land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me-I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear?Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Welcome, my lord: What is the news? And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London | The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black, incontinent; I'll make a voyage to the Holy land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :March sadly after; grace my mournings here, In weeping after this untimely bier. FIRST PART OF [Exeunt. ACT I. SCENE I.-London. Sir John Falstaff. to Mortimer. Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Draw. ers, Two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE, England. A Room in the Palace. Blunt, and others. Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter And breathe short-winded accents of new broils K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, Which,-like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, womb West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, And many limits of the charge set down But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news; Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, And a thousand of his people butchered: Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, Such beastly, shameless transformation, By those Welsh women done, as may not be, Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Malevolent to you in all aspects; Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we [Exeuni. SCENE II.-The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping broil Brake off our business for the Holy land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord ; For more uneven and unwelcome news Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son And is not this an honourable spoil? It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin In envy that my lord Northumberland houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colour'd taffata; I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, that wandering knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should say for grace thou wilt have none,)P. Hen. What! none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be-Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we-steal. P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morn ing; got with swearing-lay by; and spent with crying-bring in now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Y all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will apparent that thou art heir apparent,-Rut I pr'y-stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, thee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in tarry at home, and be hanged. England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Ful. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration: and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned, for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter Poins, at a distance. Fal. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a mad-cap. Fal. Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. P. Hen. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persua sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may more, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: You shall find me in Eastcheap. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer! [Exit Falstaff. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail: and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to inmask our noted outward garments. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-us. Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee reproof of this, lies the jest. about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Goodfriday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness; Yet herein will I imitate the sun; Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow-morn-Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are By breaking through the foul and ugly mists P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!) But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for coine, And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. By how much better than my word I am, [Exit. SCENE III.-The sume. Another Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; Whatever Harry Percy then had said, K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem-To do him wrong, or any way impeach perate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me; for, accordingly, serves The scourge of greatness to be used on it; North. My lord, What then he said, so he unsay it now. K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost danger And disobedience in thine eye: O, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, You have good leave to leave us; when we need [Exit Worcester. You were about to speak. [To North. North. Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, As is deliver'd to your majesty : Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held He question'd me; among the rest, demanded I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, Out of my grief and my impatience, He should, or he should not ;-for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, To ransom home revolted Mortimer. Hot. Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him, He never did encounter with Glendower; He durst as well have met the devil alone, [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. Re-enter Worcester Hot. Speak of Mortimer? 'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him: Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer As high i'the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; And when I urg'd the ransome once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. mad. Wor. I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim'd, By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? From whence he, intercepted, did return I'll keep them all; And lend no ear unto my purposes.- Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat- I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's To keep his anger still in motion. wide mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you; Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer He did; myself did hear it. The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ?— Wor. swim : Send danger from the east unto the west, Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save now to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, Art thou, to break into this woman's mood; Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear In Richard's time,- What do you call the place?- Hot. You say true: Why, what a candy deal of courtesy me! Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Hot. sons, Which I shall send you written,-be assur'd, Will easily be granted.-You, my lord,[To Northumberland. or Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop. North. Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd noon; Hot. Of York, is't not? Wor. True; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. As what I think might be, but what I know |