Qu. And must we be diuided? must we part?Rich. I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart fro[m] heart
Qu. Banish vs both, and send the King with me
North. That were some Loue, but little Pollicy
Qu. Then whither he goes, thither let me goe
Rich. So two together weeping, make one Woe.Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere:Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere.Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes
Qu. So longest Way shall haue the longest Moanes
Rich. Twice for one step Ile groane, y Way being short,And peece the Way out with a heauie heart.Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe,Since wedding it, there is such length in Griefe:One Kisse shall stop our mouthes, and dumbely part;Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart
Qu. Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part,To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,That I may striue to kill it with a groane
Rich. We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.
Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,When weeping made you breake the story off,Of our two Cousins comming into London
Yorke. Where did I leaue?Duch. At that sad stoppe, my Lord,Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head
Yorke. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.You would haue thought the very windowes spake,So many greedy lookes of yong and old,Through Casements darted their desiring eyesVpon his visage: and that all the walles,With painted Imagery had said at once,Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:And thus still doing, thus he past along
Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of menAfter a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,Are idlely bent on him that enters next,Thinking his prattle to be tedious:Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyesDid scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,His face still combating with teares and smiles(The badges of his greefe and patience)That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'dThe hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.But heauen hath a hand in these euents,To whose high will we bound our calme contents.To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.Enter Aumerle
Dut. Heere comes my sonne Aumerle
Yor. Aumerle that was,But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,And lasting fealtie to the new-made King
Dut. Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one
Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of timeLeast you be cropt before you come to prime.What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do
Yorke. You will be there I know
Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so
Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing
Aum. My Lord, 'tis nothing
Yorke. No matter then who sees it,I will be satisfied, let me see the Writing
Aum. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,It is a matter of small consequence,Which for some reasons I would not haue seene
Yorke. Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:I feare, I feare
Dut. What should you feare?'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd intoFor gay apparrell, against the Triumph
Yorke. Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a BondThat he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.Boy, let me see the Writing
Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it
Yor. I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
Snatches it
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue
Dut. What's the matter, my Lord?Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?Dut. Why, what is't my Lord?Yorke. Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,I will appeach the Villaine
Dut. What is the matter?Yorke. Peace foolish Woman
Dut. I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no moreThen my poore life must answer
Dut. Thy life answer?Enter Seruant with Boots.
Yor. Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King
Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, y art amaz'd,Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight
Yor. Giue me my Boots, I say
Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,And rob me of a happy Mothers name?Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?Yor. Thou fond mad woman:Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,And interchangeably set downe their handsTo kill the King at Oxford
Dut. He shall be none:Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?Yor. Away fond woman: were hee twenty times mySon, I would appeach him
Dut. Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,Thou wouldest be more pittifull:But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspectThat I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:He is as like thee, as a man may bee,Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,And yet I loue him
Yorke. Make way, vnruly Woman.
Exit
Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,Spurre post, and get before him to the King,And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,Ile not be long behind: though I be old,I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.
Exit
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.
Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:For there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,With vnrestrained loose Companions,Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate BoyTakes on the point of Honor, to supportSo dissolute a crew
Per. My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford
Bul. And what said the Gallant?Per. His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,And from the common'st creature plucke a GloueAnd weare it as a fauour, and with thatHe would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger
Bul. As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayesMay happily bring forth. But who comes heere?Enter Aumerle.
Aum. Where is the King?Bul. What meanes our Cosin, that hee staresAnd lookes so wildely?Aum. God saue your Grace. I do beseech your MaiestyTo haue some conference with your Grace alone
Bul. Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:What is the matter with our Cosin now?Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth,My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake
Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault?If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,To win thy after loue, I pardon thee
Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,That no man enter, till my tale be done
Bul. Haue thy desire.
Yorke within.
Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there
Bul. Villaine, Ile make thee safe
Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no causeto feare
Yorke. Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?Open the doore, or I will breake it open.Enter Yorke.
Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,Tell vs how neere is danger,That we may arme vs to encounter it
Yor. Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt knowThe reason that my haste forbids me show
Aum. Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:I do repent me, reade not my name there,My heart is not confederate with my hand
Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proueA Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart
Bul. Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,From whence this streame, through muddy passagesHath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuseThis deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne
Yorke. So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.
Dutchesse within.
Dut. What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in
Bul. What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before
Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin
Yorke. If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,This let alone, will all the rest confound.Enter Dutchesse.
Dut. O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can
Yor. Thou franticke woman, what dost y make here,Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare?Dut. Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege
Bul. Rise vp good Aunt
Dut. Not yet, I thee beseech.For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,And neuer see day, that the happy sees,Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy,By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy
Aum. Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee
Yorke. Against them both, my true ioynts bended be
Dut. Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haueThat mercy, which true prayers ought to haue
Bul. Good Aunt stand vp
Dut. Nay, do not say stand vp.But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp.And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.The word is short: but not so short as sweet,No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet
Yorke. Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy
Dut. Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,That set's the word it selfe, against the word.Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,The chopping French we do not vnderstand.Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse
Bul. Good Aunt, stand vp
Dut. I do not sue to stand,Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand
Bul. I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee
Dut. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee?Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,But makes one pardon strong
Bul. I pardon him with all my hart
Dut. A God on earth thou art
Bul. But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,With all the rest of that consorted crew,Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powresTo Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:They shall not liue within this world I sweare,But I will haue them, if I once know where.Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true
Dut. Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new.
