Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue hisEares cut off?Poin. Let vs beat him before his Whore
Prince. Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Pollclaw'd like a Parrot
Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so manyyeeres out-liue performance?Fal. Kisse me Dol
Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?What sayes the Almanack to that?Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,his Councell-keeper?Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses
Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constantheart
Fal. I am olde, I am olde
Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie youngBoy of them all
Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shall receiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappe to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late, wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone
Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so: proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne: well, hearken the end
Fal. Some Sack, Francis
Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir
Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art notthou Poines, his Brother?Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, whata life do'st thou lead?Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou arta Drawer
Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you outby the Eares
Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Face of thine: what, are you come from Wales? Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: by this light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome
Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you
Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge, and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the heat
Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildly did you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous, ciuill Gentlewoman? Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by my troth
Fal. Didst thou heare me?Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when youranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience
Fal. No, no, no: not so: I did not thinke, thou wastwithin hearing
Prince. I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfullabuse, and then I know how to handle you
Fal. No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse
Prince. Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, and Bread-chopper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse (Hal.) Poin. No abuse? Fal. No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none. I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wicked might not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I haue done the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, and thy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:) none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none
Prince. See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardise, doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman, to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thine Hostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the Wicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in his Nose) of the Wicked? Poin. Answere thou dead Elme, answere
Fal. The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecouerable, and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where hee doth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy, there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids him too
Prince. For the Women? Fal. For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, and burnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money; and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I know not
Host. No, I warrant you
Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee, for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle
Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt ofMutton, or two, in a whole Lent?Prince. You, Gentlewoman
Dol. What sayes your Grace?Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebellsagainst
Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the doore there, Francis? Enter Peto.
Prince. Peto, how now? what newes?Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,Come from the North: and as I came along,I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe
Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,So idly to prophane the precious time,When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:Falstaffe, good night.Enter.
Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter? Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently, A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you
Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse, farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches: if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I goe
Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie to burst- Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy selfe
Falst. Farewell, farewell.Enter.
Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an honester, and truer-hearted man- Well, fare thee well
Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet
Host. What's the matter?Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master
Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter the King, with a Page.
King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick:But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters,And well consider of them: make good speed.Enter.
How many thousand of my poorest SubiectsAre at this howre asleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe,Natures soft Nurse, how haue I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe,And steepe my Sences in Forgetfulnesse?Why rather (Sleepe) lyest thou in smoakie Cribs,Vpon vneasie Pallads stretching thee,And huisht with bussing Night, flyes to thy slumber,Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great?Vnder the Canopies of costly State,And lull'd with sounds of sweetest Melodie?O thou dull God, why lyest thou with the vilde,In loathsome Beds, and leau'st the Kingly Couch,A Watch-case, or a common Larum-Bell?Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Mast,Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines,In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,And in the visitation of the Windes,Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top,Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging themWith deaff'ning Clamors in the slipp'ry Clouds,That with the hurley, Death it selfe awakes?Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy ReposeTo the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre so rude:And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,With all appliances, and meanes to boote,Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne.Enter Warwicke and Surrey.
War. Many good-morrowes to your Maiestie
King. Is it good-morrow, Lords?War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past
King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:)Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?War. We haue (my Liege.)King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,Which to his former strength may be restor'd,With good aduice, and little Medicine:My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd
King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,And see the reuolution of the TimesMake Mountaines leuell, and the Continent(Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfeInto the Sea: and other Times, to seeThe beachie Girdle of the OceanToo wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocksAnd Changes fill the Cuppe of AlterationWith diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,This Percie was the man, neerest my Soule,Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires,And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot:Yea, for my sake, euen to the eyes of RichardGaue him defiance. But which of you was by(You Cousin Neuil, as I may remember)When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares,(Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland)Did speake these words (now prou'd a Prophecie:)Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the whichMy Cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne:(Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no such intent,But that necessitie so bow'd the State,That I and Greatnesse were compell'd to kisse:)The Time shall come (thus did hee follow it)The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head,Shall breake into Corruption: so went on,Fore-telling this same Times Condition,And the diuision of our Amitie
War. There is a Historie in all mens Liues,Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd:The which obseru'd, a man may prophecieWith a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things,As yet not come to Life, which in their SeedesAnd weake beginnings lye entreasured:Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time;And by the necessarie forme of this,King Richard might create a perfect guesse,That great Northumberland, then false to him,Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falsenesse,Which should not finde a ground to roote vpon,Vnlesse on you
King. Are these things then Necessities?Then let vs meete them like Necessities;And that same word, euen now cryes out on vs:They say, the Bishop and NorthumberlandAre fiftie thousand strong
War. It cannot be (my Lord:)Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,The numbers of the feared. Please it your GraceTo goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord)The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue sent forth,Shall bring this Prize in very easily.To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'dA certaine instance, that Glendour is dead.Your Maiestie hath beene this fort-night ill,And these vnseason'd howres perforce must addeVnto your Sicknesse
King. I will take your counsaile:And were these inward Warres once out of hand,Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Shallow and Silence: with Mouldie, Shadow, Wart, Feeble,Bull-calfe.
