K. HENRY IV. WITH THE HUMOURS OF Sir John Falstaff. A TRAGICOMEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE in Litttle-Lincolns-Inn-Fields BY His Majesty's Servants. Revived, with Alterations.  
Written Originally by Mr. Shakespeare.  
LONDON, Printed for R. W. and Sold by John Deeve at Bernards-Inn-Gate in Holborn, 1700.  
Newly Published, The Practice of the Spiritual or Ecclesiastical Courts: wherein is contained, their Original Style and Causes usually Tried in them; with the manner of Proving Wills in common Form of Law. Together with the manner of Proceeding in Cases of Defamation, Right of Patronage, Dilapidation. Criminal Causes, etc. The Second Edition, Corrected. By H. Conset. Sold by Sold by John Deeve at Bernards-Inn-Gate in Holborn, 〈◊〉.   

Dramatis Personae.  

MEN.  King Henry IU. 
Mr. Berry.  Prince of Wales. 
Mr. Scudemore.  John Earl of Lancaster, Second Son to King Henry. 
Mr. Bayly.  Northumberland. 
Mr. Boman.  Harry Percy, Surnamed Hotspur, his Son. 
Mr. Verbruggen.  Westmoreland. 
Mr. Pack.  Worcester. 
Mr. Freeman.  Mortimer. 
  Owen Glendower. 
Mr. Hodgson.  Dowglas. 
Mr. Arnold.  Sir Walter Blunt. 
Mr. Trout.  Sir Richard Vernon. 
Mr. Harris.  Sir John Falstaff, The Prince's Companion. 
Mr. Betterton.  Poins, The Prince's Companion. 
  Petto, The Prince's Companion. 
  Gadshill, The Prince's Companion. 
  Bardolph, The Prince's Companion. 
Mr. Bright.  Francis the Drawer. 
Mr. Bowen.   

WOMEN.  Katherine Percy, Hotspur ' s Wife. 
Mr. Boman.  Hostess. 
Mr. Leigh.   
Sheriff, Carrier's, Chamberlain, Travellers, etc.   
K. HENRY IV. WITH THE HUMOURS OF Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.  


ACT I. SCENE I.  Enter King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, with others. King, 
SO shaken as we are, so wan with Care,  
Find we a time for frighted Peace to pant:  
No more shall trenching War channel her Fields,  
Nor bruise her Flowrets with the armed hooves  
Of Hostile Paces.  
The edge of War, like an ill-sheathed Knife,  
No more shall cut his Master. Then let me hear  
Of you my gentle Cousin Westmoreland,  
What yesternight our Council did decree,  
In forwarding this dear Expedience.  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 Heresordshire 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 Welshwomen done, as may not be  
(Without much shame) retold or spoken of.  King. 
It seems then, that the tidings of this Broil,  
Broke off our business for the Holy Land.  West. 
This matched, with other like; my gracious Lord,  
Far more uneven and unwelcome News  
Came from the North, and thus it did report:  
On Holy-Rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,  
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,  
That ever valiant and approved Scot,  
At Holmedon met, where they did spend  
A sad and bloody hour:  
As by discharge of their Artillery  
And shape of likelihood the News was told:  
For he that brought them, in the very Heat  
And pride of their Contention, did take Horse,  
Uncertain of the issue any way.  King. 
Here is a dear and true industrious Friend,  
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,  
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome News.  
The Earl of Dowglas is discomfited,  
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights  
Balked in their own Blood did Sir Walter see  
On Holmedon's Plains. Of Prisoners, Hotspur took  
Mordake Earl of Fife, and eldest Son  
To beaten Dowglas, and the Earl of Athol,  
Of Marry, Angus, and Menteith.  
And is not this an Honourable Spoil?  
A gallant Prize? Ha, Cousin, is it not? In faith it is.  West. 
A Conquest for a Prince to boast of.  King. 
Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin,  
In envy, that my Lord Northumberland  
Should be the Father of so blessed a Son:  
Whilst I by looking on the Praise of him,  
See Riot and Dishonour stain the Brow  
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved,  
That some Night-tripping Fairy had exchanged,  
In Cradlecloths, our Children where they lay,  
And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet:  
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine:  
But let him from my Thoughts. What think you, Cousin,  
Of this young percy's Pride? The Prisoners,  
Which he in this Adventure hath surprised,  
To his own use he keeps, and sends me word  
I shall have none but Mardake Earl of Fife.  West. 
This is his Uncles teaching. This is Worcester,  
Malevolent to you in all Aspects:  
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up  
The crest of Youth against your Dignity.  King. 
But I have sent for him to answer this:  
And for this cause a while me must neglect  
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.  
Cousin, on Wednesday next, our Council we will hold  
At Windsor, so inform the Lords,  
But come yourself with speed to us again,  
For more is to be said, and to be done,  
Than out of anger can be uttered.  West. 
I will, my Liege.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir John Falstaff. Fal. 
Now Hal, what time of day is it, Lad?  Prince. 
Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old Sack and unbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping upon Benches in the afternoon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou wouldst 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 Tongues of Bawds. I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous, to demand the time of the day.  Fal. 
Indeed you came 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.  Prince. 
What! none?  Fal. 
No, not so much as will serve to be Prologue to an Egg and Butter.  Prince. 
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 Thiefs of the Days 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.  Prince. 
Thou sayst 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 morning; got with swearing, Laid 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 ride of the Gallows.  Fal. 
Thou sayst true, Lad: And is not my Hostess of the Tavern a most sweet Wench?  Prince. 
As is the Honey, my old Lad of the Castle: and is not a Buff Jerkin a most sweet Robe of durance?  Fal. 
How, how? how now mad Wag? What in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a Plague have I to do with a Buff Jerkin?  Prince. 
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.  Prince. 
Did I ever call thee for to pay thy part?  Fal. 
No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.  Prince. 
Yea and elsewhere, so far as my Coin would stretch, and where it would not. I have used my Credit.  Fal. 
Yea, and so used it, that were it here apparent, that thou art Heir apparent. But I prithee sweet Wag, shall there be Gallows standing in England when thou art King? and Resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old Father Antic the Law? Do not thou when thou art a King, hang a Thief.  Prince. 
No, thou shalt.  Fal. 
Shall I? O rare! I'll be a brave Judge.  Prince. 
Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the Thiefs, 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.  Prince. 
For obtaining of Suits?  Fal. 
Yea, for obtaining of Suits, whereof the Hangman hath no lean Wardrobe. I am as melancholy as a Gib-cat, or a lugged Bear.  Prin. 
Or an old Lion, or a Lover's Lute.  Fal. 
Yea, or the Drone of a Lingcolnshire Bagpipe.  Prin. 
What sayst thou to a Hare, or the Melancholy of Moor-Ditch?  Fal. 
Thou hast the most unsavoury Similes, and art indeed the most comparative rascallest sweet young Prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with vanity, I would 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.  Prince. 
Thou didst well: for no man regards it.  Fal. 
O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a Saint. Thou hast done much harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (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: and I do not, I am a Villain. I'll be damned for never a King's Son in Christendom.  Prin. 
Where shall we take a Purse to morrow, Jack?  Fal. 
Where thou wilt, Lad, I'll make one: and I do not, call me Villain, and baffle me.  Prin. 
I see a good amendment of life in thee: From Praying, to Purse taking.  Fal. 
Why, Hal, 'tis my Vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a Man to labour in his Vocation.  Enter Poins. Prin. 
Good morrow, Ned.  Poin. 
Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack and Sugar, Jack? How agrees the Devil and thee about thy Soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a Cup of Madera, and a cold Capon's leg?  Prin. 
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.  Poin. 
Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the Devil.  Prin. 
Else he had been damned for cozening the Devil.  Poin. 
But, my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by four a Clock early at Gods-hill, there are Pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders riding to London with fat Purses. I have visards for you all; you have Horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to night in Rochester, I have bespoke Supper to morrow in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your Purses full of Crowns: If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.  Fal. 
Hear ye Edward, if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.  Poin. 
You will, Chops.  Fal. 
Hal, Wilt thou make one?  Prin. 
Who, I rob? I a Thief? not I.  Fal. 
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the Blood Royal, if thou dar'st not bid stand for ten Shillings.  Prin. 
Well then, once in my days I'll be a Mad cap.  Fal. 
Why, that's well said.  Prin. 
Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.  Fal. 
I'll be a Traitor then, when thou art King.  Prin. 
I care not.  Poin. 
Sir John, I prithee 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 Persuasion; and he the Ears of profiting, that what thou speakest, may move; 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 East-cheap.  Prin. 
Farewell the latter Spring. Farewell Allhollown Summer.  Exit Fal. Poin. 
Now, my good sweet honey Lord, ride with us to morrow. I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Harvey, Rossil, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; 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.  Prin. 
But how shall we part with them in setting forth?  Poin. 
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 venture upon the Exploit themselves, which they have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.  Prin. 
ay, but 'tis like that they will know us by our Horses, by our Habits, and by every other Appointment to be ourselves.  Poin. 
Tut, our Horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visards we will change after we leave them: and, Sirrah, I have Cases of Buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward Garments.  Prin. 
But I doubt they will be too hard for us.  Poin. 
Well, for two of them, I know them to be as truebred 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 sat Rogue will tell us, when we meet at Supper; how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this, lies the Jest.  Prin. 
Well, I'll go with thee, provide us all things necessary, and meet me to morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell.  Poin. 
Farewell, my Lord.  Exit Poins. Prin. 
I know you all, and will a while uphold  
The unyoked 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,  
Being wanted, he may be more wondered at,  
By breaking through the foul and ugly Mists.  
So when this loose Behaviour I throw off,  
And pay the debt I never promised:  
By how much better than my Word I am,  
Bo so much shall I falsify men's Hopes,  
And like bright Metal on a sullen ground,  
My Reformation glittering o'er my Fault  
Shall show more goodly, and attract more Eyes,  
Than that which hath no soil to set it off.  
I'll so offend, to make Offence a skill,  
Redeeming time, when men think lest I will.   