Exeunt.
Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ext. Didst thou not marke the King what words heespake?Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:Was it not so?Ser. Those were his very words.
Ex.
Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,And vrg'd it twice together, did he not?Ser. He did.
Ex.
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,As who should say, I would thou wer't the manThat would diuorce this terror from my heart,Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe.Enter.
Scaena Quarta.
Enter Richard.
Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compareThis Prison where I liue, vnto the World:And for because the world is populous,And heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,My Soule, the Father: and these two begetA generation of still breeding Thoughts;And these same Thoughts, people this Little WorldIn humors, like the people of this world,For no thought is contented. The better sort,As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixtWith scruples, and do set the Faith it selfeAgainst the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,It is as hard to come, as for a CamellTo thred the posterne of a Needles eye.Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plotVnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailesMay teare a passage through the Flinty ribbesOf this hard world, my ragged prison walles:And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,Nor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shameThat many haue, and others must sit there;And in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,Bearing their owne misfortune on the backeOf such as haue before indur'd the like.Thus play I in one Prison, many people,And none contented. Sometimes am I King;Then Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,And so I am. Then crushing penurie,Perswades me, I was better when a King:Then am I king'd againe: and by and by,Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,And straight am nothing. But what ere I am,
Musick
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'dWith being nothing. Musicke do I heare?Ha, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?So is it in the Musicke of mens liues:And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,To heare time broke in a disorder'd string:But for the Concord of my State and Time,Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke.I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point,Is pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.Now sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,Are clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,Which is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my TimeRuns poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,While I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.This Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits,In me it seemes, it will make wise-men mad:Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me;For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard,Is a strange Brooch, in this all-hating world.Enter Groome.
Groo. Haile Royall Prince
Rich. Thankes Noble Peere,The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere.What art thou? And how com'st thou hither?Where no man euer comes, but that sad doggeThat brings me food, to make misfortune liue?Groo. I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King)When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke,With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaueTo looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face.O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheldIn London streets, that Coronation day,When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary,That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid,That horse, that I so carefully haue drest
Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend,How went he vnder him?Groo. So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground
Rich. So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe;That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand.This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.Would he not stumble? Would he not fall downe(Since Pride must haue a fall) and breake the neckeOf that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe?Forgiuenesse horse: Why do I raile on thee,Since thou created to be aw'd by manWas't borne to beare? I was not made a horse,And yet I beare a burthen like an Asse,Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by iauncing Bullingbrooke.Enter Keeper with a Dish.
Keep. Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay
Rich. If thou loue me, 'tis time thou wer't away
Groo. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shallsay.Enter.
Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall too?Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo
Keep. My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton,Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary
Rich. The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee;Patience is stale, and I am weary of it
Keep. Helpe, helpe, helpe.Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ri. How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt?Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,Go thou and fill another roome in hell.
Exton strikes him downe.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand,Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land.Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high,Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye
Exton. As full of Valor, as of Royall blood,Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good.For now the diuell, that told me I did well,Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell.This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere.Enter.
Scoena Quinta.
Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with other Lords & attendants.
Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fireOur Towne of Cicester in Gloucestershire,But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not.Enter Northumberland.
Welcome my Lord: What is the newes?Nor. First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse:The next newes is, I haue to London sentThe heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:The manner of their taking may appeareAt large discoursed in this paper heere
Bul. We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines,And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines.Enter Fitzwaters.
Fitz. My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely,Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors,That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow
Bul. Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot,Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot.Enter Percy and Carlile.
Per. The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly,Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue:But heere is Carlile, liuing to abideThy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride
Bul. Carlile, this is your doome:Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roomeMore then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life:So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife:For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene,High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene.Enter Exton with a Coffin.
Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I presentThy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse liesThe mightiest of thy greatest enemiesRichard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought
Bul. Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wroughtA deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand,Vpon my head, and all this famous Land.
Ex.
From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed
Bul. They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede,Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered.The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour.With Caine go wander through the shade of night,And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light.Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.Come mourne with me, for that I do lament,And put on sullen Blacke incontinent:Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land,To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.March sadly after, grace my mourning heere,In weeping after this vntimely Beere.
Exeunt.
FINIS. The life and death of King Richard the Second.
The First Part of Henry the Fourth
with the Life and Death of Henry Sirnamed Hot-Spvrre
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of Westmerland, with others.