Shal. Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee yourHand, Sir; giue mee your Hand, Sir: an early stirrer, bythe Rood. And how doth my good Cousin Silence?Sil. Good-morrow, good Cousin Shallow
Shal. And how doth my Cousin, your Bed-fellow?and your fairest Daughter, and mine, my God-DaughterEllen?Sil. Alas, a blacke Ouzell (Cousin Shallow.)Shal. By yea and nay, Sir. I dare say my Cousin Williamis become a good Scholler? hee is at Oxford still, is heenot?Sil. Indeede Sir, to my cost
Shal. Hee must then to the Innes of Court shortly: I was once of Clements Inne; where (I thinke) they will talke of mad Shallow yet
Sil. You were call'd lustie Shallow then (Cousin.) Shal. I was call'd any thing: and I would haue done any thing indeede too, and roundly too. There was I, and little Iohn Doit of Staffordshire, and blacke George Bare, and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squele a Cotsal-man, you had not foure such Swindge-bucklers in all the Innes of Court againe: And I may say to you, wee knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandement. Then was Iacke Falstaffe (now Sir Iohn) a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolke
Sil. This Sir Iohn (Cousin) that comes hither anon about Souldiers? Shal. The same Sir Iohn, the very same: I saw him breake Scoggan's Head at the Court-Gate, when hee was a Crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inne. Oh the mad dayes that I haue spent! and to see how many of mine olde Acquaintance are dead? Sil. Wee shall all follow (Cousin.) Shal. Certaine: 'tis certaine: very sure, very sure: Death is certaine to all, all shall dye. How a good Yoke of Bullocks at Stamford Fayre? Sil. Truly Cousin, I was not there
Shal. Death is certaine. Is old Double of your Towneliuing yet?Sil. Dead, Sir
Shal. Dead? See, see: hee drew a good Bow: and dead? hee shot a fine shoote. Iohn of Gaunt loued him well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead? hee would haue clapt in the Clowt at Twelue-score, and carryed you a fore-hand Shaft at foureteene, and foureteene and a halfe, that it would haue done a mans heart good to see. How a score of Ewes now? Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good Ewes may be worth tenne pounds
Shal. And is olde Double dead?Enter Bardolph and his Boy.
Sil. Heere come two of Sir Iohn Falstaffes Men (as Ithinke.)Shal. Good-morrow, honest Gentlemen
Bard. I beseech you, which is Iustice Shallow? Shal. I am Robert Shallow (Sir) a poore Esquire of this Countie, and one of the Kings Iustices of the Peace: What is your good pleasure with me? Bard. My Captaine (Sir) commends him to you: my Captaine, Sir Iohn Falstaffe: a tall Gentleman, and a most gallant Leader
Shal. Hee greetes me well: (Sir) I knew him a good Back-Sword-man. How doth the good Knight? may I aske, how my Lady his Wife doth? Bard. Sir, pardon: a Souldier is better accommodated, then with a Wife
Shal. It is well said, Sir; and it is well said, indeede, too: Better accommodated? it is good, yea indeede is it: good phrases are surely, and euery where very commendable. Accommodated, it comes of Accommodo: very good, a good Phrase
Bard. Pardon, Sir, I haue heard the word. Phrase call you it? by this Day, I know not the Phrase: but I will maintaine the Word with my Sword, to bee a Souldier-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 thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent thing. Enter Falstaffe.
Shal. It is very iust: Looke, heere comes good Sir Iohn. Giue me your hand, giue me your Worships good hand: Trust me, you looke well: and beare your yeares very well. Welcome, good Sir Iohn
Fal. I am glad to see you well, good M[aster]. Robert Shallow:Master Sure-card as I thinke?Shal. No sir Iohn, it is my Cosin Silence: in Commissionwith mee
Fal. Good M[aster]. Silence, it well befits you should be ofthe peace
Sil. Your good Worship is welcome
Fal. Fye, this is hot weather (Gentlemen) haue youprouided me heere halfe a dozen of sufficient men?Shal. Marry haue we sir: Will you sit?Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you
Shal. Where's the Roll? Where's the Roll? Where's the Roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see: so, so, so, so: yea marry Sir. Raphe Mouldie: let them appeare as I call: let them do so, let them do so: Let mee see, Where is Mouldie? Moul. Heere, if it please you
Shal. What thinke you (Sir Iohn) a good limb'd fellow:yong, strong, and of good friends
Fal. Is thy name Mouldie?Moul. Yea, if it please you
Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert vs'd
Shal. Ha, ha, ha, most excellent. Things that are mouldie, lacke vse: very singular good. Well saide Sir Iohn, very well said
Fal. Pricke him
Moul. I was prickt well enough before, if you could haue let me alone: my old Dame will be vndone now, for one to doe her Husbandry, and her Drudgery; you need not to haue prickt me, there are other men fitter to goe out, then I
Fal. Go too: peace Mouldie, you shall goe. Mouldie,it is time you were spent
Moul. Spent?Shallow. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: Know youwhere you are? For the other sir Iohn: Let me see: SimonShadow
Fal. I marry, let me haue him to sit vnder: he's like tobe a cold souldier
Shal. Where's Shadow?Shad. Heere sir
Fal. Shadow, whose sonne art thou?Shad. My Mothers sonne, Sir
Falst. Thy Mothers sonne: like enough, and thy Fathers shadow: so the sonne of the Female, is the shadow of the Male: it is often so indeede, but not of the Fathers substance
Shal. Do you like him, sir Iohn?Falst. Shadow will serue for Summer: pricke him: Forwee haue a number of shadowes to fill vppe the Muster-Booke
Shal. Thomas Wart?Falst. Where's he?Wart. Heere sir
Falst. Is thy name Wart?Wart. Yea sir
Fal. Thou art a very ragged Wart
Shal. Shall I pricke him downe, Sir Iohn? Falst. It were superfluous: for his apparrel is built vpon his backe, and the whole frame stands vpon pins: prick him no more
Shal. Ha, ha, ha, you can do it sir: you can doe it: Icommend you well.Francis Feeble
Feeble. Heere sir
Shal. What Trade art thou Feeble?Feeble. A Womans Taylor sir
Shal. Shall I pricke him, sir? Fal. You may: But if he had beene a mans Taylor, he would haue prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemies Battaile, as thou hast done in a Womans petticote? Feeble. I will doe my good will sir, you can haue no more
Falst. Well said, good Womans Tailour: Well saydeCouragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrathfullDoue, or most magnanimous Mouse. Pricke the womansTaylour well Master Shallow, deepe Maister Shallow
Feeble. I would Wart might haue gone sir
Fal. I would thou wert a mans Tailor, that y might'st mend him, and make him fit to goe. I cannot put him to a priuate souldier, that is the Leader of so many thousands. Let that suffice, most Forcible Feeble
Feeble. It shall suffice
Falst. I am bound to thee, reuerend Feeble. Who isthe next?Shal. Peter Bulcalfe of the Greene
Falst. Yea marry, let vs see Bulcalfe
Bul. Heere sir