SCENE III.  Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. King. 
My blood hath been too cold and temperate,  
Unapt to stir at these Indignities,  
And you have found me; for accordingly,  
You tread upon my Patience: But be sure,  
I will from henceforth rather be myself,  
Mighty, and to be feared, than my condition,  
Which hath been smooth as Oil, soft as young Down,  
And therefore lost the Title of Respect,  
Which the proud ne'er pays, but to the proud.  Wor. 
Our House (my Sovereign Liege) little deserves  
The scourge of Greatness to be used on it,  
And that same Greatness too, which our own hands  
Have holp to make so portly.  Nor. 
My Lord.  King. 
Worcester get thee gone: for I do see  
Danger and Disobedience in thine Eye.  
O Sir, your Presence is too bold and peremptory,  
And Majesty might never yet endure  
The moody Frontier of a Servant brow,  
You have good leave to leave us. When we need  
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.  
You were about to speak.  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 was delivered to your Majesty:  
Who either through envy, or misprision,  
Was guilty of this fault: and not my Son.  Hot. 
My Liege, I did deny no Prisoners.  
But, I remember when the fight was done,  
When I was dry with Rage, and extreme Toil,  
Breathless and faint leaning upon my Sword,  
Came there a certain Lord, neat and trimly dressed;  
Fresh as a Bridegroom, and his Chin new reaped,  
Showed like a stubble Land at Harvest home.  
He was perfumed like a Milliner,  
And 'twixt his Finger and his Thumb, he held  
A Civit-Box: which ever and anon  
He gave his Nose, and took't away again:  
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,  
Took it in Snuff. And still he smiled and talked:  
And as the Soldiers bore dead Bodies by,  
He called them untaught Knaves, Unmannerly,  
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse  
Betwixt the wind, and his Nobility.  
With many Holiday and Lady terms  
He questioned me: Among the rest, demanded  
My Prisoners, in your Majesty's behalf.  
I then, all-smarting with my Wounds being cold,  
(To be so pestered with a Popingay)  
Out of my grief, and my impatience,  
Answered (neglectingly) I know not what,  
He should or should not: For he made me mad,  
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,  
And talk so like a Waiting-Gentlewoman,  
Of Guns, and Drums, and Wounds: God save the mark;  
And telling me, the Sovereignest thing on Earth  
Was Parmacity, for an inward Bruise:  
And that it was great pity, so it was,  
That Villainous Saltpetre should be digged  
Out of the Bowels of the harmless Earth,  
Which many a good tall Fellow had destroyed  
So cowardly. And but for these vile Guns,  
He would himself have been a Soldier.  
This bald, unjointed Chat of his (my Lord)  
Made me to answer indirectly (as I said.)  
And I beseech you, let not this Report  
Come currant for an Accusation,  
Betwixt my Love and your high Majesty.  Blunt. 
The Circumstance considered, good my Lord,  
What ever Harry Percy then had said,  
To such a person, and in such a Place,  
At such a time, with all the rest reto;d,  
May reasonably die, and never rise  
To do him wrong, or any way impeach  
What then he said, so he unsay it now.  King. 
Why yet he doth deny his Prisoners,  
But with Proviso and Exception,  
That we at our own Charge, shall ransom straight  
His Brother-in-law the foolish Mortimer,  
Who (in my Soul) hath wilfully betrayed  
The lives of those, that he did lead to Fight,  
Against the great Magician, damned Glendower,  
Whose Daughter (as we hear) the Earl of March  
Hath lately married. Shall our Coffers then  
Be emptied, to redeem a Traitor home?  
Shall we buy Treason? and indent with Fears?  
No: on the barren Mountains let him starve:  
For I shall never hold that Man my Friend,  
Whose Tongue shall ask me for one penny cost  
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.  Hot. 
Revolted Mortimer?  
He never did fall off, my Sovereign Liege,  
But by the Chance of War: to prove that true,  
Needs no more but one Tongue. For all those Wounds,  
Those mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he took,  
When on the gentle Severn's Sedgy Bank,  
In single opposition hand to hand  
He did confound the best part of an hour  
In changing hardiment with great Glendower:  
Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink  
Upon agreement of swift Severn's Flood;  
Who then affrighted with their Bloody looks,  
Ran fearfully among the trembling Reeds,  
And hid his crisped-head in a hollow Bank,  
Blood-stained with these valiant Combatants.  
Never did base, and rotten policy  
Colour her working with such deadly Wounds;  
Nor never could the noble Mortimer  
Receive so many, and all willingly:  
Then let him not be slandered with Revolt.  King. 
Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;  
He never did encounter with Glendower:  
I tell thee, he durst as well have met the Devil alone,  
As Owen Glendower for an Enemy.  
Art thou not ashamed? But Sirrah, henceforth  
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.  
Send me your Prisoners with the speediest means,  
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me  
As will displease ye. My Lord Northumberland  
We licence your departure with your Son:  
Send us your Prisoners, or you'll hear of it.  Exit King. Hot. 
And if the Devil come and roar for them,  
I will not send them. I will after straight  
And tell him so: for I will ease my Heart,  
Although it be with hazard of my Head.  Nor. 
What? drunk with Choler? stay, and pause a while,  
Here comes your Uncle.  Enter Worcester, Hot. 
Speak of Mortimer?  
Yes, I will speak of him, and let my Soul  
Want mercy, if I do not join with him.  
In his behalf, I'll empty all those Veins,  
And shed my dear Blood drop by drop i'th' dust,  
But I will lift the downfallen Mortimer  
As high i'th' Air as this unthankful King,  
And this ingrate and cankered Ballingbrook.  Nor. 
Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad.  Wor. 
Who struck this heat up after I was gone?  Hot. 
He will (forsooth) have all my Prisoners:  
And when I urged the Ransom once again  
Of my Wife's Brother, than his cheek looked pale,  
And on my Face he turned an Eye of death,  
Trembling even at the Name of Mortimer.  Wor. 
I cannot blame him: was he not proclaimed  
By Richard that dead is, the next of Blood?  Nor. 
He was: I heard the Proclamation,  
And then it was, when the unhappy King  
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon) did set forth  
Upon his Irish Expedition:  
From whence, he intercepted, did return  
To be deposed, and shortly murdered.  Wor. 
And for whose Death, we in the World's wide mouth  
Live so scandalised, and foully spoken of.  Hot. 
But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then  
Proclaim my Brother Mortimer,  
Heir to the Crown?  Nor. 
He did, myself did hear it.  Hot. 
Nay then I cannot blame his Cousin King,  
That wished him on the barren Mountains starved.  
But shall it be, that you that set the Crown  
Upon the Head of this forgetful Man,  
And for his sake wore the detested Blot  
Of murderous Subornations? shall it be,  
That you a world of Curses undergo,  
Being the Agents, or base second Means,  
The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?  
O pardon, if that I descend so low,  
To show the Line, and the Predicament  
Wherein you range under this subtle King.  
Shall it for shame, be spoken in these Days,  
Or fill up Chronicles in time to come,  
That Men of your Nobility and Power,  
Did gauge them both in an unjust behalf  
(As both of you, God pardon it, have done)  
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely Rose,  
And plant this Thorn, this Cancer Bullingbrook?  
And shall it in more shame be further spoken,  
That you are fooled, discarded and shook off  
By him, for whom these Shames ye underwent?  
No: yet time serves, wherein you may redeem  
Your banished Honours, and restore yourselves  
Into the good Thoughts of the World again.  
Revenge the jeering and disdained Contempt  
Of this proud King, who studies day and night  
To answer all the Debt he owes unto you,  
Even with the bloody Payments of your Deaths:  
Therefore I say—  Wor. 
Peace, Cousin, say no more.  
And now I will unclasp a secret Book,  
And to your quick conveying Discontents,  
I'll read your Matter, deep and dangerous,  
As full of peril and adventurous Spirit,  
As to o're-walk a Current, roaring loud,  
On the unsteadfast footing of a Spear.  Hot. 
If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim:  
Send danger from the East unto the West,  
So Honour cross in from the North to South,  
And let them grapple: The Blood more stirs  
To rouse a Lion, than to start a Hare.  Nor. 
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-faced Moon,  
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,  
Where Fadom-line could never touch the ground,  
And pluck up drowned Honour by the Locks:  
So he that doth redeem her thence, might wear  
Without Corrival, all her Dignities:  
But out upon this half-faced Fellowship.  Wor. 
He apprehends a world of Figures here,  
But not the Form of what he should attend:  
Good Cousin give me audience for a while,  
And list to me.  Hot. 
I cry you mercy.  Wor. 
Those same Noble Scots  
That are your Prisoners.  Hot. 
I'll keep them all.  
By Heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them:  
No, if a Scot would save his Soul, he shall not.  
I'll keep them, by this Hand.  Wor. 
You start away,  
And lend no ear unto my Purposes.  
Those Prisoners you shall keep.  Hot. 
Nay, I will; that's flat:  
He said he would not Ransom Mortimer:  
Forbade my Tongue to speak of Mortimer.  
But I will find him when he lies a sleep,  
And in his Ear I ll holla, Mortimer.  
Nay, I'll have a Starling shall be taught to speak  
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,  
To keep his anger still in motion  Wor. 
Hear you, Cousin: A word.  Hot. 
All Studies here I solemnly defy,  
Save how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrook,  
And that same Sword and Backler Prince of Wales.  
But that I think his Father loves him not,  
And would be glad he met with some Mischance,  
I would have poisoned him with a pot of Ale.  Wor. 
Farewell, Kinsman: I'll talk to you  
When you are tempered to attend.  Nor. 
Why what a wasp-tongued and impatient Fool  
Art thou, to break into this Woman's mood,  
Tying thine Ear to no Tongue but thine own?  Hot. 
Why look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods?  
Nettled and stung with Pismires, when I hear  
Of this vile Politician Bullingbrook.  
In Richard's time: What d'ye call the place?  
A plague upon't, it is in Gloucestershire:  
'Twas where the madcap Duke his Uncle kept,  
His Uncle York, where I first bowed my Knee  
Unto the King of Smiles, this Bullingbrook:  
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.  Nor. 
At Berkley Castle.  Hot. 
You say true:  
Why what a gaudy deal of Courtesy  
This fawning Greyhound than did proffer me.  
Look when his infant Fortune came to age,  
And gentle Harry Percy, and kind Cousin:  
O, the Devil take such Cozeners, God forgive me:  
Good Uncle tell your tale, for I have done.  Wor. 
Nay, if you have not, to't again,  
We'll stay your leisure.  Hot. 
I have done, insooth.  Wor. 
Then once more to your Scottish Prisoners.  
Deliver them up without their Ransom straight,  
And make the Dowglas Son your only mean  
For Powers in Scotland: Which for divers Reasons  
Which I shall send you written, he assured  
Will easily be granted to you, my Lord.  
Your Son in Scotland being thus employed,  
Shall secretly in the bosom creep  
Of that same noble Prelate, well beloved,  
The Archbishop.  Hot. 
Of York, is't not?  Wor. 
True, who bears hard  
His Brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.  
I speak not this in estimation,  
As what I think might be, but what I know  
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,  
And only stays but to behold the face  
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.  Hot. 
I smell it:  
Upon my Life, it will do wondrous well.  Nor. 
Before the game's a foot, thou still lettest slip.  Hot. 
Why it cannot choose but be a noble Plot,  
And then the Power of Scotland, and of York  
To join with Mortimer, Ha.  Wor. 
And so they shall.  Hot. 
In faith it is exceeding well aimed.  Wor. 
And 'tis no little Reason bids us speed,  
To save our Heads, by raising of a Head:  
For, bear ourselves as even as we can,  
The King will always think him in our debt,  
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,  
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.  
And see already, how he doth begin  
To make us strangers to his looks of love.  Hot. 
He does, he does, we'll be revenged on him.  Wor. 
Cousin, farewell. No further go in this,  
Than I by Letters shall direct your course;  
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly.  
I'll steal to Glendower, and lo, Mortimer,  
Where you, and Dowglas, and our Powers at once,  
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,  
To bear our Fortunes in our own strong Arms,  
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.  Nor. 
Farewell, good Brother, we shall thrive, I trust.  Hot. 
Uncle, adieu: O let Hours be short,  
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport.  Exit.   


ACT. II. SCENE. I.  Enter a Carrier, with a Lantern in his hand. 1. Car. 
HEigh ho, an't be not four by the day I'll be hanged. Charles wain is over the new Chimney, and yet our Horse not packed. What, Ostler?  Ost. 
Anon, anon.  1. Car. 
I prithee Tom, beat Cuts Saddle, put a few Flocks in the point: The poor Jade is wrung in the Withers, out of all cess.  Enter another Carrier. 2. Car. 
Pease and Beans are as dank here as a Dog, and this is the next way to give poor Jades the Bots: This House is turned upside down since Robin the Ostler died.  1. Car. 
Poor fellow never joyed since the price of Oats rose, it was the death of him.  2. Car. 
I think this House is the most Villainous House in all London rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench.  1. Car. 
Like a Tench? There's ne'er a King in Christendom, could be better bit, than I have been since the first Cock.  2. Car. 
Why, you will allow us ne'er a Jourden, and then we leak in your Chimney: And your Chamber-lye breeds Fleas like a Loach.  1. Car. 
What Ostler, come away, and be hanged, come away.  2. Car. 
I have Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of Ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-Cross.  1. Car. 
The Turkeys in my Panniers are quite starved. What Ostler? a plague on thee, hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? and 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villain. Come and be hanged, hast no faith in thee?  Enter Gadshill. Gad. 
Could morrow, Carriers. What's a Clock?  Car. 
I think it be two a Clock.  Gad. 
I prithee lend me thy Lantern to see my Gelding in the Stable.  1. Car. 
Nay, soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two of that.  Gad. 
I prithee lend me thine.  2. Car. 
ay, when, canst tell? lend me thy Lantern (quotha) marry I'll see the hanged first.  Gad. 
Sirrah, Carrier: what time do you mean to come to London?  2. Car. 
Time enough to go to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee. Come Neighbour Mugges, we'll call up the Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they have a great charge.  Exeunt. Enter Chamberlain. Gad. 
What ho, Chamberlain?  Cham. 
At hand quoth Pickpurse.  Gad. 
That's even as fair, as at hand quoth the Chamberlain: For thou variest no more from picking of Purses, than giving direction doth from labouring. Thou layest the plot, how.  Cham. 
Good morrow Master Gadshill, it holds current that I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred Marks with him in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his Company last night at Supper; a kind of Auditor, one that hath abundance of Charge too, (God knows what) they are up already, and call for Eggs and Butter. They will away presently.  Gad. 
Sirrah, if they meet not with S. Nicholas Clarks, I'll give thee this neck.  Cham. 
No, I'll none of it: I prithee keep that for the Hangman, for I know thou worshippest S. Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.  Gad. 
What talkest thou to me of the Hangman? If I hang I'll make a fat pair of Gollows. For if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou know'st he is no Starveling. I am joined with no Foot-Land-Rakers, no Long-staff six penny strikers, such as will strike sooner than speak; and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet I lie, for they pray continually unto their Saint the Commonwealth; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: for they ride up and down on her; and make her their Boots.  Cham. 
What, the Commonwealth their Boots? Will she hold out water in foul way?  Gad. 
She will, she will; Justice hath liquored her. We steal, as in a Castle, Cocksure: we have the receipt of Fern seed, we walk invisible.  Cham. 
Nay, I think rather, you are more beholding to the Night, than the Fern-seed, for your walking invisible.  Gad. 
Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purpose, As I am a true man.  Cham. 
Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false Thief.  Gad. 
Go to: Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the Ostler bring the Gelding out of the Stable. Farewell, ye muddy knave.  Exeunt.  