King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Finde we a time for frighted Peace to pant,And breath shortwinded accents of new broilsTo be commenc'd in Stronds a-farre remote:No more the thirsty entrance of this Soile,Shall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood:No more shall trenching Warre channell her fields,Nor bruise her Flowrets with the Armed hoofesOf hostile paces. Those opposed eyes,Which like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,All of one Nature, of one Substance bred,Did lately meete in the intestine shocke,And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,Shall now in mutuall well-beseeming rankesMarch all one way, and be no more oppos'dAgainst Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.The edge of Warre, like an ill-sheathed knife,No more shall cut his Master. Therefore Friends,As farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ,Whose Souldier now vnder whose blessed CrosseWe are impressed and ingag'd to fight,Forthwith a power of English shall we leuie,Whose armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe,To chace these Pagans in those holy Fields,Ouer whose Acres walk'd those blessed feeteWhich fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'dFor our aduantage on the bitter Crosse.But this our purpose is a tweluemonth old,And bootlesse 'tis to tell you we will go:Therefore we meete not now. Then let me heareOf you my gentle Cousin Westmerland,What yesternight our Councell did decree,In forwarding this deere expedience
West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question,And many limits of the Charge set downeBut yesternight: when all athwart there cameA Post from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;Whose worst was, That the Noble Mortimer,Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wilde Glendower,Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,And a thousand of his people butchered:Vpon whose dead corpes there was such misuse,Such beastly, shamelesse transformation,By those Welshwomen done, as may not be(Without much shame) re-told or spoken of
King. It seemes then, that the tidings of this broile,Brake off our businesse for the Holy land
West. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord,Farre more vneuen and vnwelcome NewesCame from the North, and thus it did report:On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotspurre there,Young Harry Percy, and braue Archibald,That euer-valiant and approoued Scot,At Holmeden met, where they did spendA sad and bloody houre:As by discharge of their Artillerie,And shape of likely-hood the newes was told:For he that brought them, in the very heateAnd pride of their contention, did take horse,Vncertaine of the issue any way
King. Heere is a deere and true industrious friend,Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,Strain'd with the variation of each soyle,Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:And he hath brought vs smooth and welcome newes.The Earle of Dowglas is discomfited,Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty KnightsBalk'd in their owne blood did Sir Walter seeOn Holmedons Plaines. Of Prisoners, Hotspurre tookeMordake Earle of Fife, and eldest sonneTo beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl,Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith.And is not this an honourable spoyle?A gallant prize? Ha Cosin, is it not? Infaith it is
West. A Conquest for a Prince to boast of
King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, & mak'st me sin,In enuy, that my Lord NorthumberlandShould be the Father of so blest a Sonne:A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue;Among'st a Groue, the very straightest Plant,Who is sweet Fortunes Minion, and her Pride:Whil'st I by looking on the praise of him,See Ryot and Dishonor staine the browOf my yong Harry. O that it could be prou'd,That some Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchang'dIn Cradle-clothes, our Children where they lay,And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet:Then would I haue his Harry, and he mine:But let him from my thoughts. What thinke you CozeOf this young Percies pride? The PrisonersWhich he in this aduenture hath surpriz'd,To his owne vse he keepes, and sends me wordI shall haue none but Mordake Earle of Fife
West. This is his Vnckles teaching. This is WorcesterMaleuolent to you in all Aspects:Which makes him prune himselfe, and bristle vpThe crest of Youth against your Dignity
King. But I haue sent for him to answer this:And for this cause a-while we must neglectOur holy purpose to Ierusalem.Cosin, on Wednesday next, our Councell we will holdAt Windsor, and so informe the Lords:But come your selfe with speed to vs againe,For more is to be saide, and to be done,Then out of anger can be vttered
West. I will my Liege.
Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Falstaffe, and Pointz.
