Falst. You haue hit it
Prin. So did he neuer the Sparrow
Falst. Well, that Rascall hath good mettall in him,hee will not runne
Prin. Why, what a Rascall art thou then, to prayse himso for running?Falst. A Horse-backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee willnot budge a foot
Prin. Yes Iacke, vpon instinct
Falst. I grant ye, vpon instinct: Well, hee is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blew-Cappes more. Worcester is stolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is turn'd white with the Newes; you may buy Land now as cheape as stinking Mackrell
Prin. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and this ciuill buffetting hold, wee shall buy Maiden-heads as they buy Hob-nayles, by the Hundreds
Falst. By the Masse Lad, thou say'st true, it is like wee shall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, art not thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heire apparant, could the World picke thee out three such Enemyes againe, as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that Deuill Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it? Prin. Not a whit: I lacke some of thy instinct
Falst. Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow, when thou commest to thy Father: if thou doe loue me, practise an answere
Prin. Doe thou stand for my Father, and examine meevpon the particulars of my Life
Falst. Shall I? content: This Chayre shall bee myState, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion myCrowne
Prin. Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole, thy GoldenScepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious richCrowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne
Falst. Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee now shalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I haue wept, for I must speake in passion, and I will doe it in King Cambyses vaine
Prin. Well, heere is my Legge
Falst. And heere is my speech: stand aside Nobilitie
Hostesse. This is excellent sport, yfaith
Falst. Weepe not, sweet Queene, for trickling tearesare vaine
Hostesse. O the Father, how hee holdes his countenance?Falst. For Gods sake Lords, conuey my trustfull Queen,For teares doe stop the floud-gates of her eyes
Hostesse. O rare, he doth it as like one of these harlotryPlayers, as euer I see
Falst. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine. Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou spendest thy time; but also, how thou art accompanied: For though the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faster it growes; yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it weares. Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word, partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of thine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lippe, that doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere lyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou so poynted at? Shall the blessed Sonne of Heauen proue a Micher, and eate Black-berryes? a question not to bee askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and take Purses? a question to be askt. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is knowne to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers doe report) doth defile; so doth the companie thou keepest: for Harry, now I doe not speake to thee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleasure, but in Passion; not in Words onely, but in Woes also: and yet there is a vertuous man, whom I haue often noted in thy companie, but I know not his Name
Prin. What manner of man, and it like your Maiestie? Falst. A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent, of a chearefull Looke, a pleasing Eye, and a most noble Carriage, and as I thinke, his age some fiftie, or (byrlady) inclining to threescore; and now I remember mee, his Name is Falstaffe: if that man should be lewdly giuen, hee deceiues mee; for Harry, I see Vertue in his Lookes. If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I speake it, there is Vertue in that Falstaffe: him keepe with, the rest banish. And tell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where hast thou beene this moneth? Prin. Do'st thou speake like a King? doe thou stand for mee, and Ile play my Father
Falst. Depose me: if thou do'st it halfe so grauely, so maiestically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the heeles for a Rabbet-sucker, or a Poulters Hare
Prin. Well, heere I am set
Falst. And heere I stand: iudge my Masters
Prin. Now Harry, whence come you?Falst. My Noble Lord, from East-cheape
Prin. The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous
Falst. Yfaith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, Ile tickle ye for a young Prince
Prin. Swearest thou, vngracious Boy? henceforth ne're looke on me: thou art violently carryed away from Grace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likenesse of a fat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Why do'st thou conuerse with that Trunke of Humors, that Boulting-Hutch of Beastlinesse, that swolne Parcell of Dropsies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that stuft Cloakebagge of Guts, that rosted Manning Tree Oxe with the Pudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey iniquitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? wherein is he good, but to taste Sacke, and drinke it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villanie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? Falst. I would your Grace would take me with you: whom meanes your Grace? Prince. That villanous abhominable mis-leader of Youth, Falstaffe, that old white-bearded Sathan
Falst. My Lord, the man I know
Prince. I know thou do'st
Falst. But to say, I know more harme in him then in my selfe, were to say more then I know. That hee is olde (the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witnesse it: but that hee is (sauing your reuerence) a Whore-master, that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault, Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be a sinne, then many an olde Hoste that I know, is damn'd: if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaohs leane Kine are to be loued. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poines: but for sweete Iacke Falstaffe, kinde Iacke Falstaffe, true Iacke Falstaffe, valiant Iacke Falstaffe, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde Iack Falstaffe, banish not him thy Harryes companie, banish not him thy Harryes companie; banish plumpe Iacke, and banish all the World
Prince. I doe, I will.Enter Bardolph running.
Bard. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a mostmonstrous Watch, is at the doore
Falst. Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue much to say in the behalfe of that Falstaffe. Enter the Hostesse.
Hostesse. O, my Lord, my Lord
Falst. Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddlesticke:what's the matter?Hostesse. The Sherife and all the Watch are at thedoore: they are come to search the House, shall I letthem in?Falst. Do'st thou heare Hal, neuer call a true peece ofGold a Counterfeit: thou art essentially made, withoutseeming so
Prince. And thou a naturall Coward, without instinct
Falst. I deny your Maior: if you will deny the Sherife, so: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing vp: I hope I shall as soone be strangled with a Halter, as another
Prince. Goe hide thee behinde the Arras, the rest walke vp aboue. Now my Masters, for a true Face and good Conscience
Falst. Both which I haue had: but their date is out, and therefore Ile hide me. Enter.
Prince. Call in the Sherife.Enter Sherife and the Carrier.