SCENE. II.  Enter Prince, Poyns, and Peto. Poyns. 
Come shelter, shelter, I have removed Falstaff's-Horse, and he frets like a gummed Velvet.  Prin. 
Stand close.  Enter Falstaff. Fal. 
Poynes, Poynes, and be hanged, Poynes.  Prin. 
Peace ye fat kidneyed Rascal, what a bawling dost thou keep?  Fal. 
What poins, Hal?  Prin. 
He is walked up to the top of the Hill, I'll go seek him.  Fal. 
I am accursed to rob in that Thiefs Company: that Rascal hath removed my Horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the square further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I escape hanging for killing that Rogue. I have forsworn his Company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitched with the Rogue's company. If the Rascal have not given me Medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged, it could not be else: I have drunk Medicines. Poynes, Hall, a Plague upon you both. Bardolph, Peto: I'll starve ere I rob a foot further. And 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to turn True man, and to leave these Rogues, I am the veriest Varlet that ever chewed with a Tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles a foot with me: And the stonyhearted Villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when Thiefs cannot be true one to another.  They whistle. 
Whew, a plague light upon you all. Give me my Horse, you Rogues: give me my Horse, and be hanged.  Prin. 
Peace ye Fat-guts, lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou can hear the tread of Travellers.  Fal. 
Have you any Levers to lift me up again being down? I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the Coin in thy Father's Exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?  Prin. 
Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.  Fal. 
I prithee good Prince Hal help me to my Horse, good Kings Son.  Prin 
Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?  Fal. 
Go hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent Garters: If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this: and I have not Ballads made on all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of Sack be my Poison: when a rest is so forward, and afoot too, I hate it,  Enter Gadshill. Gad. 
Stand.  Fal. 
So I do against my will.  Poyn. 
O 'tis our Setter, I know his voice: Bardolf, what News?  Bar. 
Case ye, case ye; on with your visards, there's Money of the Kings coming down the Hill, 'tis going to the King's Exchequer.  Fal. 
You lie, you Rogue, 'tis going to the King's Tavern.  Gad. 
There's enough to make us all.  Fal. 
To be hanged.  Prin. 
You four shall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I will walk lower; if they escape from your encounter, than they light on us.  Peto. 
But how many be of them?  Gad. 
Some eight or ten.  Fal. 
Will they not rob us?  Prin. 
What, a Coward, Sir John Paunch?  Fal. 
Indeed I am not John of Gaunt your Grandfather: but yet no Coward, Hal.  Prin. 
We'll leave that to the Proof.  Poin. 
Sirrah Jack, thy Horse stands behind the Hedge, when thou needest him, there shalt thou find him, farewell, and stand fast.  Fal. 
Now I cannot strike him if I should be hanged.  Prin. 
Ned, where are our Disguises?  Poin. 
Here hard by: Stand close.  Fal. 
Now my Masters, happy Man be his dole, say I: every Man to his business.  Enter Travellers. Tra. 
Come, Neighbour: The Boy shall lead our Horses down the Hill: We'll a foot a while, and ease our Legs.  Thiefs. 
Stay.  Tra. 
Jesus bless us.  Fal. 
Strike; down with them, cut the Villains throats; a whoreson Caterpillars: Bacon-fed Knaves, they hate us Youth; down with them, fleece them.  Tra. 
O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever,  Fal. 
Hang ye gorbellied Knaves, are you undone? No ye Fat Chuffs, I would your store were here. On Bacons on, what ye Knaves? Young men must live, you are Grand Jurors? We'll jure ye i faith.  Here they rob them and bind them. Enter the Prince and Poyns. Prin. 
The Thiefs have bound the True-men: Now could thou and I rob the Thiefs and go merrily to London, it would be Argument for a Week, Laughter for a Month, and a good Jest for ever.  Poynes. 
Stand close, I hear them coming.  Enter Thief's again. Fal. 
Come my Masters, let us share, and then to Horse before day; and the Prince and Poynes be not two errand Cowards, there's no equity stirring. There's no more Valour in that Poynes, than in a wild Duck.  Prin. 
Your Money.  Poyn. 
Villains.  As they are sharing, the Prince and Poyns set upon them. They all run away, leaving the Booty behind them. Prince. 
Got with much ease. Now merrily to Horse: The Thiefs are scattered, and possessed with fear so strongly, that they dare not meet each other: each takes his Fellow for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falstaff sweats to death, and lards the lean earth as he walks along; were't not for laughing, I should pity him.  Poyn. 
How the Rogue roared.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter Hotspur solus, reading a Letter. 
But for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your House. He could be contented: Why is he not then? in respect of the love he bears our House. He shows in this, he loves his own Barn better than he loves our House. Let me see some more, The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why that's certain: 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you (my Lord Fool) out of this Nettle, Danger; we pluck this Flower, Safety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the Friends you have named uncertain, the Time itself unsorted, and your whole Plot too light, for the counterpoise so great an Opposition. Say you so, say you so: I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly Hind, and you lie. What a Lack brain is this? I protest, our Plot is as good a Plot as ever was laid? our Friends true and constant: A good Plot, good Friends, and full of Expectation: An excellent Plot, very good Friends. What a Frosty-spirited Rogue is this? Why, my Lord of York commends the Plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this Rascal, I could brain him with his Ladies Fan. Is there not my Father, my Uncle, and myself, Lord Edmond Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not besides, the Dowglas? Have I not all their Letters, to meet me in Arms by the ninth of the next Month? and are there not some of them set forward already? What a Pagan Rascal is this? An Infidel. Ha, you shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our Proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimed Milk with so Honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell the King we are prepared. I will set forwards to night.  Enter his Lady. 
How now, Kate, I must leave you within these two hours.  La. 
O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?  
For what Offence have I this fortnight been  
A Banished Woman from my Harry's Bed?  
Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee  
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?  
Why dost thou bend thy Eyes upon the Earth?  
And start so often when thou fitt'st alone?  
O what Portents are these?  
Some heavy business hath my Lord in hand,  
And I must know it: else he loves me not.  Hot. 
What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?  Ser. 
He is, my Lord, an hour agone.  Hot. 
Hath Butler brought those Horses from the Sheriff?  Ser. 
One Horse, my Lord, he brought even now.  Hot. 
What Horse? a Rouen, a Crop-ear, is it not?  Ser. 
It is, my Lord.  Hot. 
That Rouen shall be my Throne. Well, I will back him straight. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Park.  La. 
But hear you, my Lord.  Hot. 
What sayst thou, my Lady?  La. 
What is it that carries you away?  Hot. 
Why, my Horse (my Love) my Horse.  La. 
Out you madheaded Ape, a Weazel hath not such a deal of Spleen, as you are tossed with. In sooth I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. I fear my Brother Mortimer doth stir about his Title, and hath sent for you to line his Enterprise. But if you go—  Hot. 
So far a foot, I shall be weary, Love.  La. 
Come, come, you Parakeet, answer me directly unto this Question, that I shall ask. Indeed I'll break thy little Finger, Harry, if thou wilt not tell me true.  Hot. 
Away, away, you trifler: Love, I love thee not,  
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no World  
To tilt with Lips.  
We must have bloody Noses and cracked Crowns,  
And pass them currant too. God's me, my Horse.  
What sayst thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me?  La. 
Do ye not love me? do you not indeed?  
Well, do not then. For since you love me not,  
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?  
Nay, tell me if thou speakest in Jest, or no.  Hot. 
Come, wilt thou see me ride?  
And when I am a Horseback, I will swear  
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,  
I must not have you henceforth, question me,  
Whither I go: nor reason whereabout.  
Whither I must, I must: and to conclude,  
This Evening must I leave thee, gentle Kate.  
I know you wise, but yet no further wise  
Than Harry Percies Wife. Constant you are,  
But yet a Woman: and for Secrecy,  
No Lady closer. For I will believe,  
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,  
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.  La. 
How so far?  Hot. 
Not an inch further. But hark you Kate,  
Whether I go, thither shall you go too:  
To day will I set forth, to morrow you.  
Will this content you Kate?  La. 
It must of force.  Exeunt.  