Fal. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad? Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of olde Sacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping vpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truely, which thou wouldest truly know. What a diuell hast thou to do with the time of the day? vnlesse houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons, and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the signes of Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sunne himselfe a faire hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I see no reason, why thou shouldest bee so superfluous, to demaund the time of the day
Fal. Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that take Purses, go by the Moone and seuen Starres, and not by Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight so faire. And I prythee sweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God saue thy Grace, Maiesty I should say, for Grace thou wilte haue none
Prin. What, none?Fal. No, not so much as will serue to be Prologue toan Egge and Butter
Prin. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly
Fal. Marry then, sweet Wagge, when thou art King, let not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'd Theeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forresters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone; and let men say, we be men of good Gouernment, being gouerned as the Sea, by our noble and chast mistris the Moone, vnder whose countenance we steale
Prin. Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for the fortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and flow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by the Moone: as for proofe. Now a Purse of Gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday Morning; got with swearing, Lay by: and spent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe as the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the Gallowes
Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: and is not my Hostesse of the Tauerne a most sweet Wench? Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and is not a Buffe Ierkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doe with a Buffe-Ierkin? Prin. Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Hostesse of the Tauerne? Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reck'ning many a time and oft
Prin. Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?Fal. No, Ile giue thee thy due, thou hast paid al there
Prin. Yea and elsewhere, so farre as my Coine wouldstretch, and where it would not, I haue vs'd my credit
Fal. Yea, and so vs'd it, that were it heere apparant, that thou art Heire apparant. But I prythee sweet Wag, shall there be Gallowes standing in England when thou art King? and resolution thus fobb'd as it is, with the rustie curbe of old Father Anticke the Law? Doe not thou when thou art a King, hang a Theefe
Prin. No, thou shalt
Fal. Shall I? O rare! Ile be a braue Iudge
Prin. Thou iudgest false already. I meane, thou shalt haue the hanging of the Theeues, and so become a rare Hangman
Fal. Well Hal, well: and in some sort it iumpes with my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I can tell you
Prin. For obtaining of suites?Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suites, whereof the Hangmanhath no leane Wardrobe. I am as Melancholly as aGyb-Cat, or a lugg'd Beare
Prin. Or an old Lyon, or a Louers Lute
Fal. Yea, or the Drone of a Lincolnshire Bagpipe
Prin. What say'st thou to a Hare, or the Melancholly of Moore Ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most vnsauoury smiles, and art indeed the most comparatiue rascallest sweet yong Prince. But Hal, I prythee trouble me no more with vanity, I wold thou and I knew, where a Commodity of good names were to be bought: an olde Lord of the Councell rated me the other day in the street about you sir; but I mark'd him not, and yet hee talk'd very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he talkt wisely, and in the street too
Prin. Thou didst well: for no man regards it
Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeede able to corrupt a Saint. Thou hast done much harme vnto me Hall, God forgiue thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (if a man shold speake truly) little better then one of the wicked. I must giue ouer this life, and I will giue it ouer: and I do not, I am a Villaine. Ile be damn'd for neuer a Kings sonne in Christendome
Prin. Where shall we take a purse to morrow, Iacke?Fal. Where thou wilt Lad, Ile make one: and I doenot, call me Villaine, and baffle me
Prin. I see a good amendment of life in thee: FromPraying, to Purse-taking
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my Vocation Hal: 'Tis no sin for aman to labour in his Vocation
Pointz. Now shall wee know if Gads hill haue set aWatch. O, if men were to be saued by merit, what holein Hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotentVillaine, that euer cryed, Stand, to a true man
Prin. Good morrow Ned
Poines. Good morrow sweet Hal. What saies Monsieur remorse? What sayes Sir Iohn Sacke and Sugar: Iacke? How agrees the Diuell and thee about thy Soule, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a Cup of Madera, and a cold Capons legge? Prin. Sir Iohn stands to his word, the diuel shall haue his bargaine, for he was neuer yet a Breaker of Prouerbs: He will giue the diuell his due
Poin. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the diuell
Prin. Else he had damn'd cozening the diuell
Poy. But my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by foure a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes going to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders riding to London with fat Purses. I haue vizards for you all; you haue horses for your selues: Gads-hill lyes to night in Rochester, I haue bespoke Supper to morrow in Eastcheape; we may doe it as secure as sleepe: if you will go, I will stuffe your Purses full of Crownes: if you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd
Fal. Heare ye Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not,Ile hang you for going
Poy. You will chops
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?Prin. Who, I rob? I a Theefe? Not I
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood-royall, if thou dar'st not stand for ten shillings
Prin. Well then, once in my dayes Ile be a mad-cap
Fal. Why, that's well said
Prin. Well, come what will, Ile tarry at home
Fal. Ile be a Traitor then, when thou art King
Prin. I care not
Poyn. Sir Iohn, I prythee leaue the Prince & me alone, I will lay him downe such reasons for this aduenture, that he shall go
Fal. Well, maist thou haue the Spirit of perswasion; and he the eares of profiting, that what thou speakest, may moue; and what he heares may be beleeued, that the true Prince, may (for recreation sake) proue a false theefe; for the poore abuses of the time, want countenance. Farwell, you shall finde me in Eastcheape
Prin. Farwell the latter Spring. Farewell AlhollownSummer
Poy. Now, my good sweet Hony Lord, ride with vs to morrow. I haue a iest to execute, that I cannot mannage alone. Falstaffe, Haruey, Rossill, and Gads-hill, shall robbe those men that wee haue already way-layde, your selfe and I, wil not be there: and when they haue the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders
Prin. But how shal we part with them in setting forth? Poyn. Why, we wil set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherin it is at our pleasure to faile; and then will they aduenture vppon the exploit themselues, which they shall haue no sooner atchieued, but wee'l set vpon them
Prin. I, but tis like that they will know vs by our horses, by our habits, and by euery other appointment to be our selues
Poy. Tut our horses they shall not see, Ile tye them in the wood, our vizards wee will change after wee leaue them: and sirrah, I haue Cases of Buckram for the nonce, to immaske our noted outward garments
Prin. But I doubt they will be too hard for vs
Poin. Well, for two of them, I know them to bee as true bred Cowards as euer turn'd backe: and for the third if he fight longer then he sees reason, Ile forswear Armes. The vertue of this Iest will be, the incomprehensible lyes that this fat Rogue will tell vs, when we meete at Supper: how thirty at least he fought with, what Wardes, what blowes, what extremities he endured; and in the reproofe of this, lyes the iest
Prin. Well, Ile goe with thee, prouide vs all things necessary, and meete me to morrow night in Eastcheape, there Ile sup. Farewell
Poyn. Farewell, my Lord.