Prince. Now Master Sherife, what is your will withmee?She. First pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hathfollowed certaine men vnto this house
Prince. What men?She. One of them is well knowne, my gracious Lord,a grosse fat man
Car. As fat as Butter
Prince. The man, I doe assure you, is not heere,For I my selfe at this time haue imploy'd him:And Sherife, I will engage my word to thee,That I will by to morrow Dinner time,Send him to answere thee, or any man,For any thing he shall be charg'd withall:And so let me entreat you, leaue the house
She. I will, my Lord: there are two GentlemenHaue in this Robberie lost three hundred Markes
Prince. It may be so: if he haue robb'd these men,He shall be answerable: and so farewell
She. Good Night, my Noble Lord
Prince. I thinke it is good Morrow, is it not?She. Indeede, my Lord, I thinke it be two a Clocke.Enter.
Prince. This oyly Rascall is knowne as well as Poules:goe call him forth
Peto. Falstaffe? fast asleepe behinde the Arras, andsnorting like a Horse
Prince. Harke, how hard he fetches breath: search hisPockets.
He searcheth his Pockets, and findeth certaine Papers.
Prince. What hast thou found?Peto. Nothing but Papers, my Lord
Prince. Let's see, what be they? reade them
Peto. Item, a Capon. ii.s.ii.d.Item, Sawce iiii.d.Item, Sacke, two Gallons. v.s.viii.d.Item, Anchoues and Sacke after Supper. ii.s.vi.d.Item, Bread. ob
Prince. O monstrous, but one halfe penny-worth of Bread to this intollerable deale of Sacke? What there is else, keepe close, wee'le reade it at more aduantage: there let him sleepe till day. Ile to the Court in the Morning: Wee must all to the Warres, and thy place shall be honorable. Ile procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot, and I know his death will be a Match of Twelue-score. The Money shall be pay'd backe againe with aduantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning: and so good morrow Peto
Peto. Good morrow, good my Lord.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter Hotspurre, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.
Mort. These promises are faire, the parties sure,And our induction full of prosperous hope
Hotsp. Lord Mortimer, and Cousin Glendower,Will you sit downe?And Vnckle Worcester; a plague vpon it,I haue forgot the Mappe
Glend. No, here it is:Sit Cousin Percy, sit good Cousin Hotspurre:For by that Name, as oft as Lancaster doth speake of you,His Cheekes looke pale, and with a rising sigh,He wisheth you in Heauen
Hotsp. And you in Hell, as oft as he heares Owen Glendowerspoke of
Glend. I cannot blame him: At my Natiuitie,The front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,Of burning Cressets: and at my Birth,The frame and foundation of the EarthShak'd like a Coward
Hotsp. Why so it would haue done at the same season, if your Mothers Cat had but kitten'd, though your selfe had neuer beene borne
Glend. I say the Earth did shake when I was borne
Hotsp. And I say the Earth was not of my minde,If you suppose, as fearing you, it shooke
Glend. The heauens were all on fire, the Earth didtremble
Hotsp. Oh, then the Earth shookeTo see the Heauens on fire,And not in feare of your Natiuitie.Diseased Nature oftentimes breakes forthIn strange eruptions; and the teeming EarthIs with a kinde of Collick pincht and vext,By the imprisoning of vnruly WindeWithin her Wombe: which for enlargement striuing,Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tombles downeSteeples, and mosse-growne Towers. At your Birth,Our Grandam Earth, hauing this distemperature,In passion shooke
Glend. Cousin: of many menI doe not beare these Crossings: Giue me leaueTo tell you once againe, that at my BirthThe front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,The Goates ranne from the Mountaines, and the HeardsWere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields:These signes haue markt me extraordinarie,And all the courses of my Life doe shew,I am not in the Roll of common men.Where is the Liuing, clipt in with the Sea,That chides the Bankes of England, Scotland, and Wales,Which calls me Pupill, or hath read to me?And bring him out, that is but Womans Sonne,Can trace me in the tedious wayes of Art,And hold me pace in deepe experiments
Hotsp. I thinke there's no man speakes better Welsh:Ile to Dinner
Mort. Peace cousin Percy, you will make him mad
Glend. I can call Spirits from the vastie Deepe
Hotsp. Why so can I, or so can any man:But will they come, when you doe call for them?Glend. Why, I can teach thee, Cousin, to command theDeuill
Hotsp. And I can teach thee, Cousin, to shame the Deuil,By telling truth. Tell truth, and shame the Deuill.If thou haue power to rayse him, bring him hither,And Ile be sworne, I haue power to shame him hence.Oh, while you liue, tell truth, and shame the Deuill
Mort. Come, come, no more of this vnprofitableChat
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bullingbrooke made headAgainst my Power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,And sandy-bottom'd Seuerne, haue I hent himBootlesse home, and Weather-beaten backe
Hotsp. Home without Bootes,And in foule Weather too,How scapes he Agues in the Deuils name?Glend. Come, heere's the Mappe:Shall wee diuide our Right,According to our three-fold order ta'ne?Mort. The Arch-Deacon hath diuided itInto three Limits, very equally:England, from Trent, and Seuerne. hitherto,By South and East, is to my part assign'd:All Westward, Wales, beyond the Seuerne shore,And all the fertile Land within that bound,To Owen Glendower: And deare Couze, to youThe remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.And our Indentures Tripartite are drawne:Which being sealed enterchangeably,(A Businesse that this Night may execute)To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth,To meete your Father, and the Scottish Power,As is appointed vs at Shrewsbury.My Father Glendower is not readie yet,Nor shall wee neede his helpe these foureteene dayes:Within that space, you may haue drawne togetherYour Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, Lords:And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,From whom you now must steale, and take no leaue,For there will be a World of Water shed,Vpon the parting of your Wiues and you