Fal. Trust me, a likely Fellow. Come, pricke me Bulcalfe till he roare againe
Bul. Oh, good my Lord Captaine
Fal. What? do'st thou roare before th'art prickt
Bul. Oh sir, I am a diseased man
Fal. What disease hast thou?Bul. A whorson cold sir, a cough sir, which I caughtwith Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronationday, sir
Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the Warres in a Gowne: we will haue away thy Cold, and I will take such order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is heere all? Shal. There is two more called then your number: you must haue but foure heere sir, and so I pray you go in with me to dinner
Fal. Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth, Master Shallow
Shal. O sir Iohn, doe you remember since wee lay allnight in the Winde-mill, in S[aint]. Georges Field
Falstaffe. No more of that good Master Shallow: Nomore of that
Shal. Ha? it was a merry night. And is Iane Nightworkealiue?Fal. She liues, M[aster]. Shallow
Shal. She neuer could away with me
Fal. Neuer, neuer: she would alwayes say shee couldnot abide M[aster]. Shallow
Shal. I could anger her to the heart: shee was then aBona-Roba. Doth she hold her owne well
Fal. Old, old, M[aster]. Shallow
Shal. Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be old: certaine shee's old: and had Robin Night-worke, by old Night-worke, before I came to Clements Inne
Sil. That's fiftie fiue yeeres agoe
Shal. Hah, Cousin Silence, that thou hadst seene that,that this Knight and I haue seene: hah, Sir Iohn, said Iwell?Falst. Wee haue heard the Chymes at mid-night, MasterShallow
Shal. That wee haue, that wee haue; in faith, Sir Iohn, wee haue: our watch-word was, Hem-Boyes. Come, let's to Dinner; come, let's to Dinner: Oh the dayes that wee haue seene. Come, come
Bul. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend, and heere is foure Harry tenne shillings in French Crownes for you: in very truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd sir, as goe: and yet, for mine owne part, sir, I do not care; but rather, because I am vnwilling, and for mine owne part, haue a desire to stay with my friends: else, sir, I did not care, for mine owne part, so much
Bard. Go-too: stand aside
Mould. And good Master Corporall Captaine, for my old Dames sake, stand my friend: shee hath no body to doe any thing about her, when I am gone: and she is old, and cannot helpe her selfe: you shall haue fortie, sir
Bard. Go-too: stand aside
Feeble. I care not, a man can die but once: wee owe a death. I will neuer beare a base minde: if it be my destinie, so: if it be not, so: no man is too good to serue his Prince: and let it goe which way it will, he that dies this yeere, is quit for the next
Bard. Well said, thou art a good fellow
Feeble. Nay, I will beare no base minde
Falst. Come sir, which men shall I haue?Shal. Foure of which you please
Bard. Sir, a word with you: I haue three pound, tofree Mouldie and Bull-calfe
Falst. Go-too: well
Shal. Come, sir Iohn, which foure will you haue?Falst. Doe you chuse for me
Shal. Marry then, Mouldie, Bull-calfe, Feeble, andShadow
Falst. Mouldie, and Bull-calfe: for you Mouldie, stay at home, till you are past seruice: and for your part, Bull-calfe, grow till you come vnto it: I will none of you
Shal. Sir Iohn, Sir Iohn, doe not your selfe wrong, they are your likelyest men, and I would haue you seru'd with the best
Falst. Will you tell me (Master Shallow) how to chuse a man? Care I for the Limbe, the Thewes, the stature, bulke, and bigge assemblance of a man? giue mee the spirit (Master Shallow.) Where's Wart? you see what a ragged appearance it is: hee shall charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of a Pewterers Hammer: come off, and on, swifter then hee that gibbets on the Brewers Bucket. And this same halfe-fac'd fellow, Shadow, giue me this man: hee presents no marke to the Enemie, the foe-man may with as great ayme leuell at the edge of a Pen-knife: and for a Retrait, how swiftly will this Feeble, the Womans Taylor, runne off. O, giue me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a Calyuer into Warts hand, Bardolph
Bard. Hold Wart, Trauerse: thus, thus, thus
Falst. Come, manage me your Calyuer: so: very well, go-too, very good, exceeding good. O, giue me alwayes a little, leane, old, chopt, bald Shot. Well said Wart, thou art a good Scab: hold, there is a Tester for thee
Shal. Hee is not his Crafts-master, hee doth not doe it right. I remember at Mile-end-Greene, when I lay at Clements Inne, I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthurs Show: there was a little quiuer fellow, and hee would manage you his Peece thus: and hee would about, and about, and come you in, and come you in: Rah, tah, tah, would hee say, Bownce would hee say, and away againe would hee goe, and againe would he come: I shall neuer see such a fellow
Falst. These fellowes will doe well, Master Shallow.Farewell Master Silence, I will not vse many wordes withyou: fare you well, Gentlemen both: I thanke you:I must a dozen mile to night. Bardolph, giue the SouldiersCoates
Shal. Sir Iohn, Heauen blesse you, and prosper yourAffaires, and send vs Peace. As you returne, visitmy house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peraduentureI will with you to the Court
Falst. I would you would, Master Shallow
Shal. Go-too: I haue spoke at a word. Fare youwell.Enter.
Falst. Fare you well, gentle Gentlemen. On Bardolph, leade the men away. As I returne, I will fetch off these Iustices: I doe see the bottome of Iustice Shallow. How subiect wee old men are to this vice of Lying? This same staru'd Iustice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildenesse of his Youth, and the Feates hee hath done about Turnball-street, and euery third word a Lye, duer pay'd to the hearer, then the Turkes Tribute. I doe remember him at Clements Inne, like a man made after Supper, of a Cheese-paring. When hee was naked, hee was, for all the world, like a forked Radish, with a Head fantastically caru'd vpon it with a Knife. Hee was so forlorne, that his Dimensions (to any thicke sight) were inuincible. Hee was the very Genius of Famine: hee came euer in the rere-ward of the Fashion: And now is this Vices Dagger become a Squire, and talkes as familiarly of Iohn of Gaunt, as if hee had beene sworne Brother to him: and Ile be sworne hee neuer saw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he burst his Head, for crowding among the Marshals men. I saw it, and told Iohn of Gaunt, hee beat his owne Name, for you might haue truss'd him and all his Apparrell into an Eele-skinne: the Case of a Treble Hoeboy was a Mansion for him: a Court: and now hath hee Land, and Beeues. Well, I will be acquainted with him, if I returne: and it shall goe hard, but I will make him a Philosophers two Stones to me. If the young Dace be a Bayt 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.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings, Westmerland,Coleuile.