Exit Pointz
Prin. I know you all, and will a-while vpholdThe vnyoak'd humor of your idlenesse:Yet heerein will I imitate the Sunne,Who doth permit the base contagious cloudesTo smother vp his Beauty from the world,That when he please againe to be himselfe,Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,By breaking through the foule and vgly mistsOf vapours, that did seeme to strangle him.If all the yeare were playing holidaies,To sport, would be as tedious as to worke;But when they seldome come, they wisht-for come,And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.So when this loose behauiour I throw off,And pay the debt I neuer promised;By how much better then my word I am,By so much shall I falsifie mens hopes,And like bright Mettall on a sullen ground:My reformation glittering o're my fault,Shall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes,Then that which hath no foyle to set it off.Ile so offend, to make offence a skill,Redeeming time, when men thinke least I will.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspurre, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
King. My blood hath beene too cold and temperate,Vnapt to stirre at these indignities,And you haue found me; for accordingly,You tread vpon my patience: But be sure,I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe,Mighty, and to be fear'd, then my conditionWhich hath beene smooth as Oyle, soft as yong Downe,And therefore lost that Title of respect,Which the proud soule ne're payes, but to the proud
Wor. Our house (my Soueraigne Liege) little deseruesThe scourge of greatnesse to be vsed on it,And that same greatnesse too, which our owne handsHaue holpe to make so portly
Nor. My Lord
King. Worcester get thee gone: for I do seeDanger and disobedience in thine eye.O sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,And Maiestie might neuer yet endureThe moody Frontier of a seruant brow,You haue good leaue to leaue vs. When we needYour vse and counsell, we shall send for you.You were about to speake
North. Yea, my good Lord.Those Prisoners in your Highnesse demanded,Which Harry Percy heere at Holmedon tooke,Were (as he sayes) not with such strength deniedAs was deliuered to your Maiesty:Who either through enuy, or misprision,Was guilty of this fault; and not my Sonne
Hot. My Liege, I did deny no Prisoners.But, I remember when the fight was done,When I was dry with Rage, and extreame Toyle,Breathlesse, and Faint, leaning vpon my Sword,Came there a certaine Lord, neat and trimly drest;Fresh as a Bride-groome, and his Chin new reapt,Shew'd like a stubble Land at Haruest home.He was perfumed like a Milliner,And 'twixt his Finger and his Thumbe, he heldA Pouncet-box: which euer and anonHe gaue his Nose, and took't away againe:Who therewith angry, when it next came there,Tooke it in Snuffe. And still he smil'd and talk'd:And as the Souldiers bare dead bodies by,He call'd them vntaught Knaues, Vnmannerly,To bring a slouenly vnhandsome CoarseBetwixt the Winde, and his Nobility.With many Holiday and Lady tearmeHe question'd me: Among the rest, demandedMy Prisoners, in your Maiesties behalfe.I then, all-smarting, with my wounds being cold,(To be so pestered with a Popingay)Out of my Greefe, and my Impatience,Answer'd (neglectingly) I know not what,He should, or should not: For he made me mad,To see him shine so briske, and smell so sweet,And talke so like a Waiting-Gentlewoman,Of Guns, & Drums, and Wounds: God saue the marke;And telling me, the Soueraign'st thing on earthWas Parmacity, for an inward bruise:And that it was great pitty, so it was,That villanous Salt-peter should be digg'dOut of the Bowels of the harmlesse Earth,Which many a good Tall Fellow had destroy'dSo Cowardly. And but for these vile Gunnes,He would himselfe haue beene a Souldier.This bald, vnioynted Chat of his (my Lord)Made me to answer indirectly (as I said.)And I beseech you, let not this reportCome currant for an Accusation,Betwixt my Loue, and your high Maiesty
Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my Lord,What euer Harry Percie then had said,To such a person, and in such a place,At such a time, with all the rest retold,May reasonably dye, and neuer riseTo do him wrong, or any way impeachWhat then he said, so he vnsay it now
King. Why yet doth deny his Prisoners,But with Prouiso and Exception,That we at our owne charge, shall ransome straightHis Brother-in-Law, the foolish Mortimer,Who (in my soule) hath wilfully betraidThe liues of those, that he did leade to Fight,Against the great Magitian, damn'd Glendower:Whose daughter (as we heare) the Earle of MarchHath lately married. Shall our Coffers then,Be emptied, to redeeme a Traitor home?Shall we buy Treason? and indent with Feares,When they haue lost and forfeyted themselues.No: on the barren Mountaine let him sterue:For I shall neuer hold that man my Friend,Whose tongue shall aske me for one peny costTo ransome home reuolted Mortimer