SCENE IU.  Enter Prince and Poynes. Prin. 
Ned, prithee come out of that fat Room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.  Poynes. 
Where hast been, Hall?  Prin. 
With three or four Loggerheads, amongst three or fourscore Hogsheads. I have founded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn Brother to a lesh of Drawers, and can call them by their Names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any Tinker in his own Language: but sweet Ned, to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of Sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under Skiner, one that never speak other English in his Life, than Eight shilling and six pence, and, You are welcome: with this shrill addition, Anon Sir, Anon Sir, Score a pint of Bastard in the Half Moon, or so. But Ned, to drive away time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny Drawer, to what end he gave me the Sugar, and do never leave calling Francis, that his Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and I'll show thee a Precedent. Poyn. Francis.  Prin. 
Thou art perfect. Poyn. Francis.  Enter Drawer Fran. 
Anon, anon Sir; look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralf.  Prince. 
Come hither, Francis. Fran. My Lord.  Prince. 
Hoa long haste thou to serve, Francis?  Fran. 
Forsooth five years, and as much as to—  Poyn. 
Francis. Fran. Anon, anon Sir.  Prin. 
Five years; Berlady a long Lease for the clinking of Pewter? But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the Coward with thy Indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?  Fran. 
O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the Books in England, I could find in my Heart.  Poyn. 
Francis. Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.  Prin. 
How old art thou, Francis?  Fran. 
Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be—  Poyn. 
Francis.  Fran. 
Anon Sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord.  Prin. 
Nay but hark you Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not?  Fran. 
O Lord Sir, I would it had been two.  Prin. 
I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.  Poyn. 
Francis. Fran. Anon, anon.  Prin. 
Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis, on Thursday: or indeed Francis, when thou wilt. But Francis.  Fran. 
My Lord.  Prin. 
Away you Rogue, dost thou hear them call?  Here they both call, the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. 
What stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the Guest within: My Lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more, are at the Door: shall I let them in?  Prin. 
Let them alone a while, and then open the Door, Poynes.  Enter Poynes. Poyn. 
Anon, anon Sir.  Prin. 
Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the Thiefs are at the Door, shall we be merry?  Poyn. 
As merry as Crickets my Lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the Drawer? Come, what's the issue?  Prin. 
I am now of all humours, that have showed themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil Age of this present twelve a Clock at midnight. What's a clock Francis?  Fran. 
Anon, anon Sir.  Prin. 
That ever this Fellow should have fewer Words than a Parrot, and yet the Son of a Woman. His industry is upstairs and down-stairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hotspur of the North, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his Wife: Fie up on this quiet Life, I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed to Day? Give my Rouen Horse a drench (says he,) and answers, some fourteen, an hour after: a trifle, a trifle. I prithee call in Falstaff, I'll play Percy, and that damned Brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his Wife. Rivo, says the Drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.  Enter Falstaff. Poyn. 
Welcome Jack, where hast thou been?  Fal. 
A plague of all Cowards I say, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen. Give me a cup of Sack, Boy. ere I lead this life long, I'll sow nether stocks, and mend them too. A plague of all Cowards. Give me a Cup of Sack, Rogue. Is there no virtue extant?  Prin. 
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of Butter, pitiful hearted Titan that melted at the sweet Tale of the Sun? If thou didst, then behold that compound.  Fal. 
You Rogue, here's Lime in this Sack too: there is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villainous Man; yet a Coward is worse than a Cup of Sack with Lime. A villainous Coward, go thy ways old Jack, die when thou wilt, if Manhood, good Manhood be not forgot upon the Face of the Earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there lives not three good Men unhanged in England, and one of them is sat, and grows old, God help the while, a bad World I say. I would I were a Weaver, I could sing all manner of Songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still.  Prin. 
How now Woolsack, what mutter you?  Fal. 
A King's Son? If I do not beat thee out of thy Kingdom with a Dagger of Lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of Wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales?  Prin. 
Why you whoreson round man? what's the matter?  Fal. 
Are you not a Coward? answer me to that, and poins there?  Prin. 
Ye fat Paunch, and ye call me Coward, I'll stab thee.  Fal. 
I call thee Coward? I'll see thee damned ere I call thee Coward: but I would give a thousand Pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: Call you that backing of your Friends? a Plague upon such backing: give me them that will face me. Give me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunk to day.  Prin. 
O Villain, thy Lips are scarce wiped, since thou drunkest last.  He drinks. Falst. 
All's one for that. A plague of all Cowards still, say I.  Prin. 
What's the matter?  Falst. 
What's the matter? here be four of us, have ta'en a thousand pound this Morning.  Prin. 
Where is it, Jack? where is it!  Falst. 
Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.  Prin. 
What, a hundred, man?  Falst. 
I am a Rogue, if I were not at half Sword with a dozen of them two hours together; I have escaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the Doublet, four through the Hose, my Buckler cut through, my Sword hacked like a Hand saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A Plague of all Cowards: let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are Villains, and the Sons of darkness.  Prin. 
Speak Sirs, how was it?  Gad. 
We four set upon some dozen.  Falst. 
Sixteen, at least, my Lord.  Gad. 
And bound them.  Peto. 
No, no, they were not bound.  Falst. 
You Rogue they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an Hebrew Jew.  Gad. 
As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.  Falst. 
And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.  Prin. 
What, fought ye with them all?  Falst. 
All? I know not what ye call all: but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a Bunch of Radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged Creature.  Poin. 
Pray Heaven, you have not murdered some of them.  Falst. 
Nay, that's past Praying for. I have peppered, two of them: Two I am sure I have paid, two Rogues in Buckram Suits. I tell thee what, Hall, if I tell thee a Lie, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou knowest my old word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four Rogues in Buckram let drive at me.  Prince. 
What, four? thou saidst but two, even now.  Falst. 
Four Hal, I told thee four.  Poin. 
ay, I, he said four.  Falst. 
These four came all affront, and mainly thrust at me; I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my Target, thus.  Prince. 
Seven? why there were but four, even now.  Falst. 
In Buckram.  Poin. 
ay, four, in Buckram Suits.  Falst. 
Seven, by these Hilts, or I am a Villain else.  Prin. 
Prithee let him alone; we shall have more anon  Falst. 
Dost thou hear me, Hal?  Prin. 
ay, and mark thee too, Jack.  Falst. 
Do so, for it is worth the listening too: these nine in Buckram that I told thee of.  Prin. 
So, two more already.  Falst. 
Their Points being broken.  Poin. 
Down fell his Hose.  Falst. 
Began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.  Prin. 
O monstrous! eleven Buckram men grown out of two?  Falst. 
But as the Devil would have it, three misbegotten Knaves, in Kendal Green, came at my Back, and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy Hand.  Prin. 
These Lies are like the Father that begets them, gross as a Mountain, open, palpable. Why thou Clay-brained Guts; thou Knotty-paited Fool, thou Whoreson obscene greasy Tallow Catch.  Falst. 
What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?  Prin. 
Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal Green, when it was so dark, thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your Reason; what sayst thou to this?  Poin. 
Come, your Reason Jack, your Reason.  Falst. 
What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a Reason on compulsion? If Reasons were as plenty as Blackberries; I would give no man a Reason upon compulsion, I.  Prin. 
I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine Coward, this Bed-presser, this Horse-back-breaker, this huge Hill of Flesh.  Falst. 
Away you Starveling, you Elf-skin, you dried Neats-tongue, Bulls-pissel, you Stockfish: O for breath to utter. What is like thee? You Tailors Yard, you Sheath, you Bow-case, you vile standing Tuck.  Prin. 
Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou hast tired thyself in base Comparisons, hear me speak but thus.  Poin. 
Mark Jack.  Prin. 
We two, saw you four set on four and bound them, and were Masters of their Wealth: mark now, how a plain Tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, outfaced you from your Prize, and have it: yea, and can show it you in the House. And Falstaff, you carried your Guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard Bull-Call, What a Slave art thou, to hack thy Sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight. What trick? what device? what starting hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?  Poin. 
Come, let's hear Jack: What trick hast thou now?  Falst. 
I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why hear ye my Masters, was it for me to kill the Heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but be aware instinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: Instinct is a great matter. I was a Coward on Instinct: I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you have the Money: Hostess, clap to the doors: watch to Night, pray to Morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boys, Hearts of Gold, all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What, shall we be merry? shall we have a Play extempore.  Prin. 
Content, and the argument shall be, thy running away.  Falst. 
A, no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.  Enter Hostess. Host. 
My Lord the Prince?  Prin. 
How now, my Lady the Hostess, what sayst thou to me?  Host. 
Marry, my Lord, there is a Nobleman of the Court at door would speak with you: he says he comes from your Father.  Prin. 
Give him as much as will make him a Royal man, and send him back again to my Mother.  Falst. 
What manner of man is he?  Hostess. 
An old man.  Falst. 
What doth Gravity out of his Bed at Midnight? Shall I give him his answer?  Prin. 
Prithee do, Jack.  Falst. 
Faith, and I'll send him packing.  Exit. Prince. 
Now Sirs: you fought fair; so did you Peto, so did you Bardol: You are Lions too, you ran away upon instinct: You will not touch the true Prince; no, fie.  Bard. 
'Faith I ran when I saw others run.  Prin. 
Tell me now, in earnest, how came Falstaffs' Sword so hacked?  Peto. 
Why, he hacked it with his Dagger, and said, he would swear truth out of all England: but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.  Bard. 
Yea, and tickle our Noses with Speargrass, to make them bleed, and then beslubber our Garments with it, and swear it was the Blood of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.  Prin. 
O Villain, thou stolest a Cup of Sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore: thou hadst Fire and Sword on thy side, and yet thou runnest away: what instinct hadst thou for it?  Bard. 
My Lord, do you see these Meteors? do you behold these Exhalations?  Prin. 
I do.  Bard. 
What think you they portend?  Prin. 
Hot Livers, and cold Purses.  Bard. 
Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.  Prin. 
No, if rightly taken, Halter.  Enter Falstaff. 
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now my sweet Creature of Bombast, how long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawst thine own Knee?  Falst. 
My own Knee? When I was about thy years, (Hal) I was not an eagle's Talon in the Waste, I could have crept into any Alderman's Thumb-Ring: a plague of sighing and grief, if blows a Man up like a Bladder. There's villainous News abroad: Here was Sir John Braby from your Father; you must go to the Court in the Morning. The same mad fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the Bastinado, and made Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Devil his true Liegeman upon the Cross of a Welsh-hook; what a Plague call you him?  Poin. O, Glendower. Falst. 
Owen, Owen; the same, and his Son in Law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the sprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runs a Horseback up a Hill perpendicular.  Prin. 
He that rides at high speed, and with a Pistol kills a Sparrow flying. Falst. You have hit it.  Prin. 
So did he never the Sparrow.  Falst. 
Well, that Rascal hath good metal in him, he will not run.  Prin. 
Why, what a Rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running?  Falst. 
A Horseback, (ye Cuckoo) but afoot he will not budge a foot.  Prin. 
Yes, Jack, upon instinct.  Falst. 
I grant ye, upon instinct: Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blew-Caps more, Wercester is stolen away by Night: thy Father's Beard is turned white with the News: you may buy Land now as cheap as stinking Mackerel.  Prin. 
Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sun, and this civil buffetting hold, we shall buy Maindenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.  Falst. 
By the Mass, Lad, thou sayst true, it is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hall, art not thou horrible afeared? thou being Heir apparent, could the World pick thee out three such Enemies again as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that Devil Glendower? Art thou not horrible afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?  Prin. 
Not a whit: I lack some of thy instinct.  Falst. 
Well, thou wilt be horrible chid to morrow, when thou comest to thy Father: if thou do love me, practise an answer.  Prin. 
Do thou stand for my Father, and examine me upon the particulars of my Life.  Falst. 
Shall I? content: This Chair shall be my State, this Dagger my Sceptre, and this Cushion my Crown.  Prin. 
Thy State is taken for a Joint-stool, thy Golden Sceptre for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crown for a pitiful bald Crown.  Falst. 
Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a Cup of Sack to make mine Eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses vein.  Prin. 
Well, here is my Leg.  Falst. 
And here is my speech: stand aside Nobility.  Hostess. 
This is excellent sport, i'faith.  Falst. 
Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendest thy time; but also, how thou are accompanied: For though the Camomile, the more it is trodden, the faster it grows; yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land, by the name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers do report) doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for Harry, now I do not speak to thee in Drink, but in Tears; not in Pleasure, but in Passion; not in Words only, but in Woes also: and yet there is a virtuous Man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his Name.  Prin. 
What manner of Man, and it like your Majesty?  Fal. 
A goodly portly Man i'faith, and corpulent, of a cheerful Look, a pleasing Eye, and a most noble Carriage, and as I think, his Age some fifty, or (by'rlady) inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his Name is Falstaff: If that Man should be lewdly given, he deceives me; for Harry, I see Virtue in his Looks. If then the Tree may be known by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I speak it, there is Virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty Varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this Month?  Prin. 
Dost thou speak like a King? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my Father.  Fal. 
Depose me: if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in Word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a Rabbet-sucker, or a Poulter's Hare.  Prin. 
Well, here I am set.  Falst. 
And here I stand: judge, my Masters.  Prin. 
Now Harry, whence come you?  Falst. 
My Noble Lord, from East-cheap.  Prin. 
The Complaints I hear of thee, are grievous.  Falst. 
I'faith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.  Prin. 
Swearest thou, ungracious Boy? henceforth ne'er look on me, thou art violently carried away from Grace: there's a Devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man; a Tun of Man is thy Companion: Why, that Reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that Father Ruffian, that Vanity in years, wherein is he good, but to taste Sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a Capon and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Crafty, but in Villainy? wherein Villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?  Falst. 
I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?  Prin. 
That villainous abominable mis-leader of Youth Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.  Falst. 
My Lord, the man I know.  Prin. 
I know thou dost.  Falst. 
But to say, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more's the pity) his white hairs do witness it: But that he is (saying your Reverence) a Whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If Sack and Sugar be a fault, Heaven help the wicked: if to be old and merry, be a sin, than many a Host that I know is damned: if to be fat, to be hated, than Pharaoh's lean Kine are to be loved. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the World.  Prin. 
I do, ay will.  Enter Bardolph running Bard. 
O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a most monstrous Watch, is at the door.  Falst. 
Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.  Enter the Hostess. Host. 
O, my Lord, my Lord.  Falst. 
Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a Fiddlestick: what's the matter?  Host. 
The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the door: they are come to search the House, shall I let them in?  Falst. 
Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of Gold a Counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.  Prin. 
And thou a natural Coward, without instinct.  Falst. 
I deny your Major; if you will deny the Sheriff, so: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up: I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a Halter, as another  Prince. 
Go hide thee behind the Arras, the rest walk up above. Now my Masters, for a true Face and good Conscience.  Falst. 
Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.  Prin. 
Call in the Sheriff.  Exit. Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. Prince. 
Now Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?  She. 
First, pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath followed certain men unto this House.  Prin. 
What Men?  She. 
One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, a gross fat Man.  Car. 
As fat as Butter.  Prin. 
The man, I do assure you is not here,  
For I myself at this time have employed him:  
And Sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,  
That I will by to morrow Dinner time,  
Send him to answer thee, or any Man,  
For any thing he shall be charged withal:  
And so let me entreat you, leave the House.  She. 
I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen Have in this Robbery lost three hundred Marks.  Prin. 
It may be so: If he have robbed these Men, He shall be answerable: And so farewell.  She. 
Good Night, my Noble Lord.  Prin. 
I think it is Good Morrow, is is not?  She. 
Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a Clock.  Exit. Prin. 
This oily Rascal is known as well as Paul's: go call him forth.  Peto. 
Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the Arras, and snorting like a Horse.  Prin. 
Hark, how hard he fetches his breath: Search his Pockets. He searcheth his Pockets, and findeth certain Papers.  Prin. 
What hast thou found?  Peto. 
Nothing but Papers, my Lord.  Prin. 
Let's see, what be they? read them.  Peto. 
Item, a Capon. ii s. ii d. Item, Sauce. iiii d. Item, Sack, two Gallons. v s. viij d. Item, Anchoves and Sack After Supper. ii s. vi d. Item, Bread. ob.  Prince. 
O monstrous, but one half pennyworth of Bread to this intolerable deal of Sack? What there is else, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the Court in the Morning: We must all to the Wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot, and I know his death will be a March of Twelvescore. The Money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning: And so good morrow Peto.  Peto. 
Good morrow, good my Lord.  Exeunt.   


ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower. Mort. 
THese Promises are fair, the Parties sure, And our Induction full of prosperous hope.  Hotsp. 
Lord Mortimer, and Cousin Glendower, Will you fit down? And Uncle Worcester; a plague upon it, I have forgot the Map.  Glend. 
No, here it is; Sit Cousin Percy, sit good Cousin Hotspur: For by that Name, as oft as Lancaster doth speak of you, His Cheeks look pale, and with a rising sigh, He wisheth you in Heaven.  Hotsp. 
And you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.  Glend. 
I cannot blame him: At my Nativity,  
The front of Heaven was full of fiery shapes,  
Of burning Creslets: and at my Birth,  
The frame and foundation of the Earth  
Shaked like a Coward.  Hotsp. 
Why so it would have done at the same Season, if your Mother's Cat had but kittened, though yourself had never been born.  Glend. 
I say the Earth did shake when I was born.  Hotsp. 
And I say the Earth was not of my mind: If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook  Glen. 
The Heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.  Hotsp. 
Oh, than the Earth shook.  
To see the Heavens on fire.  
And not in fear of your Nativity.  
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth  
In strange Eruptions: And the teeming Earth  
Is with a kind of Colic pinched and vexed,  
By the imprisoning of unruly Wind  
Within her Womb: which for enlargement striving,  
Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tumbles down  
Steeples, and moss-grown Towers. At your Birth,  
Our Grandam Earth, having this Distemperature,  
In passion shook.  Glen. 
Cousin: Of many Men  
I do not bear these Cross: Give me leave  
To tell you once again, that at my Birth  
The front of Heaven was full of fiery shapes,  
The Goats ran from the Mountains, and the Herds  
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields:  
These Signs have marked me extraordinary,  
A●● all the Courses of my life do show,  
I am not in the Roll of common Men.  
Where is the Living, clipped in with the Sea,  
That chides the Banks of England, Scotland and Wales,  
Which calls me Pupil, or hath read to me?  
And bring him out, that is but Woman's Son,  
Can trace me in the tedious ways of Art,  
And hold me pace in deep Experiments.  Hotsp. 
I think there's no Man speaks better Welsh?  
I'll to dinner.  Mort. 
Peace, Cousin Percy, you will make him mad.  Glend. 
I can call Spirits from the vasty Deep.  Hotsp. 
Why so can I, or so can any Man:  
But will they come, when you do call for them?  Glend. 
Why, I can teach thee, Cousin, to command the Devil.  Hotsp. 
And I can teach thee, Cousin, to shame the Devil,  
By telling Truth. Tell Truth, and shame the Devil.  
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,  
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.  
Oh, while you live, tell Truth, and shame the Devil.  Mort. 
Come, come, no more of this unprofitable Chat.  Glend. 
Three times hath Henry Bullingbrook made head  
Against my power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,  
And Sandy-bottom Severn, have I sent him,  
Bootless home, and Weather-beaten back.  Hot. 
Home, without Boots,  
And in foul Wether too,  
How 'scape he Agues in the Devil's name?  Glend. 
Come, her's the Map:  
Shall we divide our Right,  
According to our threefold order ta'en?  Mort. 
The Archdeacon hath divided it  
Into three Limits, very equally:  
England, from Trent, and Severn hitherto,  
By South and East is to my part assigned:  
All Westward, Wales, beyond the Severn shore,  
And all the fertile Land within that bound,  
To Owen Glendower: and dear Cousin, to you  
The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.  
And our Indentures Tripartite are drawn:  
Which being sealed interchangeably,  
(A business that this Night may execute)  
To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,  
And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth,  
To meet your Father, and the Scottish Power,  
As is appointed us at Shrewsbury.  
My Father Glendower is not ready yet,  
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:  
Within that space, you may have drawn together  
Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen.  Glend. 
A short time shall send me to you, Lords:  
And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,  
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave,  
For there will be a world of Water shed,  
Upon the parting of your Wives and you.  Hotsp. 
Methinks my moiety, North from Burton here,  
In quantity equal not one of yours:  
See, how this River comes me cranking in,  
And cuts me from the best of all my Land,  
A huge half Moon, a monstrous Cantle out.  
I'll have the Current in this Place damned up,  
And here the smug, and Silver Trent shall run,  
In a new Channel, fair and evenly:  
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,  
To rob me of so rich a bottom 〈◊〉.  Glend. 
Not wind? it shall, it must, you see it doth.  Mort. 
Yea, but mark how he bends his course,  
And runs me up, with like advantage on the other side,  
Gelding the opposing 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 win this Cape of Land,  
And then he runs straight and even.  Hotsp. 
I'll have it so, a little Charge will do it.  Glend. 
I'll not have it altered.  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 understand you then, speak it in Welsh.  Glend. 
I can speak English, Lord, as well as you:  
For I was trained up in the English Court:  
Where, being but young, I framed to the Harp,  
Many an English Ditty, lovely well,  
And gave the Tongue a helpful Ornament;  
A Virtue that was never seen in you.  Hotsp. 
Marry, and I am glad of it with all my Heart,  
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,  
Than one of these same meeter-Ballad-mongers:  
I had rather hear a Brazen Candlestick tuned,  
Or a dry Wheel grate on the Axletree,  
And that would set my teeth on Edge,  
Nothing so much as mincing Poetry;  
'Tis like the forced gate of a shuffling Nag.  Glend. 
Come, you shall have Trent turned.  Hotsp. 
I do not care: I'll give thrice so much Land  
To any well-deserving Friend;  
But in the way of Bargain, mark ye me,  
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a Hair.  
Are the Indentures drawn; shall we be gone?  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others. King. 
Lords, give us leave:  
The Prince of Wales, and I,  
Must have some private Conference,  
But be near at hand,  
For we shall presently have need of you.  Exeunt Lords. 
I know not whether Heaven will have it so,  
For some displeasing Service I have do●●;  
That in his secret Doom, out of my Blood,  
He'll-breed Revengement, and a Scourge for me:  
But thou dost in thy passages of Life,  
Make me believe, that thou art only marked  
For the hot Vengeance, and the Rod of Heaven  
To punish my Mistread. Tell me else,  
Could such inordinate and low desires,  
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean Attempts,  
Such barren Pleasures, rude Society,  
As thou art matched withal, and grafted too,  
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,  
And hold their level with thy Princely heart?  Prince. 
So please your Majesty, I would I could  
Quit all Offences with as clear excuse,  
As well as I am doubtless I can purge  
Myself of many I am charged withal:  
Yet such extenuation let me beg,  
I may for some things true, wherein my youth  
Hath faulty wandered, and irregular,  
Find pardon on my true submission.  King. 
Heaven pardon thee:  
Yet let me wonder, Harry,  
At thy Affections, which do hold a Wing  
Quite from the flight of all thy Ancestors,  
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,  
Which by thy younger Brother is supplied;  
And art almost an alien to the Hearts  
Of all the Court and Princes of my blood.  
The Hope and Expectation of thy time  
Is ruined, and the Soul of every man  
Prophetically do forethink thy fall.  
Had I so lavish of my Presence been,  
So common hackneyed in the ways of men,  
So stale and cheap to vulgar Company;  
Opinion, that did help me to the Crown,  
Had still kept loyal to Possession,  
And left me in reputeless Banishment,  
A Fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.  
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,  
But like a Comet, I was wondered at.  
That Men would tell their Children, This is he▪  
Others would say, where? which is Bullingbrook?  
But now there's not an eye  
But is weary of thy common sight,  
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more:  
Which now doth, that I would not have it do,  
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.  Prince. 
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,  
Be more myself.  King. 
For all the World,  
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then,  
When I from France set forth at Ravenspurg;  
And even as I was then, is Percy now:  
Now by my Sceptre, and my Soul to boot,  
He hath more worthy Interest to the State  
Than thou the Shadow of Succession;  
For of no Right, nor Colour like to Right,  
He doth fill Fields with Harness in the Realm,  
Turns Head against the lion's armed Jaws;  
And being no more in debt to years than thou,  
Leads ancient Lords, and reverend Bishops on  
To bloody Battles, and to bruising Arms.  
What neverdying Honour hath he got,  
Against renowned Dowglas?  
Thrice hath the Hotspur Mars, in swathing clothes,  
This infant-Warriour, in his Enterprises,  
Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'en him once,  
Enlarged him, and made a Friend of him,  
To fill the Mouth of deep Defiance up,  
And shake the Peace and Safety of our Throne.  
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,  
The Arch-Bishops Grace of York, Dowglas, Mortimer,  
Capitulate against us, and are up.  
But wherefore do I tell this News to thee?  
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my Foes,  
Which art my nearest and dearest Enemy?  
Thou art like enough, through Vassal Fear,  
Base Inclination, and the start of Spleen,  
To sight against me under Percie's Pay,  
To dog his Heels, and curtsy at his Frowns.  
To show how much thou art degenerate.  Prince. 
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:  
And Heaven forgive them, that so much have swayed  
Your Majesty's good Thoughts away from me:  
I will redeem all this on Percie's Head,  
And in the closing of some glorious day,  
Be bold to tell you, that I am your Son,  
When I will wear a Garment all of Blood,  
And stain my Favours in a bloody Mask:  
Which washed away, shall scour my shame with it.  
And that shall be the day, when e'er it lights,  
That this same Child of Honour and Renown,  
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised Knight,  
And your unthought of Harry, chance to meet:  
For every Honour sitting on his Helm,  
Would they were multitudes, and on my Head  
My Shames redoubled. For the time will come,  
That I shall make this Northern Youth exchange  
His Glorious Deeds for my Indignities:  
Percy is but my Factor.  
Or I will tear the Reckoning from his Heart.  
This, in the the Name of Heaven, I promise here:  
The which, if I promise, and do survive,  
I do beseech your Majesty, may salve  
The long-grown Wounds of my intemperature:  
If not, the end of Life cancels all Bands,  
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,  
E'er break the smallest parcel of this Vow.  King. 
A hundred thousand Rebleses die in this:  
Thou shalt have Charge, and Sovereign Trust herein.  Enter Blunt. 
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.  Blunt. 
So hath the business that I come to speak of.  
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,  
That Dowglas and the English Rebels met  
The eleventh of this Month, at Shrewsbury:  
A mighty and a fearful Head they are,  
(If promises be kept on every hand)  
As ever offered foul play in a State.  King. 
The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to day:  
With him my Son, Lord John of Lancaster;  
For this Advertisement is five days old.  
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward:  
On Thursday, we ourselves will march.  
Our meeting is Bridgenorth: And Harry, you shall march  
Through Gloucestershire: By which account,  
Our business valued, some twelve days hence,  
Our general Forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.  
Our hands are full of business: Let's away,  
Advantage feeds them fat, while Men delay.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter Falstaff, and Bardolph. Falst. 
Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely, since this last action? Do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my skin hangs about me like an old Ladies loose Gown: I am withered like an old Apple John. Well I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking: I shall be out of Heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. And I have not forgotten what the inside of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper Corn, a Brewer's Horse: The inside of a Church. Company, villainous Company hath been the spoil of me.  Bard. 
Sir John, you are so freful, you cannot live long.  Falst. 
Why there it is: Come, sing me a bawdy Song, make me merry: I was as virtuously given, as a Gentleman need to be; virtuous enough, swore little, Diced not above seven times a week, went to a Bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour, paid money that I borrowed three or four times: lived well, and in good compass: And now I live out of all order, out of compass.  Bard. 
Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.  Falst. 
Do thou amend thy Face, and I'll amend my Life. Thou art our Admiral, thou bearest the Lantern in the Poop, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lamp.  Bard. 
Why, Sir John, my Face does you no harm.  Falst. 
No, I'll be sworn: I make as good use of it, as many a Man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I never see thy Face, but I think upon Hell Fire, when thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my Horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wildfire, there's no purchase in Money. O, thou art a perpetual Triumph, an everlasting Bone-fire-light, thou hast saved me a thousand Marks in Links and Torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt Tavern and Tavern: But the Sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me light as good cheap, at the dearest Chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, Heaven reward me for it.  Bard. 
I would my Face were in your belly.  Falst. 
So should I be sure to be heart-burned.  Enter Hostess. 
How now, Dame Parlet the Hen, have you enquired yet who picked my Pocket?  Hostess. 
Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep Thiefs in my House? I have searched, I have enquired, so has my Husband. Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Servant by Servant: The tight of a Hair was never lost in my House before.  Falst. 
Ye lie, Hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a Hair; and I'll be sworn my Pocket was picked; go to, you are a Woman, go.  Hostess. 
Who I? I defy thee. I was never so called so in mine own House before.  Falst. 
Go to, I know you well enough.  Hostess. 
No, Sir John: You do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John: You owe me Money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your back.  Falst. 
Dowlas, filthy Dowlas: I have given them away to Baker's Wives, and they have made Boulters of them.  Hostess. 
Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight shillings an Ill: You owe Money here besides, Sir John, for your Diet, and by-drinking, and Money lent you, four and twenty pounds.  Falst. 
He had his part of it, let him pay.  Hostess. 
He? alas! he is poor, he hath nothing.  Falst. 
How? poor? look upon his face: What call you rich? Let him coin his Nose, let him coin his Cheeks, I'll not pay a Denier. What, will you make a Younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inn, but I shall have my Pocket picked? I have lost a Seal-Ring of my Grandfathers, worth forty Mark.  Hostess. 
I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that Ring was Copper.  Falst. 
How? the Prince is a Jack, a Sneak-Cup: and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a Dog, if he would say so.  Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaff meets him, playing on his Truncheon like a Fise. Falst. 
How now, Lad? is the wind in that Door? Must we all march?  Bard. 
Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.  Host. 
My Lord, I pray you hear me.  Prince. 
What sayst thou, Mistress Quickly? How does thy Husband? I love him well, he is an honest Man.  Hostess. 
Good, my Lord, hear me.  Falst. 
Prithee let her alone, and list to me.  Prince. 
What sayst thou, Jack?  Falst. 
The other night I fell asleep here behind the Arras, and had my Pocket picked: This House is turned Bawdy-house, they pick Pockets.  Prince. 
What didst thou lose, Jack?  Falst. 
Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four Bonds of forty pound a piece, and a Seal-Ring of my Grandfathers.  Prince. 
A trifle, some eightpenny matter.  Host. 
So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your Grace say so: And (my Lord) he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed Man as he is, and said he would cudgel you.  Prince. 
What, he did not?  Host. 
There's neither Faith, Truth, nor Womanhood in me else.  Fal. 
There's no more faith in thee than in a stude Prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn Fox: and for Womanhood, 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 thank Heaven on.  Host. 
I am nothing to thank Heaven on, I would thou shouldst know it: I am an honest Man's Wife: and setting thy Knighthood aside, thou art a Knave to call me so.  Falst. 
Setting thy Womanhood aside, thou art a Beast to say otherwise.  Host. 
Say, what Beast, thou Knave thou?  Fal. 
What Beast? Why an Otter.  Prin. 
An Otter, Sir John, why an Otter?  Fal. 
Why? she's neither fish nor flesh, a Man knows not where to have her.  Host. 
Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou, or any Man knows where to have me, thou Knave thou.  Prin. 
Thou sayst true, Hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly.  Host. 
So he doth you, my Lord, and said this other day, you owed him a thousand pound.  Prince. 
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?  Fal. 
A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million: thou ow'st me thy love.  Host. 
Nay, my Lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.  Fal. 
Did I, Bardolph?  Bar. 
Indeed, Sir John, you said so.  Fal. 
Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper.  Prin. 
I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou be 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 fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the Lion's Whelp.  Prin. 
And why not as the Lion?  Fal. 
The King himself is to be feared as the Lion: Dost thou think I'll fear thee, as I fear thy Father? nay if I do, let my Girdle break.  Prin. 
O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees. Why thou whoreson impudent, embossed Rascal, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tavern Reckon, Memorandums of Bawdy-Houses, and one poor pennyworth of Sugar-candy to make thee longwinded: And yet you will stand to it, you will not Pocket up Wrongs. Art thou not ashamed?  Fal. 
Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou know'st in the state of Innocency, Adam fell; and what would poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of Villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man, and therefore, frailty. You confess then you picked my Pocket?  Prin. 
It appears so by the Story.  Fal. 
Hostess, I forgive thee:  
Go make ready Breakfast, love thy Husband,  
Look to thy Servants, and cherish thy Guests:  
Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest Reason:  
Thou seest, I am pacified still.  
Nay, I prithee be gone.  Exit Hostess. 
Now, Hal, to the news at Court for the Robbery, Lad?  
How is that answered?  Prin. 
O my sweet Beef:  
I must still be good Angel to thee.  
The Money is paid back again.  Fal. 
O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double Labour.  Prin. 
I am good Friends with my Father, and may do any thing.  Fal. 
Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.  Bard. 
Do, my Lord.  Prin. 
I have procured thee, Jack, a Charge of Foot.  Fal. 
I would it had been of Horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O, for a fine Thief, of two and twenty, or thereabout: I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but the Virtuous. I laud them, I praise them.  Prin. 
Bardolph.  Bar. 
My Lord.  Prin. 
Go bear this Letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my Brother  John. 
This to my Lord of Westmoreland:  
Go Peto, to Horse: for thou, and I,  
Have thirty Miles to ride yet ere dinner time.  
Jack, meet me to Morrow in the Temple-Hall  
At two a Clock in the Afternoon,  
There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receive  
Money, and Order for their Furniture.  
The Land is burning, Percy stands on high,  
And either they, or we, must lower lie.  Fal. 
Rare words: brave World,  
Hostess, my Breakfast, come:  
Oh, I could wish this Tavern were my Drum.  Exeunt omnes.   


