In faith, it is
exceedingly
well aim'd.
Shakespeare
Falstaff,
Bardolph, Peto, 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 off
from my shoulders.
Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them
a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and
then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by
our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the
wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,
sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our
noted outward garments.
Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred
cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight
longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of
this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat
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.
Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary
and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit.
Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to lie himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend to make offence a skill,
Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit.
Scene III.
London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt,
with 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 fear'd, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-
And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. 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.
Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need
'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
Exit Worcester.
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 is delivered to your Majesty.
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet 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 smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pest'red with a popingay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-
He should, or he 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,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered indirectly, as I said,
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord,
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
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, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against that great magician, damn'd 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
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
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 breath'd, 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 crisp head in the hollow bank,
Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.
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 not him 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 asham'd? 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 you. My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son. -
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train]
Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight
And tell him so; for I will else my heart,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.
Here comes your uncle.
Enter Worcester.
Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul
Want mercy if I do not join with him!
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.
North. 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 urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
North. 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 depos'd, and shortly murdered.
Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of.
Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?
North. He did; myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murtherous subornation- 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 me that I descend so low
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtile 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 gage 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 canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again;
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud king, who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore I say-
Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;
And now, I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'erwalk 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 it from the north to south,
And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd 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-fac'd 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.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Wor. Those same noble Scots
That are your prisoners-
Hot. I'll keep them all.
By God, 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 is flat!
He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holloa '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 Bolingbroke;
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-
But that I think his father loves him not
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung 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 whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time- what do you call the place-
A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-
'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-
'S blood!
When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-
North. At Berkeley Castle.
Hot. You say true.
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then 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 it again.
We will stay your leisure.
Hot. I have done, i' faith.
Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,
The Archbishop.
Hot. Of York, is it not?
Wor. True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristow, 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 well.
North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st 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 exceedingly well aim'd.
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 reveng'd 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 Lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs 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.
North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! Exeunt.
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ACT II. Scene I.
Rochester. An inn yard.
Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.
1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.
Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not
pack'd. - What, ostler!
Ost. [within] Anon, anon.
1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the
point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.
Enter another Carrier.
2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the
next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside
down since Robin 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 be the most villanous house in all London road
for fleas. I am stung like a tench.
1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king christen
could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in
your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away!
2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be
delivered as far as Charing Cross.
1. Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.
What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy
head? Canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink to
break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hang'd!
Hast no faith in thee?
Enter Gadshill.
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
1. Car. I think it be two o'clock.
Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the
stable.
1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that,
i' faith.
Gads. I pray thee lend me thine.
2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he? Marry,
I'll see thee hang'd first!
Gads. 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 Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will
along with company, for they have great charge.
Exeunt [Carriers].
Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!
Enter Chamberlain.
Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse.
Gads. 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.
Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll
give thee this neck.
Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the hangman;
for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of
falsehood may.
Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make
a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me,
and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other
Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake are
content to do the profession some grace; that would (if matters
should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all whole.
I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny
strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; but
with nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers,
such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and
speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet,
zounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the
commonwealth, or rather, not 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?
Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in
a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk
invisible.
Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night
than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as
I and a true man.
Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
The highway near Gadshill.
Enter Prince and Poins.
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse, and
he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
Prince. Stand close. [They step aside. ]
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!
Prince. I comes forward I Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What a
brawling dost thou keep!
Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek him.
[Steps aside. ]
Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal hath
removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but
four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind.
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company
hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitch'd
with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not be
else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both!
Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
'twere not as good a deed as 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
afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well
enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to
another! (They whistle. ) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my
horse, you rogues! give me my horse and be hang'd!
Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine ear
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
travellers.
Bardolph, Peto, 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 off
from my shoulders.
Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them
a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and
then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by
our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the
wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,
sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our
noted outward garments.
Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred
cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight
longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of
this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat
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.
Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary
and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit.
Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to lie himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend to make offence a skill,
Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit.
Scene III.
London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt,
with 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 fear'd, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-
And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. 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.
Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need
'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
Exit Worcester.
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 is delivered to your Majesty.
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet 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 smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pest'red with a popingay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-
He should, or he 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,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered indirectly, as I said,
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord,
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
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, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against that great magician, damn'd 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
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
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 breath'd, 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 crisp head in the hollow bank,
Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.
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 not him 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 asham'd? 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 you. My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son. -
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train]
Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight
And tell him so; for I will else my heart,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.
Here comes your uncle.
Enter Worcester.
Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul
Want mercy if I do not join with him!
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.
North. 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 urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
North. 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 depos'd, and shortly murdered.
Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of.
Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?
North. He did; myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murtherous subornation- 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 me that I descend so low
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtile 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 gage 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 canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again;
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud king, who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore I say-
Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;
And now, I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'erwalk 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 it from the north to south,
And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd 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-fac'd 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.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Wor. Those same noble Scots
That are your prisoners-
Hot. I'll keep them all.
By God, 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 is flat!
He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holloa '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 Bolingbroke;
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-
But that I think his father loves him not
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung 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 whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time- what do you call the place-
A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-
'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-
'S blood!
When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-
North. At Berkeley Castle.
Hot. You say true.
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then 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 it again.
We will stay your leisure.
Hot. I have done, i' faith.
Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,
The Archbishop.
Hot. Of York, is it not?
Wor. True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristow, 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 well.
North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st 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 exceedingly well aim'd.
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 reveng'd 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 Lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs 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.
North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! Exeunt.
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ACT II. Scene I.
Rochester. An inn yard.
Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.
1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.
Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not
pack'd. - What, ostler!
Ost. [within] Anon, anon.
1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the
point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.
Enter another Carrier.
2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the
next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside
down since Robin 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 be the most villanous house in all London road
for fleas. I am stung like a tench.
1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king christen
could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in
your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away!
2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be
delivered as far as Charing Cross.
1. Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.
What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy
head? Canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink to
break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hang'd!
Hast no faith in thee?
Enter Gadshill.
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
1. Car. I think it be two o'clock.
Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the
stable.
1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that,
i' faith.
Gads. I pray thee lend me thine.
2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he? Marry,
I'll see thee hang'd first!
Gads. 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 Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will
along with company, for they have great charge.
Exeunt [Carriers].
Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!
Enter Chamberlain.
Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse.
Gads. 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.
Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll
give thee this neck.
Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the hangman;
for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of
falsehood may.
Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make
a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me,
and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other
Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake are
content to do the profession some grace; that would (if matters
should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all whole.
I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny
strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; but
with nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers,
such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and
speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet,
zounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the
commonwealth, or rather, not 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?
Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in
a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk
invisible.
Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night
than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as
I and a true man.
Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
The highway near Gadshill.
Enter Prince and Poins.
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse, and
he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
Prince. Stand close. [They step aside. ]
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!
Prince. I comes forward I Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What a
brawling dost thou keep!
Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek him.
[Steps aside. ]
Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal hath
removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but
four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind.
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company
hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitch'd
with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not be
else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both!
Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
'twere not as good a deed as 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
afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well
enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to
another! (They whistle. ) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my
horse, you rogues! give me my horse and be hang'd!
Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine ear
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
travellers.