Hot. Reuolted Mortimer?He neuer did fall off, my Soueraigne Liege,But by the chance of Warre: to proue that true,Needs no more but one tongue. For all those Wounds,Those mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he tooke,When on the gentle Seuernes siedgie banke,In single Opposition hand to hand,He did confound the best part of an houreIn changing hardiment with great Glendower:Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drinkVpon agreement, of swift Seuernes flood;Who then affrighted with their bloody lookes,Ran fearefully among the trembling Reeds,And hid his crispe-head in the hollow banke,Blood-stained with these Valiant Combatants.Neuer did base and rotten PolicyColour her working with such deadly wounds;Nor neuer could the Noble MortimerReceiue so many, and all willingly:Then let him not be sland'red with Reuolt
King. Thou do'st bely him Percy, thou dost bely him;He neuer did encounter with Glendower:I tell thee, he durst as well haue met the diuell alone,As Owen Glendower for an enemy.Art thou not asham'd? But Sirrah, henceforthLet me not heare you speake of Mortimer.Send me your Prisoners with the speediest meanes,Or you shall heare in such a kinde from meAs will displease ye. My Lord Northumberland,We License your departure with your sonne,Send vs your Prisoners, or you'l heare of it.
Exit King.
Hot. And if the diuell come and roare for themI will not send them. I will after straightAnd tell him so: for I will ease my heart,Although it be with hazard of my head
Nor. What? drunke with choller? stay & pause awhile,Heere comes your Vnckle.Enter Worcester.
Hot. Speake of Mortimer?Yes, I will speake of him, and let my souleWant mercy, if I do not ioyne with him.In his behalfe, Ile empty all these Veines,And shed my deere blood drop by drop i'th dust,But I will lift the downfall MortimerAs high i'th Ayre, as this Vnthankfull King,As this Ingrate and Cankred Bullingbrooke
Nor. Brother, the King hath made your Nephew madWor. Who strooke this heate vp after I was gone?Hot. He will (forsooth) haue all my Prisoners:And when I vrg'd the ransom once againeOf my Wiues Brother, then his cheeke look'd pale,And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,Trembling euen at the name of Mortimer
Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'dBy Richard that dead is, the next of blood?Nor. He was: I heard the Proclamation,And then it was, when the vnhappy King(Whose wrongs in vs God pardon) did set forthVpon his Irish Expedition:From whence he intercepted, did returneTo be depos'd, and shortly murthered
Wor. And for whose death, we in the worlds wide mouthLiue scandaliz'd, and fouly spoken of
Hot. But soft I pray you; did King Richard thenProclaime my brother Mortimer,Heyre to the Crowne?Nor. He did, my selfe did heare it
Hot. Nay then I cannot blame his Cousin King,That wish'd him on the barren Mountaines staru'd.But shall it be, that you that set the CrowneVpon the head of this forgetfull man,And for his sake, wore the detested blotOf murtherous subornation? Shall it be,That you a world of curses vndergoe,Being the Agents, or base second meanes,The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?O pardon, if that I descend so low,To shew the Line, and the PredicamentWherein you range vnder this subtill King.Shall it for shame, be spoken in these dayes,Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come,That men of your Nobility and Power,Did gage them both in an vniust behalfe(As Both of you, God pardon it, haue done)To put downe Richard, that sweet louely Rose,And plant this Thorne, this Canker Bullingbrooke?And shall it in more shame be further spoken,That you are fool'd, discarded, and shooke offBy him, for whom these shames ye vnderwent?No: yet time serues, wherein you may redeemeYour banish'd Honors, and restore your seluesInto the good Thoughts of the world againe.Reuenge the geering and disdain'd contemptOf this proud King, who studies day and nightTo answer all the Debt he owes vnto you,Euen with the bloody Payment of your deaths:Therefore I say-Wor. Peace Cousin, say no more.And now I will vnclaspe a Secret booke,And to your quicke conceyuing Discontents,Ile reade you Matter, deepe and dangerous,As full of perill and aduenturous Spirit,As to o're-walke a Current, roaring loudOn the vnstedfast footing of a Speare
Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sinke or swimme:Send danger from the East vnto the West,So Honor crosse it from the North to South,And let them grapple: The blood more stirresTo rowze a Lyon, then to start a Hare
Nor. Imagination of some great exploit,Driues him beyond the bounds of Patience
Hot. By heauen, me thinkes it were an easie leap,To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac'd Moone,Or diue into the bottome of the deepe,Where Fadome-line could neuer touch the ground,And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes:So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weareWithout Co-riuall, all her Dignities:But out vpon this halfe-fac'd Fellowship
Wor. He apprehends a World of Figures here,But not the forme of what he should attend:Good Cousin giue me audience for a-while,And list to me
Hot. I cry you mercy
Wor. Those same Noble ScottesThat are your Prisoners
Hot. Ile keepe them all.By heauen, he shall not haue a Scot of them:No, if a Scot would saue his Soule, he shall not.Ile keepe them, by this Hand
Wor. You start away,And lend no eare vnto my purposes.Those Prisoners you shall keepe