Hotsp. Me thinks my Moity, North from Burton here,In quantitie equals not one of yours:See, how this Riuer comes me cranking in,And cuts me from the best of all my Land,A huge halfe Moone, a monstrous Cantle out.Ile haue the Currant in this place damn'd vp,And here the smug and Siluer Trent shall runne,In a new Channell, faire and euenly:It shall not winde with such a deepe indent,To rob me of so rich a Bottome here
Glend. Not winde? it shall, it must, you see it doth
Mort. Yea, but marke how he beares his course,And runnes me vp, with like aduantage on the other side,Gelding the opposed Continent as much,As on the other side it takes from you
Worc. Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,And on this North side winne this Cape of Land,And then he runnes straight and euen
Hotsp. Ile haue it so, a little Charge will doe it
Glend. Ile not haue it alter'd
Hotsp. Will not you?Glend. No, nor you shall not
Hotsp. Who shall say me nay?Glend. Why, that will I
Hotsp. let me not vnderstand you then, speake it inWelsh
Glend. I can speake English, Lord, as well as you:For I was trayn'd vp in the English Court;Where, being but young, I framed to the HarpeMany an English Dittie, louely well,And gaue the Tongue a helpefull Ornament;A Vertue that was neuer seene in you
Hotsp. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart,I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,Then one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers:I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd,Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree,And that would set my teeth nothing an edge,Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie;'Tis like the forc't gate of a shuffling Nagge
Glend. Come, you shall haue Trent turn'd
Hotsp. I doe not care: Ile giue thrice so much LandTo any well-deseruing friend;But in the way of Bargaine, marke ye me,Ile cauill on the ninth part of a hayre.Are the Indentures drawne? shall we be gone?Glend. The Moone shines faire,You may away by Night:Ile haste the Writer; and withall,Breake with your Wiues, of your departure hence:I am afraid my Daughter will runne madde,So much she doteth on her Mortimer.Enter.
Mort. Fie, Cousin Percy, how you crosse my Father
Hotsp. I cannot chuse: sometime he angers me,With telling me of the Moldwarpe and the Ant,Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies;And of a Dragon, and a finne-lesse Fish,A clip-wing'd Griffin, and a moulten Rauen,A couching Lyon, and a ramping Cat,And such a deale of skimble-skamble Stuffe,As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what,He held me last Night, at least, nine howres,In reckning vp the seuerall Deuils Names,That were his Lacqueyes:I cry'd hum, and well, goe too,But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tediousAs a tyred Horse, a rayling Wife,Worse then a smoakie House. I had rather liueWith Cheese and Garlick in a Windmill farre,Then feede on Cates, and haue him talke to me,In any Summer-House in Christendome
Mort. In faith he was a worthy Gentleman,Exceeding well read, and profited,In strange Concealements:Valiant as a Lyon, and wondrous affable,And as Bountifull, as Mynes of India.Shall I tell you, Cousin,He holds your temper in a high respect,And curbes himselfe, euen of his naturall scope,When you doe crosse his humor: 'faith he does.I warrant you, that man is not aliue,Might so haue tempted him, as you haue done,Without the taste of danger, and reproofe:But doe not vse it oft, let me entreat you
Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,And since your comming hither, haue done enough,To put him quite besides his patience.You must needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:Though sometimes it shew Greatnesse, Courage, Blood,And that's the dearest grace it renders you;Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh Rage,Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment,Pride, Haughtinesse, Opinion, and Disdaine:The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,Loseth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a stayneVpon the beautie of all parts besides,Beguiling them of commendation
Hotsp. Well, I am school'd:Good-manners be your speede;Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue.Enter Glendower, with the Ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spight, that angers me,My Wife can speake no English, I no Welsh
Glend. My Daughter weepes, shee'le not part with you,Shee'le be a Souldier too, shee'le to the Warres
Mort. Good Father tell her, that she and my Aunt PercyShall follow in your Conduct speedily.
Glendower speakes to her in Welsh, and she answeres him in the same.
Glend. Shee is desperate heere:A peeuish selfe-will'd Harlotry,One that no perswasion can doe good vpon.
The Lady speakes in Welsh.
Mort. I vnderstand thy Lookes: that pretty WelshWhich thou powr'st down from these swelling Heauens,I am too perfect in: and but for shame,In such a parley should I answere thee.
The Lady againe in welsh.
Mort. I vnderstand thy Kisses, and thou mine,And that's a feeling disputation:But I will neuer be a Truant, Loue,Till I haue learn'd thy Language: for thy tongueMakes Welsh as sweet as Ditties highly penn'd,Sung by a faire Queene in a Summers Bowre,With rauishing Diuision to her Lute
Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she runne madde.
The Lady speakes againe in Welsh.
Mort. O, I am Ignorance it selfe in this
Glend. She bids you,On the wanton Rushes lay you downe,And rest your gentle Head vpon her Lappe,And she will sing the Song that pleaseth you,And on your Eye-lids Crowne the God of Sleepe,Charming your blood with pleasing heauinesse;Making such difference betwixt Wake and Sleepe,As is the difference betwixt Day and Night,The houre before the Heauenly Harneis'd TeemeBegins his Golden Progresse in the East
Mort. With all my heart Ile sit, and heare her sing:By that time will our Booke, I thinke, be drawne
Glend. Doe so:And those Musitians that shall play to you,Hang in the Ayre a thousand Leagues from thence;And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend
Hotsp. Come Kate, thou art perfect in lying downe:Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my Head in thyLappe
Lady. Goe, ye giddy-Goose.
