so fair.’ And, I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God save thy grace,— majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none,—

Prince Henry

What, none?

Falstaff

No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter.

Prince Henry

Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

Falstaff

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: let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Prince Henry

Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing “Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in;” now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

No; thou shalt.

Falstaff

Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.

Prince Henry

Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

For obtaining of suits?

Falstaff

Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. ’sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

Prince Henry

Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.

Falstaff

Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

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

Prince Henry

Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Falstaff

O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain: I’ll be damned for never a king’s son in Christendom.

Prince Henry

Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

Falstaff

’Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I’ll make one; an I do not, call me villain and baffle me.

Prince Henry

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

Falstaff

Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal; ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.

Enter Poins

Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if 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.

Prince Henry

Good morrow, Ned.

Poins

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

Prince Henry

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

Poins

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

Prince Henry

Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins

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

Falstaff

Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not,
I’ll hang you for going.