Hot. Nay, I will: that's flat:He said, he would not ransome Mortimer:Forbad my tongue to speake of Mortimer.But I will finde him when he lyes asleepe,And in his eare, Ile holla Mortimer.Nay, Ile haue a Starling shall be taught to speakeNothing but Mortimer, and giue it him,To keepe his anger still in motion
Wor. Heare you Cousin: a word
Hot. All studies heere I solemnly defie,Saue how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrooke,And that same Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales.But that I thinke his Father loues him not,And would be glad he met with some mischance,I would haue poyson'd him with a pot of Ale
Wor. Farewell Kinsman: Ile talke to youWhen you are better temper'd to attend
Nor. Why what a Waspe-tongu'd & impatient fooleArt thou, to breake into this Womans mood,Tying thine eare to no tongue but thine owne?Hot. Why look you, I am whipt & scourg'd with rods,Netled, and stung with Pismires, when I heareOf this vile Politician Bullingbrooke.In Richards time: What de'ye call the place?A plague vpon't, it is in Gloustershire:'Twas, where the madcap Duke his Vncle kept,His Vncle Yorke, where I first bow'd my kneeVnto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbrooke:When you and he came backe from Rauenspurgh
Nor. At Barkley Castle
Hot. You say true:Why what a caudie deale of curtesie,This fawning Grey-hound then did proffer me,Looke when his infant Fortune came to age,And gentle Harry Percy, and kinde Cousin:O, the Diuell take such Couzeners, God forgiue me,Good Vncle tell your tale, for I haue done
Wor. Nay, if you haue not, too't againe,Wee'l stay your leysure
Hot. I haue done insooth
Wor. Then once more to your Scottish Prisoners.Deliuer them vp without their ransome straight,And make the Dowglas sonne your onely meaneFor powres in Scotland: which for diuers reasonsWhich I shall send you written, be assur'dWill easily be granted you, my Lord.Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imploy'd,Shall secretly into the bosome creepeOf that same noble Prelate, well belou'd,The Archbishop
Hot. Of Yorke, is't not?Wor. True, who beares hardHis Brothers death at Bristow, the Lord Scroope.I speake not this in estimation,As what I thinke might be, but what I knowIs ruminated, plotted, and set downe,And onely stayes but to behold the faceOf that occasion that shall bring it on
Hot. I smell it:Vpon my life, it will do wond'rous well
Nor. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip
Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a Noble plot,And then the power of Scotland, and of YorkeTo ioyne with Mortimer, Ha
Wor. And so they shall
Hot. Infaith it is exceedingly well aym'd
Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids vs speed,To saue our heads, by raising of a Head:For, beare our selues as euen as we can,The King will alwayes thinke him in our debt,And thinke, we thinke our selues vnsatisfied,Till he hath found a time to pay vs home.And see already, how he doth beginneTo make vs strangers to his lookes of loue
Hot. He does, he does; wee'l be reueng'd on him
Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this,Then I by Letters shall direct your courseWhen time is ripe, which will be sodainly:Ile steale to Glendower, and loe, Mortimer,Where you, and Dowglas, and our powres at once,As I will fashion it, shall happily meete,To beare our fortunes in our owne strong armes,Which now we hold at much vncertainty
Nor. Farewell good Brother, we shall thriue, I trust
Hot. Vncle, adieu: O let the houres be short,Till fields, and blowes, and grones, applaud our sport.
Exit
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand.
1.Car. Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile behang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yetour horse not packt. What Ostler?Ost. Anon, anon
1.Car. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a fewFlockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the withers,out of all cesse.Enter another Carrier.
2.Car. Pease and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog, and this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes: This house is turned vpside downe since Robin the Ostler dyed
1.Car. Poore fellow neuer ioy'd since the price of oatsrose, it was the death of him
2.Car. I thinke this is the most villanous house in alLondon rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench
1.Car. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Christendome, could be better bit, then I haue beene since the first Cocke
2.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, and then we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye breeds Fleas like a Loach
1.Car. What Ostler, come away, and be hangd: comeaway
2.Car. I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes ofGinger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-crosse
1.Car. The Turkies in my Pannier are quite starued. What Ostler? A plague on thee, hast thou neuer an eye in thy head? Can'st not heare? And t'were not as good a deed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villaine. Come and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee? Enter Gads-hill.
