Complete Plays, The (213 page)

Poins

O, Glendower.

Falstaff

Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o’ horseback up a hill perpendicular,—

Prince Henry

He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.

Falstaff

You have hit it.

Prince Henry

So did he never the sparrow.

Falstaff

Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.

Prince Henry

Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running!

Falstaff

O’ horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.

Prince Henry

Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Falstaff

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: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

Prince Henry

Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

Falstaff

By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible 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?

Prince Henry

Not a whit, i’ faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Falstaff

Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

Prince Henry

Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Falstaff

Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

Prince Henry

Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown!

Falstaff

Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses’ vein.

Prince Henry

Well, here is my leg.

Falstaff

And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.

Hostess

O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i’ faith!

Falstaff

Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain.

Hostess

O, the father, how he holds his countenance!

Falstaff

For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful queen;
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Hostess

O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see!

Falstaff

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, I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a foolish-hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point; 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 sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, 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, not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

Prince Henry

What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

Falstaff

A goodly portly man, i’ faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by’r lady, inclining to three score; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; 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 Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month?

Prince Henry

Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my father.

Falstaff

Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter’s hare.

Prince Henry

Well, here I am set.

Falstaff

And here I stand: judge, my masters.

Prince Henry

Now, Harry, whence come you?

Falstaff

My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

Prince Henry

The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

Falstaff

’sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I’ll tickle ye for a young prince, i’ faith.

Prince Henry

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 an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, 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, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Falstaff

I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace?

Prince Henry

That villanous abominable misleader of youth,
Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

Falstaff

My lord, the man I know.

Prince Henry

I know thou dost.

Falstaff

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 lord; 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: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

Prince Henry

I do, I will.

A knocking heard

Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph

Re-enter Bardolph, running

Bardolph

O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door.

Falstaff

Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Re-enter the Hostess

Hostess

O Jesu, my lord, my lord!

Prince Henry

Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick: what’s the matter?

Hostess

The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

Falstaff

Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.

Prince Henry

And thou a natural coward, without instinct.

Falstaff

I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so; 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 another.

Prince Henry

Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

Falstaff

Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide me.

Prince Henry

Call in the sheriff.

Exeunt all except Prince Henry and Peto

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier

Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?

Sheriff

First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow’d certain men unto this house.

Prince Henry

What men?

Sheriff

One of them is well known, my gracious lord,
A gross fat man.

Carrier

 
As fat as butter.

Prince Henry

The man, I do assure you, is not here;
For I myself at this time have employ’d him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charged withal:
And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sheriff

I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

Prince Henry

It may be so: if he have robb’d these men,
He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

Sheriff

Good night, my noble lord.

Prince Henry

I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sheriff

Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o’clock.

Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier

Prince Henry

This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth.

Peto

Falstaff!— Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

Prince Henry

Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers

What hast thou found?

Peto

Nothing but papers, my lord.

Prince Henry

Let’s see what they be: read them.

Peto

[Reads]
 
Item, A capon,. . 2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce,. . . 4d.
Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.
Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, ob.

Prince Henry

O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; 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 honourable. I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; 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 morning; and so, good morrow, Peto.

Exeunt

Peto

Good morrow, good my lord.

A
CT
III

S
CENE
I. B
ANGOR
. T
HE
A
RCHDEACON
’
S
HOUSE
.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower

Mortimer

These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hotspur

Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.

Glendower

No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.

Hotspur

And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glendower

I cannot blame him: at my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shaked like a coward.

Hotspur

Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother’s cat had but kittened, though yourself had never been born.

Glendower

I say the earth did shake when I was born.

Hotspur

And I say the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

Glendower

The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

Hotspur

O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down
Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.

Glendower

 
Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark’d me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipp’d in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out that is but woman’s son
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
And hold me pace in deep experiments.