ACT IV. SCENE I.  Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Dowglas. Hot. 
WELL said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truth  
In this fine Age were not thought Flattery,  
Such attribution should the Dowglas have,  
As not a Soldier of this Seasons stamp,  
Should go so general currant through the World.  
By Heaven I cannot flatter: I defy  
The Tongues of Soothers. But a braver Place  
In my Heart's love, hath no Man than yourself.  
Nay, task me to my word: approve me, Lord.  Dow. 
Thou art the King of Honour:  
No Man so potent breaths upon the Ground,  
But I will Beard him.  Enter a Messenger. Hot. 
Do so, and 'tis well. What Letters hast thou there? I can but thank you.  Mes. 
These Letters come from your Father.  Hot. 
Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?  Mess. 
He cannot come, my Lord, He is grievous sick.  Hot. 
How? has he the leisure to be sick now,  
In such a justling time? who leads his Power?  
Under whose Government come they along?  Mess. 
His Letters bear his mind, not I his mind.  Wor. 
I prithee tell me, doth he keep his Bed?  Mess. 
He did, my Lord, four days ere I set forth:  
And at the time of my departure thence,  
He was much feared by his Physician.  Wor. 
I would the state of time had first been whole,  
ere he by Sickness had been visited;  
His Health was never better worth than now.  Hotsp. 
Sick now? droop now? this sickness doth infect  
The very Life-blood of our Enterprise,  
'Tis catching hither, even to our Camp.  
He writes me here, that inward Sickness,  
And that his Friends by deputation  
Could not so soon be drawn: nor did he think it meet  
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust  
On a Soul removed, but on his own.  
Yet doth he give us bold Advertisement,  
That with our small Conjunction we should on,  
To see how Fortune is disposed to us,  
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,  
Because the King is certainly possessed  
Of all our Purposes. What say you to it?  Wor. 
Your Father's sickness is a maim to us.  Hotsp. 
A perilous Gash, a very Limb loft off:  
And yet, in faith, 'tis not his present want  
Seems more than we shall find it,  
Were it good, to set the exact Wealth of all our States  
All at one Cast? to set so rich a Mine  
On the nice hazard of one doubtful Hour,  
It were not good: for therein should we read  
The very bottom, and the Soul of hope,  
The very List, the very utmost bound  
Of all our Fortunes.  Dowg. 
Faith, and so we should,  
A comfort of Retirement lives in this.  Hotsp. 
A Rendezvous at Home to fly unto,  
If that the Devil and Mischance look big  
Upon the Maidenhead of our Affair.  Wor. 
But yet I would your Father had been here:  
The Quality and Heir of our Attempt  
Brooks no Division: It will be thought  
By some, that know not why he is away,  
That Wisdom, Loyalty, and mere Dislike  
Of our Proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.  
And think, how such an Apprehension  
May turn the Tide of fearful Faction,  
And breed a kind of Question in our Cause:  
This absence of your Father draws a Curtain,  
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear  
Before not dreamt of.  Hotsp. 
You strain too far.  
I rather of his Absence make this use:  
It lends a Lustre, and more great Opinion,  
A larger Dare to your great Enterprise,  
Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,  
If we without his help, can make a Head  
To push against the Kingdom: with his help,  
We shall overturn it topsy-turvy down.  
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints art whole.  Dowg. 
As heart can think:  
There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland,  
As this Dream of Fear.  Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hotsp. 
My Cousin Vernon, welcome by my Soul.  Vern. 
Pray God my News be worth a welcome, Lord.  
The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,  
Is marching hitherwards with Prince John.  Hotsp. 
No harm: what more?  Vern. 
And further, I have learned,  
The King himself in Person hath set forth,  
Or hither-words intended speedily,  
With strong and mighty Preparation.  Hotsp. 
He shall be welcome too,  
Where is his Son,  
The nimble-footed Madcap, Prince of Wales,  
And his Comrades, that daft the World aside,  
And bid it pass?  Vern. 
All furnished, all in Arms,  
All plumed like Ostriches, that with the Wind  
Baited like Eagles, having lately bathed,  
Glittering in Golden Coats, like Images,  
As full of Spirit as the Month of May,  
And gorgeous as the Sun at Midsummer,  
Wanton as youthful Goats, wild as young Bulls.  
I saw young Harry with his Beaver on,  
His Cushes on his thighs, gallantly armed,  
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,  
And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,  
As if an Angel dropped down from the Clouds  
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,  
And witched the world with noble Horsemanship.  Hotsp. 
No more, no more;  
Worse than the Sun in March,  
This Praise doth nourish Agues: let them come.  
They come like Sacrifices in their trim,  
And to the fire-eyed Maid of smoky War,  
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them:  
The mailed Mars shall on his Altar sit  
Up to the ears in Blood. I am on fire,  
To here this rich Reprisal is so nigh,  
And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse,  
Who is to bear me like a Thunderbolt,  
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.  
Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to Horse  
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corpse?  
Oh, that Glendower were come.  Ver. 
There is more News:  
I learned in Worcester, as I rode along,  
He cannot draw his Power this fourteen days.  Dowg. 
That's the worst Tidings that I hear of, yet.  Wor. 
ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.  Hotsp. 
What may the Kings whole Battle reach unto?  Ver 
To thirty thousand.  Hot. 
Forty let it be,  
My Father and Glendower being both away,  
The Power of us may serve so great a day.  
Come, let us take a Muster speedily:  
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.  Dowg. 
Talk not of dying, I am out of fear  
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year.  Exeunt omnes.  