The Musicke playes.
Hotsp. Now I perceiue the Deuill vnderstands Welsh,And 'tis no maruell he is so humorous:Byrlady hee's a good Musitian
Lady. Then would you be nothing but Musicall,For you are altogether gouerned by humors:Lye still ye Theefe, and heare the Lady sing in Welsh
Hotsp. I had rather heare (Lady) my Brach howle inIrish
Lady. Would'st haue thy Head broken?Hotsp. No
Lady. Then be still
Hotsp. Neyther, 'tis a Womans fault
Lady. Now God helpe thee
Hotsp. To the Welsh Ladies Bed
Lady. What's that?Hotsp. Peace, shee sings.
Heere the Lady sings a Welsh Song.
Hotsp. Come, Ile haue your Song too
Lady. Not mine, in good sooth
Hotsp. Not yours, in good sooth?You sweare like a Comfit-makers Wife:Not you, in good sooth; and, as true as I liue;And, as God shall mend me; and, as sure as day:And giuest such Sarcenet suretie for thy Oathes,As if thou neuer walk'st further then Finsbury.Sweare me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,A good mouth-filling Oath: and leaue in sooth,And such protest of Pepper Ginger-bread,To Veluet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens.Come, sing
Lady. I will not sing
Hotsp. 'Tis the next way to turne Taylor, or be Redbrest teacher: and the Indentures be drawne, Ile away within these two howres: and so come in, when yee will. Enter.
Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow,As hot Lord Percy is on fire to goe.By this our Booke is drawne: wee'le but seale,And then to Horse immediately
Mort. With all my heart.
Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.
King. Lords, giue vs leaue:The Prince of Wales, and I,Must haue some priuate conference:But be neere at hand,For wee shall presently haue neede of you.
Exeunt. Lords.
I know not whether Heauen will haue it so,For some displeasing seruice I haue done;That in his secret Doome, out of my Blood,Hee'le breede Reuengement, and a Scourge for me:But thou do'st in thy passages of Life,Make me beleeue, that thou art onely mark'dFor the hot vengeance, and the Rod of heauenTo punish my Mistreadings. Tell me else,Could such inordinate and low desires,Such poore, such bare, such lewd, such meane attempts,Such barren pleasures, rude societie,As thou art matcht withall, and grafted too,Accompanie the greatnesse of thy blood,And hold their leuell with thy Princely heart?Prince. So please your Maiesty, I would I couldQuit all offences with as cleare excuse,As well as I am doubtlesse I can purgeMy selfe of many I am charg'd withall:Yet such extenuation let me begge,As in reproofe of many Tales deuis'd,Which oft the Eare of Greatnesse needes must heare,By smiling Pick-thankes, and base Newes-mongers;I may for some things true, wherein my youthHath faultie wandred, and irregular,Finde pardon on my true submission
King. Heauen pardon thee:Yet let me wonder, Harry,At thy affections, which doe hold a WingQuite from the flight of all thy ancestors.Thy place in Councell thou hast rudely lost,Which by thy younger Brother is supply'de;And art almost an alien to the heartsOf all the Court and Princes of my blood.The hope and expectation of thy timeIs ruin'd, and the Soule of euery manProphetically doe fore-thinke thy fall.Had I so lauish of my presence beene,So common hackney'd in the eyes of men,So stale and cheape to vulgar Company;Opinion, that did helpe me to the Crowne,Had still kept loyall to possession,And left me in reputelesse banishment,A fellow of no marke, nor likelyhood.By being seldome seene, I could not stirre,But like a Comet, I was wondred at,That men would tell their Children, This is hee:Others would say; Where, Which is Bullingbrooke.And then I stole all Courtesie from Heauen,And drest my selfe in such Humilitie,That I did plucke Allegeance from mens hearts,Lowd Showts and Salutations from their mouthes,Euen in the presence of the Crowned King.Thus I did keepe my Person fresh and new,My Presence like a Robe Pontificall,Ne're seene, but wondred at: and so my State,Seldome but sumptuous, shewed like a Feast,And wonne by rarenesse such Solemnitie.The skipping King hee ambled vp and downe,With shallow Iesters, and rash Bauin Wits,Soone kindled, and soone burnt, carded his state,Mingled his Royaltie with Carping Fooles,Had his great Name prophaned with their Scornes,And gaue his Countenance, against his Name,To laugh at gybing Boyes, and stand the pushOf euery Beardlesse vaine Comparatiue;Grew a Companion to the common Streetes,Enfeoff'd himselfe to Popularitie:That being dayly swallowed by mens Eyes,They surfeted with Honey, and began to loatheThe taste of Sweetnesse, whereof a littleMore then a little, is by much too much.So when he had occasion to be seene,He was but as the Cuckow is in Iune,Heard, not regarded: seene but with such Eyes,As sicke and blunted with Communitie,Affoord no extraordinarie Gaze,Such as is bent on Sunne-like Maiestie,When it shines seldome in admiring Eyes:But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids downe,Slept in his Face, and rendred such aspectAs Cloudie men vse to doe to their aduersaries,Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.And in that very Line, Harry, standest thou:For thou hast lost thy Princely Priuiledge,With vile participation. Not an EyeBut is awearie of thy common sight,Saue mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more:Which now doth that I would not haue it doe,Make blinde it selfe with foolish tendernesse
Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,Be more my selfe
King. For all the World,As thou art to this houre, was Richard then,When I from France set foot at Rauenspurgh;And euen as I was then, is Percy now:Now by my Scepter, and my Soule to boot,He hath more worthy interest to the StateThen thou, the shadow of Succession;For of no Right, nor colour like to Right.He doth fill fields with Harneis in the Realme,Turnes head against the Lyons armed Iawes;And being no more in debt to yeeres, then thou,Leades ancient Lords, and reuerent Bishops onTo bloody Battailes, and to brusing Armes.What neuer-dying Honor hath he got,Against renowned Dowglas? whose high Deedes,Whose hot Incursions, and great Name in Armes,Holds from all Souldiers chiefe Maioritie,And Militarie Title Capitall.Through all the Kingdomes that acknowledge Christ,Thrice hath the Hotspur Mars, in swathing Clothes,This Infant Warrior, in his Enterprises,Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'ne him once,Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,To fill the mouth of deepe Defiance vp,And shake the peace and safetie of our Throne.And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,The Arch-bishops Grace of Yorke, Dowglas, Mortimer,Capitulate against vs, and are vp.But wherefore doe I tell these Newes to thee?Why, Harry, doe I tell thee of my Foes,Which art my neer'st and dearest Enemie?Thou, that art like enough, through vassall Feare,Base Inclination, and the start of Spleene,To fight against me vnder Percies pay,To dogge his heeles, and curtsie at his frownes,To shew how much thou art degenerate