Bish. What is this Forrest call'd?Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forrest, and't shall please yourGrace
Bish. Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth,To know the numbers of our Enemies
Hast. Wee haue sent forth alreadie
Bish. 'Tis well done.My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires)I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'dNew-dated Letters from Northumberland:Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus.Here doth hee wish his Person, with such PowersAs might hold sortance with his Qualitie,The which hee could not leuie: whereuponHee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes,To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers,That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard,And fearefull meeting of their Opposite
Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground,And dash themselues to pieces.Enter a Messenger.
Hast. Now? what newes?Mess. West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile,In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie:And by the ground they hide, I iudge their numberVpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand
Mow. The iust proportion that we gaue them out.Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field.Enter Westmerland.
Bish. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here?Mow. I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland
West. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall,The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster
Bish. Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace:What doth concerne your comming?West. Then (my Lord)Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresseThe substance of my Speech. If that RebellionCame like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs,Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage,And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie:I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare,In his true, natiue, and most proper shape,You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords)Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly formeOf base, and bloodie Insurrection,With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop,Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd,Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd,Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd,Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence,The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace.Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe,Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace,Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre?Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood,Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuineTo a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre
Bish. Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands.Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd,And with our surfetting, and wanton howres,Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer,And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease,Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland)I take not on me here as a Physician,Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace,Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men:But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre,To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse,And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stopOur very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely.I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd,What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences.Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne,And are enforc'd from our most quiet there,By the rough Torrent of Occasion,And haue the summarie of all our Griefes(When time shall serue) to shew in Articles;Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King,And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience:When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes,Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person,Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong.The dangers of the dayes but newly gone,Whose memorie is written on the EarthWith yet appearing blood; and the examplesOf euery Minutes instance (present now)Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes:Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it,But to establish here a Peace indeede,Concurring both in Name and Qualitie
West. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd?Wherein haue you beene galled by the King?What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you,That you should seale this lawlesse bloody BookeOf forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine?Bish. My Brother generall, the Common-wealth,I make my Quarrell, in particular
West. There is no neede of any such redresse:Or if there were, it not belongs to you
Mow. Why not to him in part, and to vs all,That feele the bruizes of the dayes before,And suffer the Condition of these TimesTo lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors?West. O my good Lord Mowbray,Construe the Times to their Necessities,And you shall say (indeede) it is the Time,And not the King, that doth you iniuries.Yet for your part, it not appeares to me,Either from the King, or in the present Time,That you should haue an ynch of any groundTo build a Griefe on: were you not restor'dTo all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories,Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers?Mow. What thing, in Honor, had my Father lost,That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me?The King that lou'd him, as the State stood then,Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to banish him:And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and heeBeing mounted, and both rowsed in their Seates,Their neighing Coursers daring of the Spurre,Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe,Their eyes of fire, sparkling through sights of Steele,And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together:Then, then, when there was nothing could haue stay'dMy Father from the Breast of Bullingbrooke;O, when the King did throw his Warder downe,(His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw)Then threw hee downe himselfe, and all their Liues,That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword,Haue since mis-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke
West. You speak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what.The Earle of Hereford was reputed thenIn England the most valiant Gentleman.Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue smil'd?But if your Father had beene Victor there,Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry.For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.But this is meere digression from my purpose.Here come I from our Princely Generall,To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,That hee will giue you Audience: and whereinIt shall appeare, that your demands are iust,You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,That might so much as thinke you Enemies
Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue
West. Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it so:This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,Vpon mine Honor, all too confidentTo giue admittance to a thought of feare.Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours,Our Men more perfect in the vse of Armes,Our Armor all as strong, our Cause the best;Then Reason will, our hearts should be as good.Say you not then, our Offer is compell'd
Mow. Well, by my will, wee shall admit no Parley
West. That argues but the shame of your offence:A rotten Case abides no handling
Hast. Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commission,In very ample vertue of his Father,To heare, and absolutely to determineOf what Conditions wee shall stand vpon?West. That is intended in the Generals Name:I muse you make so slight a Question
Bish. Then take (my Lord of Westmerland) this Schedule,For this containes our generall Grieuances:Each seuerall Article herein redress'd,All members of our Cause, both here, and hence,That are insinewed to this Action,Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,And present execution of our wills,To vs, and to our purposes confin'd,Wee come within our awfull Banks againe,And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace
West. This will I shew the Generall. Please you Lords,In sight of both our Battailes, wee may meeteAt either end in peace: which Heauen so frame,Or to the place of difference call the Swords,Which must decide it
Bish. My Lord, wee will doe so
Mow. There is a thing within my Bosome tells me,That no Conditions of our Peace can stand
Hast. Feare you not, that if wee can make our PeaceVpon such large termes, and so absolute,As our Conditions shall consist vpon,Our Peace shall stand as firme as Rockie Mountaines
Mow. I, but our valuation shall be such,That euery slight, and false-deriued Cause,Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reason,Shall, to the King, taste of this Action:That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue,Wee shall be winnowed with so rough a winde,That euen our Corne shall seeme as light as Chaffe,And good from bad finde no partition
Bish. No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearieOf daintie, and such picking Grieuances:For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death,Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life.And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane,And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie,That may repeat, and Historie his losse,To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes,Hee cannot so precisely weede this Land,As his mis-doubts present occasion:His foes are so en-rooted with his friends,That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie,Hee doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend.So that this Land, like an offensiue wife,That hath enrag'd him on, to offer strokes,As he is striking, holds his Infant vp,And hangs resolu'd Correction in the Arme,That was vprear'd to execution
Hast. Besides, the King hath wasted all his Rods,On late Offenders, that he now doth lackeThe very Instruments of Chasticement:So that his power, like to a Fanglesse LionMay offer, but not hold
Bish. 'Tis very true:And therefore be assur'd (my good Lord Marshal)If we do now make our attonement well,Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited)Grow stronger, for the breaking
Mow. Be it so:Heere is return'd my Lord of Westmerland.Enter Westmerland.
West. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your LordshipTo meet his Grace, iust distance 'tweene our Armies?Mow. Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name thenforward
Bish. Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come.Enter Prince Iohn.
Iohn. You are wel encountred here (my cosin Mowbray)Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop,And so to you Lord Hastings, and to all.My Lord of Yorke, it better shew'd with you,When that your Flocke (assembled by the Bell)Encircled you, to heare with reuerenceYour exposition on the holy Text,Then now to see you heere an Iron manChearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme,Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death:That man that sits within a Monarches heart,And ripens in the Sunne-shine of his fauor,Would hee abuse the Countenance of the King,Alack, what Mischiefes might hee set abroach,In shadow of such Greatnesse? With you, Lord Bishop,It is euen so. Who hath not heard it spoken,How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen?To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament;To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it selfe:The very Opener, and Intelligencer,Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen;And our dull workings. O, who shall beleeue,But you mis-vse the reuerence of your Place,Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen,As a false Fauorite doth his Princes Name,In deedes dis-honorable? You haue taken vp,Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen,The Subiects of Heauens Substitute, my Father,And both against the Peace of Heauen, and him,Haue here vp-swarmed them
Bish. Good my Lord of Lancaster,I am not here against your Fathers Peace:But (as I told my Lord of Westmerland)The Time (mis-order'd) doth in common senceCrowd vs, and crush vs, to this monstrous Forme,To hold our safetie vp. I sent your GraceThe parcels, and particulars of our Griefe,The which hath been with scorne shou'd from the Court:Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne,Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleepe,With graunt of our most iust and right desires;And true Obedience, of this Madnesse cur'd,Stoope tamely to the foot of Maiestie
Mow. If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes,To the last man
Hast. And though wee here fall downe,Wee haue Supplyes, to second our Attempt:If they mis-carry, theirs shall second them.And so, successe of Mischiefe shall be borne,And Heire from Heire shall hold this Quarrell vp,Whiles England shall haue generation
Iohn. You are too shallow (Hastings)Much too shallow,To sound the bottome of the after-Times
West. Pleaseth your Grace, to answere them directly,How farre-forth you doe like their Articles
Iohn. I like them all, and doe allow them well:And sweare here, by the honor of my blood,My Fathers purposes haue beene mistooke,And some, about him, haue too lauishlyWrested his meaning, and Authoritie.My Lord, these Griefes shall be with speed redrest:Vpon my Life, they shall. If this may please you,Discharge your Powers vnto their seuerall Counties,As wee will ours: and here, betweene the Armies,Let's drinke together friendly, and embrace,That all their eyes may beare those Tokens home,Of our restored Loue, and Amitie
Bish. I take your Princely word, for these redresses
Iohn. I giue it you, and will maintaine my word:And thereupon I drinke vnto your Grace
Hast. Goe Captaine, and deliuer to the ArmieThis newes of Peace: let them haue pay, and part:I know, it will well please them.High thee Captaine.Enter.
Bish. To you, my Noble Lord of Westmerland
West. I pledge your Grace:And if you knew what paines I haue bestow'd,To breede this present Peace,You would drinke freely: but my loue to ye,Shall shew it selfe more openly hereafter
Bish. I doe not doubt you
West. I am glad of it.Health to my Lord, and gentle Cousin Mowbray
Mow. You wish me health in very happy season,For I am, on the sodaine, something ill
Bish. Against ill Chances, men are euer merry,But heauinesse fore-runnes the good euent
West. Therefore be merry (Cooze) since sodaine sorrowSerues to say thus: some good thing comes to morrow
Bish. Beleeue me, I am passing light in spirit
Mow. So much the worse, if your owne Rule be true
Iohn. The word of Peace is render'd: hearke how they showt
Mow. This had been chearefull, after Victorie
Bish. A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest:For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,And neither partie looser
Iohn. Goe (my Lord)And let our Army be discharged too:And good my Lord (so please you) let our TrainesMarch by vs, that wee may peruse the menEnter.
Wee should haue coap'd withall
Bish. Goe, good Lord Hastings:And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.Enter.
Iohn. I trust (Lords) wee shall lye to night together.Enter Westmerland.
Now Cousin, wherefore stands our Army still?West. The Leaders hauing charge from you to stand,Will not goe off, vntill they heare you speake
Iohn. They know their duties.Enter Hastings.
Hast. Our Army is dispers'd:Like youthfull Steeres, vnyoak'd, they tooke their courseEast, West, North, South: or like a Schoole, broke vp,Each hurryes towards his home, and sporting place
West. Good tidings (my Lord Hastings) for the which,I doe arrest thee (Traytor) of high Treason:And you Lord Arch-bishop, and you Lord Mowbray,Of Capitall Treason, I attach you both
Mow. Is this proceeding iust, and honorable?West. Is your Assembly so?Bish. Will you thus breake your faith?Iohn. I pawn'd thee none:I promis'd you redresse of these same GrieuancesWhereof you did complaine; which, by mine Honor,I will performe, with a most Christian care.But for you (Rebels) looke to taste the dueMeet for Rebellion, and such Acts as yours.Most shallowly did you these Armes commence,Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.Strike vp our Drummes, pursue the scatter'd stray,Heauen, and not wee, haue safely fought to day.Some guard these Traitors to the Block of Death,Treasons true Bed, and yeelder vp of breath.
Exeunt.
Enter Falstaffe and Colleuile.