Gad. Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke?Car. I thinke it be two a clocke
Gad. I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to see my Geldingin the stable
1.Car. Nay soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth twoof that
Gad. I prethee lend me thine
2.Car. I, when, canst tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne (quoth-a) marry Ile see thee hang'd first
Gad. Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come to London? 2.Car. Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vp the Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they haue great charge.
Exeunt.
Enter Chamberlaine.
Gad. What ho, Chamberlaine?Cham. At hand quoth Pick-purse
Gad. That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Chamberlaine: For thou variest no more from picking of Purses, then giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thou lay'st the plot, how
Cham. Good morrow Master Gads-Hill, it holds currant that I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in the wilde of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes with him in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at Supper; a kinde of Auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too (God knowes what) they are vp already, and call for Egges and Butter. They will away presently
Gad. Sirra, if they meete not with S[aint]. Nicholas Clarks,Ile giue thee this necke
Cham. No, Ile none of it: I prythee keep that for the Hangman, for I know thou worshipst S[aint]. Nicholas as truly as a man of falshood may
Gad. What talkest thou to me of the Hangman? If I hang, Ile make a fat payre of Gallowes. For, if I hang, old Sir Iohn hangs with mee, and thou know'st hee's no Starueling. Tut, there are other Troians that y dream'st not of, the which (for sport sake) are content to doe the Profession some grace; that would (if matters should bee look'd into) for their owne Credit sake, make all Whole. I am ioyned with no Foot-land-Rakers, No Long-staffe six-penny strikers, none of these mad Mustachio-purple-hu'd-Maltwormes, but with Nobility, and Tranquilitie; Bourgomasters, and great Oneyers, such as can holde in, such as will strike sooner then speake; and speake sooner then drinke, and drinke sooner then pray: and yet I lye, for they pray continually vnto their Saint the Commonwealth; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: for they ride vp & downe on her, and make hir their Boots
Cham. What, the Commonwealth their Bootes? Will she hold out water in foule way? Gad. She will, she will; Iustice hath liquor'd her. We steale as in a Castle, cocksure: we haue the receit of Fernseede, we walke inuisible
Cham. Nay, I thinke rather, you are more beholdingto the Night, then to the Fernseed, for your walking inuisible
Gad. Giue me thy hand.Thou shalt haue a share in our purpose,As I am a true man
Cham. Nay, rather let mee haue it, as you are a falseTheefe
Gad. Goe too: Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the Ostler bring the Gelding out of the stable. Farewell, ye muddy Knaue.
Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter Prince, Poynes, and Peto.
Poines. Come shelter, shelter, I haue remoued FalstafsHorse, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet
Prin. Stand close.Enter Falstaffe.
Fal. Poines, Poines, and be hang'd Poines
Prin. Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascall, what a brawlingdost thou keepe
Fal. What Poines. Hal?Prin. He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go seekhim
Fal. I am accurst to rob in that Theefe company: that Rascall hath remoued my Horse, and tied him I know not where. If I trauell but foure foot by the squire further a foote, I shall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but to dye a faire death for all this, if I scape hanging for killing that Rogue, I haue forsworne his company hourely any time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht with the Rogues company. If the Rascall haue not giuen me medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang'd; it could not be else: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, a Plague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile starue ere I rob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as to drinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue these Rogues, I am the veriest Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth. Eight yards of vneuen ground, is threescore & ten miles afoot with me: and the stony-hearted Villaines knowe it well enough. A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot be true one to another.
They Whistle.
Whew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horse youRogues: giue me my Horse, and be hang'd
Prin. Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare close to the ground, and list if thou can heare the tread of Trauellers
Fal. Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being downe? Ile not beare mine owne flesh so far afoot again, for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague meane ye to colt me thus? Prin. Thou ly'st, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted
Fal. I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,good Kings sonne
Prin. Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?Fal. Go hang thy selfe in thine owne heire-apparant-Garters:If I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue notBallads made on all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup ofSacke be my poyson: when a iest is so forward, & a footetoo, I hate it.Enter Gads-hill.
Gad. Stand
Fal. So I do against my will
Poin. O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce: Bardolfe, what newes? Bar. Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's mony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis going to the Kings Exchequer
Fal. You lie you rogue, 'tis going to the Kings Tauern
Gad. There's enough to make vs all
Fal. To be hang'd
Prin. You foure shall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I, will walke lower; if they scape from your encounter, then they light on vs
Peto. But how many be of them?Gad. Some eight or ten
Fal. Will they not rob vs?Prin. What, a Coward Sir Iohn Paunch?Fal. Indeed I am not Iohn of Gaunt your Grandfather;but yet no Coward, Hal
Prin. Wee'l leaue that to the proofe
Poin. Sirra Iacke, thy horse stands behinde the hedg, when thou need'st him, there thou shalt finde him. Farewell, and stand fast