SCENE II.  Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Falst. 
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Soldiers shall march through: we'll to Sutton-cop-hill to Night.  Bard. 
Will you give me Money, Captain?  Falst. 
Lay out, lay out.  Bard. 
This Bottle makes an Angel.  Falst. 
And if it do, take it for thy labour: And if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the Coinage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meet me at the Towns end.  Bard. 
I will Captain: farewell.  Exit. Falst. 
If I be not ashamed of my Soldiers, I am a soused Gurnet: I have misused the Kings Press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty Soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good Householders, Yeoman's Sons: inquire me out contracted Bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the Banes: such a Commodity of warm Slaves, as had as lief hear the Devil, as a Drum; such as fear the report of a Caliver, worse than a struck-Fool, or a hurt Wild-Duck. I pressed me none but such Tostes and Butter, with hearts in their Bellies no bigger than Pins heads, and they have bought out their Services: And now my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the▪ painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogs licked his Sores; and such as indeed were never Soldiers, but dis-carded unjust serving-men, younger Sons to younger Brothers: Revolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Tradefallen, the Cankers of a calm World, and long Peace, ten times more dishonourable, ragged, than an old-faced Ancient; and such have I to fill up the Rooms of them that have bought out their Services: That you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draff and Husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the Gibbets, and pressed the dead Bodies. No eye hath seen such Scarecrows: I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villains march wide betwixt the Legs, as if they had Gyves on; for indeed, I had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a half in all my Company: and the half Shirt is two Napkins tacked together, and thrown over the Shoulders like a Herald's Coat, without sleeves: And the Shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my Host of S. Alban; or the Red-Nose Innkeeper of Dayntry. But that's all one, they'll find Linen enough on every Hedge.  Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmoreland. Prince. 
How now, blown Jack? how now, Quilt?  Falst. 
What, Hal? How now, mad Wag, what a Devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already been at Shrewsbury.  West. 
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too: But my Powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must away all to Night.  Falst. 
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to steal Cream.  Prince. 
I think to steal Cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee Butter: But tell me, Jack, whose Fellows are these that come after?  Falst. 
Mine, Hal, mine.  Prince. 
I did never see such pitiful Rascals.  Falst. 
Tut, tut, good enough to toss: food for Powder, food for Powder: they'll fill a Pit, as well as better: tush Man, mortal Men, mortal Men.  Westm. 
ay, but Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.  Fal. 
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never learned that of me.  Prin. 
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the Ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy is already in the Field.  Falst. 
What, is the King encamped?  West. 
He is, John, I fear we shall stay too long.  Falst. 
Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning of a Feast, fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon. Hotsp. 
We'll fight with him to Night.  Worc. 
It may not be.  Dowg. 
You give him then advantage.  Vern. 
Not a whit.  Hot. 
Why say you so? looks he not for Supply?  Vern. 
So do we.  Hotsp. 
His is certain, Ours is doubtful.  Worc. 
Good Cousin be advised, stir not to Night.  Vern. 
Do not, my Lord.  Dowg. 
You do not counsel well: You speak it out of fear, and cold heart.  Vern. 
Do me no slander, Dowglas: By my Life,  
And I dare well maintain it with my Life,  
If well-respected Honour bid me on,  
I hold as little counsel with weak fear,  
As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day lives.  
Let it be seen to morrow in the Battle,  
Which of us fears.  Dowg. 
Yea, or to night.  Vern. 
Content.  Hotsp. 
To night, say I.  Vern. 
Come, come, it may not be.  
I wonder much, being Men of such great Leading as you are,  
That you foresee not what Impediments  
Drag back our Expedition: certain Horse  
Of my Cousin Vernon's are not yet come up,  
Your Uncle Worcester's Horse came but to day,  
And now their pride and mettle is asleep,  
Their Courage with hard labour tame and dull,  
That not a Horse is half the half of himself.  Hotsp. 
So are the Horse of the Enemy  
In general, journey-bated, and brought low:  
The better part of Ours are full of rest.  Worc. 
The number of the Kings exceedeth ours:  
For God's 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 us love you well: and even those some  
Envy your great Deservings, and good Name,  
Because you are not of our Quality,  
But stand against us like an Enemy.  Blunt. 
And Heaven defend, but still I should stand so,  
So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,  
You stand against Anointed Majesty.  
But to my Charge.  
The King hath sent to know  
The Nature of your Griefs, and whereupon  
You conjure from the breast of Civil peace,  
Such bold Hostility, teaching his duteous Land  
Audacious Cruelty. If that the King  
Have any way your good Deserts forgot,  
Which he confesseth to be manifold,  
He bids you name your Griefs; and with all speed  
You shall have your desires, with interest:  
And Pardon absolute for yourself, and these,  
Herein misled by your suggestion.  Hot. 
The King is kind:  
And well we know, the King  
Knows at what time to Promise, when to Pay.  
My Father, my Uncle, and myself,  
Did give him that same Royalty he wears:  
And when he was not six and twenty strong,  
Sick in the World's regard, wretched and low,  
A poor unminded Outlaw, sneaking home,  
My Father gave him welcome to the shore:  
And when he heard him swear, and vow to God,  
He came to be but Duke of Lancaster,  
To sue out his Livery, and beg his Peace,  
With tears of Innocency, and terms of zeal:  
My Father, in kind heart and pity moved,  
Swore him assistance, and performed it too.  
Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realm  
Perceived Northumberland did lean to him,  
They more and less came in with Cap and Knee,  
Met him in-Boroughs, Cities, Villages,  
Attended him on Bridges, stood in Lanes,  
Laid Gifts before him, proffered him their Oaths,  
Gave him their Heirs, as Pages, followed him,  
Even at the Heels, in golden multitudes.  
He presently, as greatness knows itself,  
Steps me a little higher than his Vow  
Made to my Father, while his Blood was poor,  
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg:  
And now (forsooth) takes on him to reform  
Some certain Edicts, and some straight Decrees,  
That lay too heavy on the Commonwealth;  
Cries out upon Abuses, seems to weep  
Over his Country's Wrongs: and by his Face,  
This seeming Brow of Justice, did he win  
The Hearts of all that he did angle for.  
Proceeded further, cut me off the Heads  
Of all the Favourites, that the absent King  
In deputation left behind him here.  
When he was personal in the Irish War.  Blunt. 
Tut, I came not to hear this.  Hot. 
Then to the point.  
In short time after, he deposed the King,  
Soon after that, deprived him of his Life:  
And in the neck of that, tasked the whole State.  
To make that worse, suffered his Kinsman March,  
Who is, if every Owner were right placed,  
Indeed his King, to be engaged in Wales,  
There, without Ransom, to lie forfeited:  
Disgraced me in my happy Victories,  
Sought to entrap me by intelligence,  
Rated my Uncle from the Council Board,  
In rage dismissed my Father from the Court,  
Broke Oath, committing Wrong on Wrong,  
And in conclusion, drove us to seek out  
This Head of safety; and withal, to pry  
Into his Title: the which we find  
Too indirect, for long continuance.  Blunt. 
Shall I return this answer to the King?  Hotsp. 
Not so, Sir Walter.  
We'll withdraw a while:  
Go to the King, and let there be impawned  
Some surety for a safe return again,  
And in the morning early shall my Uncle  
Bring him our purpose: and so farewell.  Blunt. 
I would you would accept of Grace and Love.  Hotsp. 
an't may be, so we shall.  Blunt. 
Pray Heaven you do.  Exeunt.   


ACT V. SCENE I.  Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of West morland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff. King. 
HOw bloodily the Sun begins to peer  
Above you busky hill: the Day looks pale  
At his Distemperature  The Trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester. King. 
How now, my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well  
That you and I should meet upon such terms,  
As now we meet. You have deceived our Trust,  
And made us doff our easy Robe of Peace,  
To crush our old Limbs in ungentle Steel;  
This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.  
What say you to it? Will you again unknit  
This churlish Knot of all-abhorred War?  
And move in that Obedient Orb again,  
Where you did give a fair and natural light,  
And be no more an exhaled Meteor,  
A Prodigy of Fear, and a Portent  
Of broached Mischief, to the unborn Time?  Mor. 
Hear me, my Liege:  
For mine own part, I could be well content  
To entertain the Lag-end of my life  
With quiet hours: For I do protest,  
I have not sought the day of this dislike.  King. 
You have not sought it: how come it then?  Falst. 
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.  Prin. 
Peace, Chewet, peace.  Wor. 
It pleased your Majesty, to turn your looks  
Of Favour, from myself, and all our House;  
And yet I must remember you, my Lord,  
We were the first, and dearest of your Friends:  
For you, my Staff of Office did I break  
In Richard's time, and posted day and night  
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,  
When yet you were in place, and in account  
Nothing so strong and fortunate, as I;  
It was myself, my Brother, and his Son,  
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare  
The danger of the time. You swore to us,  
And you did swear that Oath to Doncaster,  
That you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,  
Nor claim no further; then your new-fallen right,  
The Seat of Gaunt, Dukedom of Lancaster.  
To this, we swore our aid: But in short space  
It reigned down Fortune showering on your head,  
And such a flood of Greatness fell on you.  
And being fed by us, you used us so,  
As that ungentle gull the Cuckoos Bird  
Useth the Sparrow, did oppress our Nest,  
Grew by our Feeding, to so great a Bulk,  
That even our Love durst not come near your sight  
For fear of swallowing: But with nimble wing  
We were enforced for safety's sake to fly  
Out of your sight, and raise this present Head,  
Whereby we stand opposed by such means  
As you yourself have forged against yourself,  
By unkind Usage, dangerous Countenance,  
And violation of all Faith and Troth  
Sworn to us in your younger Enterprise.  King. 
These things indeed you have articulated,  
Proclaimed at Market Crosses, read in Churches,  
To face the Garment of Rebellion:  
And never yet did Insurrection want  
Such Water-colours, to impaint his Cause:  
Nor moody Beggars, starving for a time  
Of Pell-mell Havoc, and Confusion.  Prin. 
In both our Armies, there is many a Soul  
Shall pay full dearly for this Encounter,  
If once they join in Trial. Tell your Nephew,  
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the World  
In praise of Henry Percy: By my Hopes,  
This present Enterprise set off his head,  
I do not think a braver Gentleman,  
More Active, Valiant, or more valiant young,  
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,  
To grace this latter Age with Noble Deeds.  
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,  
I have a Truant been to Chivalry,  
And so I hear he doth account me too:  
Yet this before my Father's Majesty,  
I am content that he shall take the odds  
Of his great Name and Estimation,  
And will, to save the Blood on either side,  
Try Fortune with him, in a Single Fight.  King. 
And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,  
Albeit, Considerations infinite  
Do make against it: No, good Worster, no,  
We love our People well; even those we love  
That are misled upon your Cousin's part:  
And will they take the offer of our Grace:  
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every Man  
Shall be my Friend again, and I'll be his.  
So tell your Cousin, and bring me Word,  
What he will do. But if he will not yield,  
Rebuke and dread Correction wait on us,  
And they shall do their Office. So be gone,  
We will not now be troubled with reply,  
We offer fair, take it advisedly.  Exit Worcester. Prin. 
It will not be accepted, on my Life,  
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together,  
Are confident against the World in Arms.  King. 
Hence therefore, every Leader to his Charge,  
For on their Answer will we set on them;  
And God befriend us, as our Cause is just.  Exeunt. Manet Prince and Falstaff. Fal. 
Hal, if thou see me down in the Battle,  
And bestride me, so; 'tis a point of Friendship.  Prin. 
Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that Friendship:  
Say thy Prayers, and farewell.  Falst. 
I would it were Bedtime, Hal, and all well.  Prin. 
Why, thou owest Heaven a death.  Fal. 
'Tis not due yet: I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, Honour pricks me on? But now if Honour prick me off when I come on? How then; Can Honour set to a leg? No: or an arm? No: Or take away the grief of a Wound? No: Honour hath no skill in Surgery then? No. What is Honour? a Word. What is that Word Honour? Air: A trim Reckoning. Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? yea, to the Dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it, therefore I'll none of it. Honour is a mere Scutcheon, and so ends my Catechism.  Exit.  