Falst. What's your Name, Sir? of what Condition areyou? and of what place, I pray?Col. I am a Knight, Sir:And my Name is Colleuile of the Dale
Falst. Well then, Colleuile is your Name, a Knight is your Degree, and your Place, the Dale. Colleuile shall still be your Name, a Traytor your Degree, and the Dungeon your Place, a place deepe enough: so shall you be still Colleuile of the Dale
Col. Are not you Sir Iohn Falstaffe? Falst. As good a man as he sir, who ere I am: doe yee yeelde sir, or shall I sweate for you? if I doe sweate, they are the drops of thy Louers, and they weep for thy death, therefore rowze vp Feare and Trembling, and do obseruance to my mercy
Col. I thinke you are Sir Iohn Falstaffe, & in that thought yeeld me
Fal. I haue a whole Schoole of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a Tongue of them all, speakes anie other word but my name: and I had but a belly of any indifferencie, I were simply the most actiue fellow in Europe: my wombe, my wombe, my wombe vndoes mee. Heere comes our Generall. Enter Prince Iohn, and Westmerland.
Iohn. The heat is past, follow no farther now:Call in the Powers, good Cousin Westmerland.Now Falstaffe, where haue you beene all this while?When euery thing is ended, then you come.These tardie Tricks of yours will (on my life)One time, or other, breake some Gallowes back
Falst. I would bee sorry (my Lord) but it should bee thus: I neuer knew yet, but rebuke and checke was the reward of Valour. Doe you thinke me a Swallow, an Arrow, or a Bullet? Haue I, in my poore and olde Motion, the expedition of Thought? I haue speeded hither with the very extremest ynch of possibilitie. I haue fowndred nine score and odde Postes: and heere (trauell-tainted as I am) haue, in my pure and immaculate Valour, taken Sir Iohn Colleuile of the Dale, a most furious Knight, and valorous Enemie: But what of that? hee saw mee, and yeelded: that I may iustly say with the hooke-nos'd fellow of Rome, I came, saw, and ouer-came
Iohn. It was more of his Courtesie, then your deseruing
Falst. I know not: heere hee is, and heere I yeeld him: and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd, with the rest of this dayes deedes; or I sweare, I will haue it in a particular Ballad, with mine owne Picture on the top of it (Colleuile kissing my foot:) To the which course, if I be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the cleare Skie of Fame, o're-shine you as much as the Full Moone doth the Cynders of the Element (which shew like Pinnes-heads to her) beleeue not the Word of the Noble: therefore let mee haue right, and let desert mount
Iohn. Thine's too heauie to mount
Falst. Let it shine then
Iohn. Thine's too thick to shine
Falst. Let it doe something (my good Lord) that maydoe me good, and call it what you will
Iohn. Is thy Name Colleuile?Col. It is (my Lord.)Iohn. A famous Rebell art thou, Colleuile
Falst. And a famous true Subiect tooke him
Col. I am (my Lord) but as my Betters are,That led me hither: had they beene rul'd by me,You should haue wonne them dearer then you haue
Falst. I know not how they sold themselues, but thoulike a kinde fellow, gau'st thy selfe away; and I thankethee, for thee.Enter Westmerland.
Iohn. Haue you left pursuit?West. Retreat is made, and Execution stay'd
Iohn. Send Colleuile, with his Confederates,To Yorke, to present Execution.Blunt, leade him hence, and see you guard him sure.
Exit with Colleuile.
And now dispatch we toward the Court (my Lords)I heare the King, my Father, is sore sicke.Our Newes shall goe before vs, to his Maiestie,Which (Cousin) you shall beare, to comfort him:And wee with sober speede will follow you
Falst. My Lord, I beseech you, giue me leaue to goe through Gloucestershire: and when you come to Court, stand my good Lord, 'pray, in your good report
Iohn. Fare you well, Falstaffe: I, in my condition,Shall better speake of you, then you deserue.Enter.
Falst. I would you had but the wit: 'twere better then your Dukedome. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded Boy doth not loue me, nor a man cannot make him laugh: but that's no maruaile, hee drinkes no Wine. There's neuer any of these demure Boyes come to any proofe: for thinne Drinke doth so ouer-coole their blood, and making many Fish-Meales, that they fall into a kinde of Male Greene-sicknesse: and then, when they marry, they get Wenches. They are generally Fooles, and Cowards; which some of vs should be too, but for inflamation. A good Sherris-Sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it ascends me into the Braine, dryes me there all the foolish, and dull, and cruddie Vapours, which enuiron it: makes it apprehensiue, quicke, forgetiue, full of nimble, fierie, and delectable shapes; which deliuer'd o're to the Voyce, the Tongue, which is the Birth, becomes excellent Wit. The second propertie of your excellent Sherris, is, the warming of the Blood: which before (cold, and setled) left the Liuer white, and pale; which is the Badge of Pusillanimitie, and Cowardize: but the Sherris warmes it, and makes it course from the inwards, to the parts extremes: it illuminateth the Face, which (as a Beacon) giues warning to all the rest of this little Kingdome (Man) to Arme: and then the Vitall Commoners, and in-land pettie Spirits, muster me all to their Captaine, the Heart; who great, and pufft vp with his Retinue, doth any Deed of Courage: and this Valour comes of Sherris. So, that skill in the Weapon is nothing, without Sack (for that sets it a-worke:) and Learning, a meere Hoord of Gold, kept by a Deuill, till Sack commences it, and sets it in act, and vse. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood hee did naturally inherite of his Father, hee hath, like leane, stirrill, and bare Land, manured, husbanded, and tyll'd, with excellent endeauour of drinking good, and good store of fertile Sherris, that hee is become very hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand Sonnes, the first Principle I would teach them, should be to forsweare thinne Potations, and to addict themselues to Sack. Enter Bardolph.
How now Bardolph?Bard. The Armie is discharged all, and gone
Falst. Let them goe: Ile through Gloucestershire, and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire: I haue him alreadie tempering betweene my finger and my thombe, and shortly will I seale with him. Come away.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter King, Warwicke, Clarence, Gloucester.