Prince. Doe not thinke so, you shall not finde it so:And Heauen forgiue them, that so much haue sway'dYour Maiesties good thoughts away from me:I will redeeme all this on Percies head,And in the closing of some glorious day,Be bold to tell you, that I am your Sonne,When I will weare a Garment all of Blood,And staine my fauours in a bloody Maske:Which washt away, shall scowre my shame with it.And that shall be the day, when ere it lights,That this same Child of Honor and Renowne.This gallant Hotspur, this all-praysed Knight.And your vnthought-of Harry chance to meet:For euery Honor sitting on his Helme,Would they were multitudes, and on my headMy shames redoubled. For the time will come,That I shall make this Northerne Youth exchangeHis glorious Deedes for my Indignities:Percy is but my Factor, good my Lord,To engrosse vp glorious Deedes on my behalfe:And I will call him to so strict account,That he shall render euery Glory vp,Yea, euen the sleightest worship of his time,Or I will teare the Reckoning from his Heart.This, in the Name of Heauen, I promise here:The which, if I performe, and doe suruiue,I doe beseech your Maiestie, may salueThe long-growne Wounds of my intemperature:If not, the end of Life cancells all Bands,And I will dye a hundred thousand Deaths,Ere breake the smallest parcell of this Vow
King. A hundred thousand Rebels dye in this:Thou shalt haue Charge, and soueraigne trust herein.Enter Blunt.
How now good Blunt? thy Lookes are full of speed
Blunt. So hath the Businesse that I come to speake of.Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,That Dowglas and the English Rebels metThe eleuenth of this moneth, at Shrewsbury:A mightie and a fearefull Head they are,(If Promises be kept on euery hand)As euer offered foule play in a State
King. The earle of Westmerland set forth to day:With him my sonne, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,For this aduertisement is fiue dayes old.On Wednesday next, Harry thou shalt set forward:On thursday, wee our selues will march.Our meeting is Bridgenorth: and Harry, you shall marchThrough Glocestershire: by which account,Our Businesse valued some twelue dayes hence,Our generall Forces at Bridgenorth shall meete.Our Hands are full of Businesse: let's away,Aduantage feedes him fat, while men delay.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.
Falst. Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, since this last action? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Why my skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies loose Gowne: I am withered like an olde Apple Iohn. Well, Ile repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking: I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall haue no strength to repent. And i haue not forgotten what the in-side of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper-Corne, a Brewers Horse, the in-side of a Church. Company, villanous Company hath beene the spoyle of me
Bard. Sir Iohn, you are so fretfull, you cannot liue long
Falst. Why there is it: Come, sing me a bawdy Song, make me merry; I was as vertuously giuen, as a Gentleman need to be; vertuous enough, swore little, dic'd not aboue seuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-house not aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good compasse: and now I liue out of all order, out of compasse
Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir Iohn, that you must needes bee out of of all compasse; out all reasonable compasse, Sir Iohn
Falst. Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thyLife: Thou art our Admirall, thou bearest the Lanternein the Poope, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art theKnight of the burning Lampe
Bard. Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme
Falst. No, Ile be sworne: I make as good vse of it, as many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I neuer see thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning, burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would sweare by thy Face; my Oath should bee, By this Fire: But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede, but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darkenesse. When thou ran'st vp Gads-Hill in the Night, to catch my Horse, if I did not thinke that thou hadst beene an Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchase in Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euerlasting Bone-fire-Light: thou hast saued me a thousand Markes in Linkes and Torches, walking with thee in the Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that thou hast drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as good cheape, as the dearest Chandlers in Europe. I haue maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it
Bard. I would my Face were in your Belly
Falst. So should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.Enter Hostesse.
How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yet who pick'd my Pocket? Hostesse. Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn? doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my House? I haue search'd, I haue enquired, so haz my Husband, Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a hayre was neuer lost in my house before
Falst. Ye lye Hostesse: Bardolph was shau'd, and lost many a hayre; and Ile be sworne my Pocket was pick'd: goe to, you are a Woman, goe
Hostesse. Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd so in mine owne house before
Falst. Goe to, I know you well enough
Hostesse. No, sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn: I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, and now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe
Falst. Doulas, filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of them
Hostesse. Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight shillings an Ell: You owe Money here besides, Sir Iohn, for your Dyet, and by-Drinkings, and Money lent you, foure and twentie pounds
Falst. Hee had his part of it, let him pay
Hostesse. Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath nothing
Falst. How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What call you Rich? Let them coyne his Nose, let them coyne his Cheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make a Younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inne, but I shall haue my Pocket pick'd? I haue lost a Seale-Ring of my Grand-fathers, worth fortie marke
Hostesse. I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know nothow oft, that that Ring was Copper
Falst. How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake-Cuppe:and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge,if hee would say so.Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaffe meets him, playing on hisTrunchion like a Fife.