SCENE II.  Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon. Wor. 
O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,  
The liberal kind Offer of the King.  Ver. 
'Twere best he did.  Wor. 
Then we are all undone.  
It is not possible, it cannot be,  
The King would keep his Word in loving us,  
He will suspect us still, and find a time  
To Punish this Offence in other Faults:  
Supposition, all our lives shall be stuck full of Eyes;  
And we shall feed like Oxen at a Stall,  
The better cherished, still the nearer death.  
My Nephew's trespass may be well forgot,  
It hath the excuse of Youth, and heat of Blood,  
And an adopted Name of Privilege,  
A harebrained Hotspur, governed by a Spleen:  
All his Offences live upon my Head,  
And on his Fathers. We did train him on,  
And his Corruption being ta'en from us,  
We as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:  
Therefore, good Cousin, let not Harry know  
In any Case, the Offer of the King.  Ver. 
Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.  
Here comes your Cousin.  Enter Hotspur. Hot. 
My Uncle is returned:  
Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.  
Uncle, what News?  Wor. 
The King will bid you Battle presently.  Dow. 
Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland,  Hot. 
Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so.  Dow. 
Marry and shall, and very willingly.  Exit Dowglas. Wor. 
There is no seeming mercy in the King.  Hot. 
Did you beg any? God forbid.  Wor. 
I told him gently of our Grievances.  
Of his Oath breaking: which he mended thus,  
By now forswearing that he is forsworn,  
He calls us Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge  
With haughty Arms, this hateful Name in us.  Enter Dowglas. Dow. 
Arm, Gentlemen, to Arms, for I have thrown  
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth:  
And Westmoreland that was engaged did bear it,  
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.  Wor. 
The Prince of Wales stepped forth before the King,  
And, Nephew, challenged you to single fight.  Hot. 
O, would the Quarrel lay upon our Heads,  
And that no Man might draw short breath to day,  
But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell me,  
How showed his Talking? Seemed it in contempt?  Ver. 
No, by my Soul: I never in my life  
Did hear a Challenge urged more modestly,  
Unless a Brother should a Brother dare  
To gentle Exercise and proof of Arms.  
He gave you all the Duties of a Man,  
Trimmed up your Praises, with a Princely Tongue,  
Spoke your Deservings like a Chronicle,  
Making you ever better than his Praise,  
By still dispraising Praise, valued with you:  
And which became him like a Prince indeed,  
He made a blushing cital of himself,  
And chide his Truant Youth so with a Grace,  
As if he mastered there a double Spirit  
Of teaching and of learning instantly:  
There did he pause. But let me tell the World,  
If he out live the Envy of this day,  
England did never owe so sweet a hope,  
So much misconstrued in his Wantonness.  Hot. 
Cousin, I think thou art enamoured  
On his follies: never did I here  
Of any Prince so wild at Liberty.  
But be he as he will, yet once ere night,  
I will embrace him with a Soldier's Arm,  
That he shall shrink under my courtesy.  
Arm, arm with speed.  Enter Messenger. Mes. 
My Lord, here are Letters for you.  Hot. 
I cannot read them now.  
O Gentlemen, the time of life is short;  
To spend that shortness basely; were too long.  
If life did ride upon a Dial's point,  
Still ending at the arrival of an hour,  
And if we live, we live to tread on Kings:  
If die; brave death, when Princes die with us.  
Now for our Consciences, the Arms is fair,  
When the intent for bearing them is just.  Enter another Messenger. Mes. 
My Lord, prepare, the King comes on apace.  Hot. 
I thank him, that he cuts me off from my tale:  
For I profess not talking: Only this,  
Let each man do his best. And here I draw my Sword,  
Whose worthy temper I intent to stain  
With the best blood that I can meet withal,  
In the Adventure of this perilous day.  
Now Esperance Percy, and set on:  
Sound all the lofty Instruments of War,  
And by that Music, let us all embrace:  
For Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall,  
A second time do such a courtesy.  They embrace, the Trumpets sound, the King entreth with his Power, alarm unto the Battle. Then enter Dowglas and Sir Walter Blunt. Blu. 
What is thy Name, that in Battle thus thou crossest me?  
What Honour dost thou seek upon my Head?  Dow. 
Know then my name is Dowglas,  
And do haunt thee in the Battle thus,  
Because some tell me, that thou art a King.  Blunt. 
They tell thee true.  Dow. 
The Lord of Stafford here to day hath bought  
Thy likeness: for instead of thee, King Harry,  
This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,  
Unless thou yield thee as a Prisoner.  Blu. 
I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot,  
And thou shalt find a King that will revenge  
Lord Stafford's death.  Fight, Blunt is slain, then enters Hotspur. Hot. 
O Dowglas, hadst thou sought at Holmedon thus,  
I never had triumphed o'er a Scot  Dow. 
All's done, all's won, here breathless lies the King.  Hot. 
Where?  Dow. 
Here.  Hot. 
This, Dowglas? No, I know this face full well,  
A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt,  
Semblably furnished like the King himself.  Dow. 
Ah fool: go with thy Soul whither it goes.  
A borrowed Title hast thou bought too dear,  
Why didst thou tell me, that thou wert a King?  Hot. 
The King hath many marching in his Coats.  Dow. 
Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coats,  
I'll murder all his Wardrobe piece by piece,  
Until I meet the King.  Hot. 
Up and away.  
Our Soldiers stand full fairly for the day.  Exeunt. Alarm, and enter Falstaff solus. Fal. 
Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here: here's no scoring, but upon the pate. Soft, who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no Vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as heavy too; Heaven keep Lead out of me, I need no more weight than mine own Bowels. I have led my Rag of Muffians where they are peppered: There's not three of 150 left alive, and they for the Towns end, to beg during Life. But who comes here?  Enter Prince. Prin. 
What stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy Sword,  
Many a Noble Man lies stark and stiff  
Under the hoofs of vaunting Enemies,  
Whose deaths are unrevenged. Prithee lend me thy Sword.  Fal. 
O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe a while. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in Arms as I have done this day, I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.  Prin. 
He is indeed, and living to kill thee;  
I prithee lend me thy Sword.  Falst. 
Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my Sword, but take my Pistol if thou wilt.  Prin. 
Give it me: What, is it in the Case?  Fal. 
I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sack a City.  The Prince draws out a Bottle of Sack. Prin. 
What, is it a time to jest and dally now?  Exit. Throws it at him. Falst. 
If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him: if he do come in my way, so: If he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado of me, I like not such grinning Honour as Sir Walter hath: Give me life, which if I can save, so: if not, Honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end.  Exit.  

SCENE III.  Enter Hotspur. Hot. 
If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.  Prin. 
Thou speakest as if I would deny my Name.  Hot. 
My Name is Harry Percy.  Prin. 
Why then I see a very valiant Rebel of that Name.  
I am the Prince of Wales, and think not Percy,  
To share with me in glory any more:  
Two Stars keep not their motion in one Sphere,  
Nor can one England brook a double Reign,  
Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales.  Hot. 
Nor shall it, Harry, for the Hour is come  
To end the one of us; and would to Heaven,  
Thy Name in Arms, were now as great as mine.  Prin. 
I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee,  
And all the budding Honours on thy Crest,  
I'll crop, to make a Garland for my Head.  Hot. 
I can no longer brook thy Vanities.  Fight. Enter Falstaff. Fal. 
Well said, Hal, to it Hal. Nay, you shall find no Boys play here, I can tell you.  Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he is dead. The Prince killeth Percy. Hot. 
Oh Harry thou hast robbed me of my Youth:  
I better brook the loss of bitter Life,  
Than those proud Titles thou hast won of me,  
They wound my Thoughts worse, than the Sword my Flesh:  
But thought's the slave of Life, and Life Time's Fool;  
And Time, that takes survey of all the World,  
Must have a stop. O, I could Prophesy,  
But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,  
Lies on my Tongue: No, Percy, thou art dust  
And food for—  Prin. 
For Worms, brave Percy. Farewell great Heart:  
Ill-weaved Ambition, how much art thou shrunk?  
When that this Body did contain a Spirit,  
A Kingdom for it was too small a bound:  
But now two paces of the vilest Earth  
Is room enough. This Earth that bears thee dead,  
Bears not alive so stout a Gentleman.  
Adieu, and take thy Praise with thee to Heaven,  
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the Grave,  
But not remembered in thy Epitaph.  
What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this flesh  
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell:  
I could have better spared a better Man.  
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,  
If I were much in love with Vanity.  
Death hath not stuck so fat a Dear to day,  
Tho' many dearer in this bloody Fray:  
Embowelled will I see thee by and by,  
Till then, in blood by Noble Percy lie.  Exit. Falstaff rises up. Falst. 
Embowelled! if thou imbowel me to day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me too to morrow. 'Twas time to counterfeit, or that hot Termagant Scot had paid me Scot and Lot too. Counterfeit! I am no Counterfeit; to die is to be a Counterfeit, for he is but the Counterfeit of a Man, who hath not the Life of a Man: But to counterfeit dying, when a Man thereby liveth, is to be no Counterfeit, but the true and perfect Image of Life indeed. The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my Life. I am afraid of this Gunpowder Percy, though he be dead. How if he should counterfeit too, and rise, I am afraid he would prove the better Counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure, yea, and I'll swear I have killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me but Eyes, and no body sees me. Therefore, Sirrah, with a new Wound in your thigh come you along with me.  taketh Hotspur on his back. Enter Prince and John of Lancaster. Prin. 
Come Brother John, full bravely hast thou fleshed thy Maiden Sword.  John. 
But soft, who have we here?  
Did you not tell me this fat Man was dead?  Prin. 
I did, I saw him dead,  
Breathless, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou alive,  
Or is it Fantasy that plays upon our Eyesight?  
I prithee speak, we will not trust our Eyes  
Without our Ears. Thou art not what thou seem'st.  Falst. 
No, that's certain: I am not a Double Man: but if I am not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack: There is Percy, if your Father will do me any Honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look either to be Earl or Duke, I can assure you.  Prin. 
Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead.  Fal. 
Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is given to Lying? I grant you I was down, and out of Breath, and so was he, but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury Clock if I may be believed, so: if not, let them that should reward Valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take't on my death I gave him this wound in the Thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my Sword.  John. 
This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard.  Prin. 
This is the strangest Fellow, Brother John.  
Come bring your luggage nobly on your back:  
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,  
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.  A Rereat is sounded. 
The Trumpets sound Retreat, the day is ours:  
Come Brother, let's to the highest of the Field,  
To see what Friends are living, who are dead.  Exeunt. Fal. 
I'll follow as they say, for Reward. He that rewards me, Heaven reward him. If I do grow great again, I'll grow less? for I'll purge, and leave Sack, and live cleanly, as a Noble man should do.  Exit.  

SCENE IU.  The Trumpets Sound. Enter King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon Prisoner's. King. 
Thus ever did Rebellion find Rebuke.  
Ill-spirited Worcester, did we not send Grace,  
Pardon, and terms of Love to all of you?  
And wouldst thou turn our Offers contrary?  Wor. 
What I have done, my safety urged me to,  
And I embrace this Fortune patiently,  
Since, not to be avoided, it falls on me.  King. 
Bear Worcester to death, and Vernon too.  
Other Offenders we will pause upon.  Exit Worcester and Vernon. King. 
Then this remains: that we divide our Power.  
You Son John, and my Cousin Westmoreland  
Towards York shall bend, you with your dearest speed  
To meet Northumherland, and the Prelate Scroop.  
Who (as we here) are busily in Arms.  
Myself, and Son Harry will towards Wales,  
To fight with Glendower, and the Earl of March.  
Rebellion in this Land shall lose his way,  
Meeting the Check of such another day;  
And since this business so far is done,  
Let us not leave till all our own be won.  Exeunt. 
FINIS.