King. Now Lords, if Heauen doth giue successefull endTo this Debate, that bleedeth at our doores,Wee will our Youth lead on to higher Fields,And draw no Swords, but what are sanctify'd.Our Nauie is addressed, our Power collected,Our Substitutes, in absence, well inuested,And euery thing lyes leuell to our wish;Onely wee want a little personall Strength:And pawse vs, till these Rebels, now a-foot,Come vnderneath the yoake of Gouernment
War. Both which we doubt not, but your MaiestieShall soone enioy
King. Humphrey (my Sonne of Gloucester) where isthe Prince, your Brother?Glo. I thinke hee's gone to hunt (my Lord) at Windsor
King. And how accompanied?Glo. I doe not know (my Lord.)King. Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, withhim?Glo. No (my good Lord) hee is in presence heere
Clar. What would my Lord, and Father?King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.How chance thou art not with the Prince, thy Brother?Hee loues thee, and thou do'st neglect him (Thomas.)Thou hast a better place in his Affection,Then all thy Brothers: cherish it (my Boy)And Noble Offices thou may'st effectOf Mediation (after I am dead)Betweene his Greatnesse, and thy other Brethren.Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue,Nor loose the good aduantage of his Grace,By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will.For hee is gracious, if hee be obseru'd:Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a HandOpen (as Day) for melting Charitie:Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint,As humorous as Winter, and as sudden,As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day.His temper therefore must be well obseru'd:Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently,When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth:But being moodie, giue him Line, and scope,Till that his passions (like a Whale on ground)Confound themselues with working. Learne this Thomas,And thou shalt proue a shelter to thy friends,A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in:That the vnited Vessell of their Blood(Mingled with Venome of Suggestion,As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in)Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strongAs Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder
Clar. I shall obserue him with all care, and loue
King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him (Thomas?)Clar. Hee is not there to day: hee dines in London
King. And how accompanyed? Canst thou tellthat?Clar. With Pointz, and other his continuall followers
King. Most subiect is the fattest Soyle to Weedes:And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth)Is ouer-spread with them: therefore my griefeStretches it selfe beyond the howre of death.The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe shape(In formes imaginarie) th' vnguided Dayes,And rotten Times, that you shall looke vpon,When I am sleeping with my Ancestors.For when his head-strong Riot hath no Curbe,When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counsailors,When Meanes and lauish Manners meete together;Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections flyeTowards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay?War. My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite:The Prince but studies his Companions,Like a strange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language,'Tis needfull, that the most immodest wordBe look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd,Your Highnesse knowes, comes to no farther vse,But to be knowne, and hated. So, like grosse termes,The Prince will, in the perfectnesse of time,Cast off his followers: and their memorieShall as a Patterne, or a Measure, liue,By which his Grace must mete the liues of others,Turning past-euills to aduantages
King. 'Tis seldome, when the Bee doth leaue her CombeIn the dead Carrion.Enter Westmerland.
Who's heere? Westmerland?West. Health to my Soueraigne, and new happinesseAdded to that, that I am to deliuer.Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kisse your Graces Hand:Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroope, Hastings, and all,Are brought to the Correction of your Law.There is not now a Rebels Sword vnsheath'd,But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where:The manner how this Action hath beene borne,Here (at more leysure) may your Highnesse reade,With euery course, in his particular
King. O Westmerland, thou art a Summer Bird,Which euer in the haunch of Winter singsThe lifting vp of day.Enter Harcourt.
Looke, heere's more newes
Harc. From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maiestie:And when they stand against you, may they fall,As those that I am come to tell you of.The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe,With a great Power of English, and of Scots,Are by the Sherife of Yorkeshire ouerthrowne:The manner, and true order of the fight,This Packet (please it you) containes at large
King. And wherefore should these good newesMake me sicke?Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full,But write her faire words still in foulest Letters?Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode,(Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast,And takes away the Stomack (such are the Rich,That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.)I should reioyce now, at this happy newes,And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie.O me, come neere me, now I am much ill
Glo. Comfort your Maiestie
Cla. Oh, my Royall Father
West. My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, lookevp
War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these FitsAre with his Highnesse very ordinarie.Stand from him, giue him ayre:Hee'le straight be well
Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs,Th' incessant care, and labour of his Minde,Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in,So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out
Glo. The people feare me: for they doe obserueVnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature:The Seasons change their manners, as the YeereHad found some Moneths asleepe, and leap'd them ouer
Clar. The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene:And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles)Say it did so, a little time beforeThat our great Grand-sire Edward sick'd, and dy'de
War. Speake lower (Princes) for the King recouers
Glo. This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end
King. I pray you take me vp, and beare me henceInto some other Chamber: softly 'pray.Let there be no noyse made (my gentle friends)Vnlesse some dull and fauourable handWill whisper Musicke to my wearie Spirit
War. Call for the Musicke in the other Roome
King. Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here
Clar. His eye is hollow, and hee changes much
War. Lesse noyse, lesse noyse.Enter Prince Henry.
P.Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?Clar. I am here (Brother) full of heauinesse
P.Hen. How now? Raine within doores, and noneabroad? How doth the King?Glo. Exceeding ill
P.Hen. Heard hee the good newes yet?Tell it him
Glo. Hee alter'd much, vpon the hearing it
P.Hen. If hee be sicke with Ioy,Hee'le recouer without Physicke
War. Not so much noyse (my Lords)Sweet Prince speake lowe,The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleepe
Clar. Let vs with-draw into the other Roome
War. Wil't please your Grace to goe along with vs?P.Hen. No: I will sit, and watch here, by the King.Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow,Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow?O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide,To many a watchfull Night: sleepe with it now,Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete,As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound)Snores out the Watch of Night. O Maiestie!When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sitLike a rich Armor, worne in heat of day,That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath,There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not:Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlnePerforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father,This sleepe is sound indeede: this is a sleepe,That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'dSo many English Kings. Thy due, from me,Is Teares, and heauie Sorrowes of the Blood,Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tendernesse,Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteously.My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne,Which (as immediate from thy Place, and Blood)Deriues it selfe to me. Loe, heere it sits,Which Heauen shall guard:And put the worlds whole strength into one gyant Arme,It shall not force this Lineall Honor from me.This, from thee, will I to mine leaue,As 'tis left to me.Enter.