Falst. How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore?Must we all march?Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion
Hostesse. My Lord, I pray you heare me
Prince. What say'st thou, Mistresse Quickly? How does thy Husband? I loue him well, hee is an honest man
Hostesse. Good, my Lord, heare mee
Falst. Prethee let her alone, and list to mee
Prince. What say'st thou, Iacke?Falst. The other Night I fell asleepe heere behind theArras, and had my Pocket pickt: this House is turn'dBawdy-house, they picke Pockets
Prince. What didst thou lose, Iacke?Falst. Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bondsof fortie pound apeece, and a Seale-Ring of my Grand-fathers
Prince. A Trifle, some eight-penny matter
Host. So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your Grace say so: and (my Lord) hee speakes most vilely of you, like a foule-mouth'd man as hee is, and said, hee would cudgell you
Prince. What hee did not?Host. There's neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hoodin me else
Falst. There's no more faith in thee then a stu'de Prune; nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and for Wooman-hood, Maid-marian may be the Deputies wife of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go
Host. Say, what thing? what thing?Falst. What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on
Host. I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thou shouldst know it: I am an honest mans wife: and setting thy Knighthood aside, thou art a knaue to call me so
Falst. Setting thy woman-hood aside, thou art a beastto say otherwise
Host. Say, what beast, thou knaue thou?Fal. What beast? Why an Otter
Prin. An Otter, sir Iohn? Why an Otter?Fal. Why? She's neither fish nor flesh; a man knowesnot where to haue her
Host. Thou art vniust man in saying so; thou, or anieman knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou
Prince. Thou say'st true Hostesse, and he slanders theemost grossely
Host. So he doth you, my Lord, and sayde this otherday, You ought him a thousand pound
Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?Falst. A thousand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue isworth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue
Host. Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said heewould cudgell you
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?Bar. Indeed Sir Iohn, you said so
Fal. Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper
Prince. I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good as thy word now? Fal. Why Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the roaring of the Lyons Whelpe
Prince. And why not as the Lyon?Fal. The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nayif I do, let my Girdle breake
Prin. O, if it should, how would thy guttes fall about thy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth, nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Woman with picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudent imbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houses, and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie other iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you will stand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not asham'd? Fal. Do'st thou heare Hal? Thou know'st in the state of Innocency, Adam fell: and what should poore Iacke Falstaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou seest, I haue more flesh then another man, and therefore more frailty. You confesse then you pickt my Pocket? Prin. It appeares so by the Story
Fal. Hostesse, I forgiue thee:Go make ready Breakfast, loue thy Husband,Looke to thy Seruants, and cherish thy Guests:Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason:Thou seest, I am pacified still.Nay, I prethee be gone.
Exit Hostesse.
Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad?How is that answered?Prin. O my sweet Beefe:I must still be good Angell to thee.The Monie is paid backe againe
Fal. O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a doubleLabour
Prin. I am good Friends with my Father, and may doanything
Fal. Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st,and do it with vnwash'd hands too
Bard. Do my Lord
Prin. I haue procured thee Iacke, A Charge of Foot
Fal. I would it had beene of Horse. Where shal I finde one that can steale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and twentie, or thereabout: I am heynously vnprouided. Wel God be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but the Vertuous. I laud them, I praise them
Prin. Bardolph
Bar. My Lord
Prin. Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of LancasterTo my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Westmerland,Go Peto, to horse: for thou, and I,Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time.Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple HallAt two a clocke in the afternoone,There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiueMoney and Order for their Furniture.The Land is burning, Percie stands on hye,And either they, or we must lower lye
Fal. Rare words! braue world.Hostesse, my breakfast, come:Oh, I could wish this Tauerne were my drumme.
Exeunt. omnes.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Harrie Hotspurre, Worcester, and Dowglas.
Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truthIn this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,Such attribution should the Dowglas haue,As not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe,Should go so generall currant through the world.By heauen I cannot flatter: I defieThe Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer placeIn my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord
Dow. Thou art the King of Honor:No man so potent breathes vpon the ground,But I will Beard him.Enter a Messenger.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there?I can but thanke you
Mess. These Letters come from your Father
Hot. Letters from him?Why comes he not himselfe?Mes. He cannot come, my Lord,He is greeuous sicke
Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now,In such a iustling time? Who leades his power?Vnder whose Gouernment come they along?Mess. His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde
Wor. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?Mess. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I set forth:And at the time of my departure thence,He was much fear'd by his Physician
Wor. I would the state of time had first beene whole,Ere he by sicknesse had beene visited:His health was neuer better worth then now
Hotsp. Sicke now? droope now? this sicknes doth infectThe very Life-blood of our Enterprise,'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.He writes me here, that inward sicknesse,And that his friends by deputationCould not so soone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,To lay so dangerous and deare a trustOn any Soule remou'd, but on his owne.Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertisement,That with our small coniunction we should on,To see how Fortune is dispos'd to vs:For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,Because the King is certainely possestOf all our purposes. What say you to it?Wor. Your Fathers sicknesse is a mayme to vs
Hotsp. A perillous Gash, a very Limme lopt off:And yet, in faith, it is not his present wantSeemes more then we shall finde it.Were it good, to set the exact wealth of all our statesAll at one Cast? To set so rich a mayneOn the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,It were not good: for therein should we readeThe very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,The very List, the very vtmost BoundOf all our fortunes
Dowg. Faith, and so wee should,Where now remaines a sweet reuersion.We may boldly spend, vpon the hopeOf what is to come in:A comfort of retyrement liues in this
Hotsp. A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto,If that the Deuill and Mischance looke biggeVpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires
Wor. But yet I would your Father had beene here:The qualitie and Heire of our AttemptBrookes no diuision: It will be thoughtBy some, that know not why he is away,That wisedome, loyaltie, and meere dislikeOf our proceedings, kept the Earle from hence.And thinke, how such an apprehensionMay turne the tyde of fearefull Faction,And breede a kinde of question in our cause:For well you know, wee of the offring side,Must keepe aloofe from strict arbitrement,And stop all sight-holes, euery loope, from whenceThe eye of reason may prie in vpon vs:This absence of your Father drawes a Curtaine,That shewes the ignorant a kinde of feare,Before not dreamt of
Hotsp. You strayne too farre.I rather of his absence make this vse:It lends a Lustre, and more great Opinion,A larger Dare to your great Enterprize,Then if the Earle were here: for men must thinke,If we without his helpe, can make a HeadTo push against the Kingdome; with his helpe,We shall o're-turne it topsie-turuy downe:Yet all goes well, yet all our ioynts are whole
Dowg. As heart can thinke:There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland,At this Dreame of Feare.Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
Hotsp. My Cousin Vernon, welcome by my Soule
Vern. Pray God my newes be worth a welcome, Lord.The Earle of Westmerland, seuen thousand strong,Is marching hither-wards, with Prince Iohn
Hotsp. No harme: what more?Vern. And further, I haue learn'd,The King himselfe in person hath set forth,Or hither-wards intended speedily,With strong and mightie preparation
Hotsp. He shall be welcome too.Where is his Sonne,The nimble-footed Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales,And his Cumrades, that daft the World aside,And bid it passe?Vern. All furnisht, all in Armes,All plum'd like Estridges, that with the WindeBayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath'd,Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images,As full of spirit as the Moneth of May,And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid-summer,Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls.I saw young Harry with his Beuer on,His Cushes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd,Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds,To turne and winde a fierie Pegasus,And witch the World with Noble Horsemanship
Hotsp. No more, no more,Worse then the Sunne in March:This prayse doth nourish Agues: let them come.They come like Sacrifices in their trimme,And to the fire-ey'd Maid of smoakie Warre,All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them:The mayled Mars shall on his Altar sitVp to the eares in blood. I am on fire,To heare this rich reprizall is so nigh,And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse,Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt,Against the bosome of the Prince of Wales.Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to HorseMeete, and ne're part, till one drop downe a Coarse?Oh, that Glendower were come
Ver. There is more newes:I learned in Worcester, as I rode along,He cannot draw his Power this fourteene dayes
Dowg. That's the worst Tidings that I heare ofyet
Wor. I by my faith, that beares a frosty sound
Hotsp. What may the Kings whole Battaile reachvnto?Ver. To thirty thousand
Hot. Forty let it be,My Father and Glendower being both away,The powres of vs, may serue so great a day.Come, let vs take a muster speedily:Doomesday is neere; dye all, dye merrily
Dow. Talke not of dying, I am out of feareOf death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare.
Exeunt. Omnes.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.
Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le to Sutton-cop-hill to Night
Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?Falst. Lay out, lay out
Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell
Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it make twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end
Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.Enter.
Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a sowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse damnably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie Souldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me none but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire me out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd twice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues, as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as feare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole, or a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes and Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then Pinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices: And now, my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as ragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were neuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged, then an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the roomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd Prodigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the dead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile not march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if they had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my Company: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together, and throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds Coat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth, stolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose Inne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde Linnen enough on euery Hedge. Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.
Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt? Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill do'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmerland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already beene at Shrewsbury
West. 'Faith, Sir Iohn, 'tis more then time that I were there, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie. The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we must away all to Night
Falst. Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, tosteale Creame
Prince. I thinke to steale Creame indeed, for thy thefthath alreadie made thee Butter: but tell me, Iack, whosefellowes are these that come after?Falst. Mine, Hal, mine
Prince. I did neuer see such pittifull Rascals
Falst. Tut, tut, good enough to tosse: foode for Powder, foode for Powder: they'le fill a Pit, as well as better: tush man, mortall men, mortall men
Westm. I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceeding poore and bare, too beggarly
Falst. Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where they had that; and for their barenesse, I am sure they neuer learn'd that of me
Prince. No, Ile be sworne, vnlesse you call three fingers on the Ribbes bare. But sirra, make haste, Percy is already in the field
Falst. What, is the King encamp'd?Westm. Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee shall stay toolong
Falst. Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginningof a Feast, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Guest.
Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.
Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night
Worc. It may not be
Dowg. You giue him then aduantage
Vern. Not a whit
Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?Vern. So doe wee
Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull
Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night
Vern. Doe not, my Lord
Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:You speake it out of feare, and cold heart
Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,And I dare well maintaine it with my Life,If well-respected Honor bid me on,I hold as little counsaile with weake feare,As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.Let it be seene to morrow in the Battell,Which of vs feares
Dowg. Yea, or to night
Vern. Content
Hotsp. To night, say I
Vern. Come, come, it may not be.I wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you areThat you fore-see not what impedimentsDrag backe our expedition: certaine HorseOf my Cousin Vernons are not yet come vp,Your Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,And now their pride and mettall is asleepe,Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,That not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe
Hotsp. So are the Horses of the EnemieIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:The better part of ours are full of rest
Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:For Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.
The Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect
Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:And would to God you were of our determination.
Some of vs loue you well: and euen those someEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,Because you are not of our qualitie,But stand against vs like an Enemie
Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,You stand against anoynted Maiestie.But to my Charge.The King hath sent to knowThe nature of your Griefes, and whereuponYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,Such bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious LandAudacious Crueltie. If that the KingHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,Which he confesseth to be manifold,He bids you name your Griefes, and with all speedYou shall haue your desires, with interest;And Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,Herein mis-led, by your suggestion
Hotsp. The King is kinde:And well wee know, the KingKnowes at what time to promise, when to pay.My Father, my Vnckle, and my selfe,Did giue him that same Royaltie he weares:And when he was not sixe and twentie strong,Sicke in the Worlds regard, wretched, and low,A poore vnminded Out-law, sneaking home,My Father gaue him welcome to the shore:And when he heard him sweare, and vow to God,He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,To sue his Liuerie, and begge his Peace,With teares of Innocencie, and tearmes of Zeale;My Father, in kinde heart and pitty mou'd,Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.Now, when the Lords and Barons of the RealmePerceiu'd Northumberland did leane to him,The more and lesse came in with Cap and Knee,Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages,Attended him on Bridges, stood in Lanes,Layd Gifts before him, proffer'd him their Oathes,Gaue him their Heires, as Pages followed him,Euen at the heeles, in golden multitudes.He presently, as Greatnesse knowes it selfe,Step me a little higher then his VowMade to my Father, while his blood was poore,Vpon the naked shore at Rauenspurgh:And now (forsooth) takes on him to reformeSome certaine Edicts, and some strait Decrees,That lay too heauie on the Common-wealth;Cryes out vpon abuses, seemes to weepeOuer his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face,This seeming Brow of Iustice, did he winneThe hearts of all that hee did angle for.Proceeded further, cut me off the HeadsOf all the Fauorites, that the absent KingIn deputation left behinde him heere,When hee was personall in the Irish Warre
Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this
Hotsp. Then to the point.In short time after, hee depos'd the King.Soone after that, depriu'd him of his Life:And in the neck of that, task't the whole State.To make that worse, suffer'd his Kinsman March,Who is, if euery Owner were plac'd,Indeede his King, to be engag'd in Wales,There, without Ransome, to lye forfeited:Disgrac'd me in my happie Victories,Sought to intrap me by intelligence,Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord,In rage dismiss'd my Father from the Court,Broke Oath on Oath, committed Wrong on Wrong,And in conclusion, droue vs to seeke outThis Head of safetie; and withall, to prieInto his Title: the which wee findeToo indirect, for long continuance
Blunt. Shall I returne this answer to the King?Hotsp. Not so, Sir Walter.Wee'le with-draw a while:Goe to the King, and let there be impawn'dSome suretie for a safe returne againe,And in the Morning early shall my VnckleBring him our purpose: and so farewell
Blunt. I would you would accept of Grace and Loue
Hotsp. And't may be, so wee shall
Blunt. Pray Heauen you doe.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter the Arch-Bishop of Yorke, and Sir Michell.
Arch. Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this sealed BriefeWith winged haste to the Lord Marshall,This to my Cousin Scroope, and all the restTo whom they are directed.If you knew how much they doe import,You would make haste
Sir Mich. My good Lord, I guesse their tenor
Arch. Like enough you doe.To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,Wherein the fortune of ten thousand menMust bide the touch. For Sir, at Shrewsbury,As I am truly giuen to vnderstand,The King, with mightie and quick-raysed Power,Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell,What with the sicknesse of Northumberland,Whose Power was in the first proportion;And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence,Who with them was rated firmely too,And comes not in, ouer-rul'd by Prophecies,I feare the Power of Percy is too weake,To wage an instant tryall with the King
Sir Mich. Why, my good Lord, you need not feare,There is Dowglas, and Lord Mortimer
Arch. No, Mortimer is not there
Sir Mic. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,And there is my Lord of Worcester,And a Head of gallant Warriors,Noble Gentlemen
Arch. And so there is, but yet the King hath DrawneThe speciall head of all the Land together:The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,The Noble Westmerland, and warlike Blunt;And many moe Corriuals, and deare menOf estimation, and command in Armes
Sir M. Doubt not my Lord, he shall be well oppos'dArch. I hope no lesse? Yet needfull 'tis to feare,And to preuent the worst, Sir Michell speed;For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the KingDismisse his power, he meanes to visit vs:For he hath heard of our Confederacie,And, 'tis but Wisedome to make strong against him:Therefore make hast, I must go write againeTo other Friends: and so farewell, Sir Michell.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle ofWestmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaffe.
King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peereAboue yon busky hill: the day lookes paleAt his distemperaturePrin. The Southerne windeDoth play the Trumpet to his purposes,And by his hollow whistling in the Leaues,Fortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day
King. Then with the losers let it sympathize,For nothing can seeme foule to those that win.
The Trumpet sounds.
Enter Worcester.
King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not wellThat you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,And made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,To crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele:This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.What say you to it? Will you againe vnknitThis churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre?And moue in the obedient Orbe againe,Where you did giue a faire and naturall light,And be no more an exhall'd Meteor,A prodigie of Feare, and a PortentOf broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times?Wor. Heare me, my Liege:For mine owne part, I could be well contentTo entertaine the Lagge-end of my lifeWith quiet houres: For I do protest,I haue not sought the day of this dislike