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.
Hotspur I think there’s no man speaks better Welsh.
I’ll to dinner.
Mortimer Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
Glendower I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come when you do call for them?
Glendower Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
Hotspur And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil
By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!
Mortimer Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
Glendower Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent him
Bootless home and weather-beaten back.
Hotspur Home without boots, and in foul weather too!
How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name?
Glendower Come, here’s the map: shall we divide our right
According to our threefold order ta’en?
Mortimer 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,
Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.
Within that space you may have drawn together
Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glendower 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.
Hotspur 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 cantle out.
I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel, fair and evenly;
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glendower Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.
Mortimer 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.
Earl Of Worcester Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
And on this north side win this cape of land;
And then he runs straight and even.
Hotspur I’ll have it so: a little charge will do it.
Glendower I’ll not have it alter’d.
Hotspur Will not you?
Glendower No, nor you shall not.
Hotspur Who shall say me nay?
Glendower Why, that will I.
Hotspur Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.
Glendower 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 was never seen in you.
And I am glad of it with all my heart:
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry:
’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.
Glendower Come, you shall have Trent turn’d.
Hotspur I do not care: I’ll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
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?
Glendower 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.
Mortimer Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
Hotspur I cannot choose: sometime he angers me
With telling me of the mouldwarp 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. I tell you what;
He held me last night at least nine hours
In reckoning up the several devils’ names
That were his lackeys: I cried “hum,” and “well, go to,”
But mark’d him not a word. O, he is as tedious
As a tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summer-house in Christendom.
Mortimer In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
And as wondrous affable 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 come ’cross his humour; 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.
Earl Of Worcester In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
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.
Hotspur Well, I am school’d: good manners be your speed!
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Re-enter Glendower with the ladies
Mortimer This is the deadly spite that angers me;
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glendower My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;
She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars.
Mortimer Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same
Glendower She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon.
The lady speaks in Welsh
Mortimer I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
In such a parley should I answer thee.
The lady speaks again in Welsh
I understand thy kisses and thou mine,
And that’s a feeling disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learned 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.
Glendower Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
The lady speaks again in Welsh
Mortimer O, I am ignorance itself in this!
Glendower She bids you on 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 eyelids crown the god of sleep.
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
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.
Mortimer With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn
Glendower Do so;
And those musicians that shall play to you
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.
Hotspur Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
Lady Percy Go, ye giddy goose.
The music plays
Hotspur Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
And ’tis no marvel he is so humorous.
By’r lady, he is a good musician.
Lady Percy Then should you be nothing but musical for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.
Hotspur I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
Lady Percy Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
Lady Percy Then be still.
Hotspur Neither;’tis a woman’s fault.
Lady Percy Now God help thee!
Hotspur To the Welsh lady’s bed.
Lady Percy What’s that?
Hotspur Peace! she sings.
Here the lady sings a Welsh song
Hotspur Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.
Lady Percy Not mine, in good sooth.
Hotspur 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 givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
As if thou never walk’st 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.
Lady Percy I will not sing.
Hotspur ’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.
Glendower Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this our book is drawn; we’ll but seal,
And then to horse immediately.
Mortimer With all my heart.
Enter King Henry IV, Prince Henry, and others
King Henry IV Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you.
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 me;
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only mark’d
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings. 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?
Prince Henry 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 charged withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devised,
which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander’d and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
King Henry IV God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, 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 doth forethink 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
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, 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 burnt; carded his state,
Mingled his royalty with capering fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns
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 surfeited with honey and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,
Slept in his face and render’d such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
For thou has lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation: not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;
Which now doth that I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
Prince Henry I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
Be more myself.
King Henry IV For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,
And even as I was then is Percy now.
Now, by my sceptre 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 swathling clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises
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 curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.
Prince Henry Do not think so; you shall not find it so:
And God forgive them that so much have 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 son;
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,
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 worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if He be pleased I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds 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.
King Henry IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this:
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Sir Walter 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 the state.
King Henry IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old:
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting
Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march
Through Gloucestershire; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let’s away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph
Falstaff Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my skin hangs about me like an like an old lady’s loose gown; I am withered 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 peppercorn, a brewer’s horse: the inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me.
Bardolph Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.
Falstaff Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house once in a quarter — of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.
Bardolph Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
Falstaff 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; thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.
Bardolph Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
Falstaff 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, that’s God’s angel:” but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill 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; God reward me for it!
Bardolph ’sblood, I would my face were in your belly!
Falstaff God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.
How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired yet who picked my pocket?
Hostess Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.
Falstaff Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair; and I’ll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go.
Hostess Who, I? no; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never called so in mine own house before.
Falstaff Go to, I know you well enough.
Hostess 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.
Falstaff Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers’ wives, and they have made bolters of them.
Hostess 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.
Falstaff He had his part of it; let him pay.
Hostess He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
Falstaff How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks: Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather’s worth forty mark.
Hostess O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that ring was copper!
Falstaff How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: ’sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.
Enter Prince Henry and Peto, marching, and Falstaff meets them playing on his truncheon like a fife
How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i’ faith? must we all march?
Bardolph Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
Hostess My lord, I pray you, hear me.
Prince Henry What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.
Hostess Good my lord, hear me.
Falstaff Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.
Prince Henry What sayest thou, Jack?
Falstaff The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets.
Prince Henry What didst thou lose, Jack?
Falstaff Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather’s.
Prince Henry A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
Hostess So I told him, my lord; 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; and said he would cudgel you.
Prince Henry What! he did not?
Hostess There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
Falstaff There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; 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
Hostess Say, what thing? what thing?
Falstaff What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.
Hostess I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it; I am an honest man’s wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.
Falstaff Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.
Hostess Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
Falstaff What beast! why, an otter.
Prince Henry An otter, Sir John! Why an otter?
Falstaff Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.
Hostess Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou!
Prince Henry Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.
Hostess So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you ought him a thousand pound.
Prince Henry Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Falstaff A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth a million: thou owest me thy love.
Hostess Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.
Falstaff Did I, Bardolph?
Bardolph Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Falstaff Yea, if he said my ring was copper.
Prince Henry I say ’tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?
Falstaff Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of a lion’s whelp.
Prince Henry And why not as the lion?
Falstaff The king 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.
Prince Henry 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 all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain: and yet you will stand to if; you will not pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed?
Falstaff Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?
Prince Henry It appears so by the story.
Falstaff Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast; 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, prithee, be gone.
Now Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad, how is that answered?
Prince Henry O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee: the money is paid back again.
Falstaff O, I do not like that paying back; ’tis a double labour.
Prince Henry I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.
Falstaff Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too.
Bardolph Do, my lord.
Prince Henry I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
Falstaff 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 them.
Prince Henry Bardolph!
Bardolph My lord?
Prince Henry Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two o’clock in the afternoon.
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
Money and order for their furniture.
The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either we or they must lower lie.
Exit Prince Henry
Falstaff Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:59