Enter Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence.
King. Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence
Clar. Doth the King call?War. What would your Maiestie? how fares yourGrace?King. Why did you leaue me here alone (my Lords?)Cla. We left the Prince (my Brother) here (my Liege)Who vndertooke to sit and watch by you
King. The Prince of Wales? where is hee? let meesee him
War. This doore is open, hee is gone this way
Glo. Hee came not through the Chamber where weestayd
King. Where is the Crowne? who tooke it from myPillow?War. When wee with-drew (my Liege) wee left itheere
King. The Prince hath ta'ne it hence:Goe seeke him out.Is hee so hastie, that hee doth supposeMy sleepe, my death? Finde him (my Lord of Warwick)Chide him hither: this part of his conioynesWith my disease, and helpes to end me.See Sonnes, what things you are:How quickly Nature falls into reuolt,When Gold becomes her Obiect?For this, the foolish ouer-carefull FathersHaue broke their sleepes with thoughts,Their braines with care, their bones with industry.For this, they haue ingrossed and pyl'd vpThe canker'd heapes of strange-atchieued Gold:For this, they haue beene thoughtfull, to inuestTheir Sonnes with Arts, and Martiall Exercises:When, like the Bee, culling from euery flowerThe vertuous Sweetes, our Thighes packt with Wax,Our Mouthes with Honey, wee bring it to the Hiue;And like the Bees, are murthered for our paines.This bitter taste yeelds his engrossements,To the ending Father.Enter Warwicke.
Now, where is hee, that will not stay so long,Till his Friend Sicknesse hath determin'd me?War. My Lord, I found the Prince in the next Roome,Washing with kindly Teares his gentle Cheekes,With such a deepe demeanure, in great sorrow,That Tyranny, which neuer quafft but blood,Would (by beholding him) haue wash'd his KnifeWith gentle eye-drops. Hee is comming hither
King. But wherefore did hee take away the Crowne?Enter Prince Henry.
Loe, where hee comes. Come hither to me (Harry.)Depart the Chamber, leaue vs heere alone.Enter.
P.Hen. I neuer thought to heare you speake againe
King. Thy wish was Father (Harry) to that thought:I stay too long by thee, I wearie thee.Do'st thou so hunger for my emptie Chayre,That thou wilt needes inuest thee with mine Honors,Before thy howre be ripe? O foolish Youth!Thou seek'st the Greatnesse, that will ouer-whelme thee.Stay but a little: for my Cloud of DignitieIs held from falling, with so weake a winde,That it will quickly drop: my Day is dimme.Thou hast stolne that, which after some few howresWere thine, without offence: and at my deathThou hast seal'd vp my expectation.Thy Life did manifest, thou lou'dst me not,And thou wilt haue me dye assur'd of it.Thou hid'st a thousand Daggers in thy thoughts,Which thou hast whetted on thy stonie heart,To stab at halfe an howre of my Life.What? canst thou not forbeare me halfe an howre?Then get thee gone, and digge my graue thy selfe,And bid the merry Bels ring to thy eareThat thou art Crowned, not that I am dead.Let all the Teares, that should bedew my HearseBe drops of Balme, to sanctifie thy head:Onely compound me with forgotten dust.Giue that, which gaue thee life, vnto the Wormes:Plucke downe my Officers, breake my Decrees;For now a time is come, to mocke at Forme.Henry the fift is Crown'd: Vp Vanity,Downe Royall State: All you sage Counsailors, hence:And to the English Court, assemble nowFrom eu'ry Region, Apes of Idlenesse.Now neighbor-Confines, purge you of your Scum:Haue you a Ruffian that will sweare? drinke? dance?Reuell the night? Rob? Murder? and commitThe oldest sinnes, the newest kinde of wayes?Be happy, he will trouble you no more:England, shall double gill'd, his trebble guilt.England, shall giue him Office, Honor, Might:For the Fift Harry, from curb'd License pluckesThe muzzle of Restraint; and the wilde DoggeShall flesh his tooth in euery Innocent.O my poore Kingdome (sicke, with ciuill blowes)When that my Care could not with-hold thy Ryots,What wilt thou do, when Ryot is thy Care?O, thou wilt be a Wildernesse againe,Peopled with Wolues (thy old Inhabitants.)Prince. O pardon me (my Liege)But for my Teares,The most Impediments vnto my Speech,I had fore-stall'd this deere, and deepe Rebuke,Ere you (with greefe) had spoke, and I had heardThe course of it so farre. There is your Crowne,And he that weares the Crowne immortally,Long guard it yours. If I affect it more,Then as your Honour, and as your Renowne,Let me no more from this Obedience rise,Which my most true, and inward duteous SpiritTeacheth this prostrate, and exteriour bending.Heauen witnesse with me, when I heere came in,And found no course of breath within your Maiestie,How cold it strooke my heart. If I do faine,O let me, in my present wildenesse, dye,And neuer liue, to shew th' incredulous World,The Noble change that I haue purposed.Comming to looke on you, thinking you dead,(And dead almost (my Liege) to thinke you were)I spake vnto the Crowne (as hauing sense)And thus vpbraided it. The Care on thee depending,Hath fed vpon the body of my Father,Therefore, thou best of Gold, art worst of Gold.Other, lesse fine in Charract, is more precious,Preseruing life, in Med'cine potable:But thou, most Fine, most Honour'd, most Renown'd,Hast eate the Bearer vp.Thus (my Royall Liege)Accusing it, I put it on my Head,To try with it (as with an Enemie,That had before my face murdred my Father)The Quarrell of a true Inheritor.But if it did infect my blood with Ioy,Or swell my Thoughts, to any straine of Pride,If any Rebell, or vaine spirit of mine,Did, with the least Affection of a Welcome,Giue entertainment to the might of it,Let heauen, for euer, keepe it from my head,And make me, as the poorest Vassaile is,That doth with awe, and terror kneele to it