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PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource

Henry IV, Part 1 (Q1, 1598)

The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and Death of HENRY Sirnamed HOT-SPVRRE.

Aƈtus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Aƈtus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Enter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, with others.

King.

So ſhaken as we are, ſo wan with care,

Finde we a time for frighted Peace to pant,

And breath ſhortwinded accents of new broils

To be commenc’d in Stronds a-farre remote:

No more the thirſty entrance of this Soile,

Shall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood:

No more ſhall trenching Warre channell her fields,

Nor bruiſe her Flowrets with the Armed hoofes

Of hoſtile paces. Thoſe oppoſed eyes,

Which like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,

All of one Nature, of one Subſtance bred,

Did lately meete in the inteſtine ſhocke,

And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,

Shall now in mutuall well-beſeeming rankes

March all one way, and be no more oppos’d

Againſt Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.

The edge of Warre, like an ill-ſheathed knife,

No more ſhall cut his Maſter. Therefore Friends,

As farre as to the Sepulcher of Chriſt,

Whoſe Souldier now vnder whoſe bleſſed Croſſe

We are impreſſed and ingag’d to fight,

Forthwith a power of Engliſh ſhall we leuie,

Whoſe armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe,

To chace theſe Pagans in thoſe holy Fields,

Ouer whoſe Acres walk’d thoſe bleſſed feete

Which fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail’d

For our aduantage on the bitter Croſſe.

But this our purpoſe is a tweluemonth old,

And bootleſſe ’tis to tell you we will go:

Therefore we meete not now. Then let me heare

Of you my gentle Couſin Weſtmerland,

What yeſternight our Councell did decree,

In forwarding this deere expedience.

Weſt.

My Liege: This haſte was hot in queſtion,

And many limits of the Charge ſet downe

But yeſternight: when all athwart there came

A Poſt from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;

Whoſe worſt was, That the Noble Mortimer,

Leading the men of Herefordſhire to fight

Againſt the irregular and wilde Glendower,

Was by the rude hands of that Welſhman taken,

And a thouſand of his people butchered:

Vpon whoſe dead corpes there was ſuch miſuſe,

Such beaſtly, ſhameleſſe transformation,

By thoſe Welſhwomen done, as may not be

(Without much ſhame) re-told or ſpoken of.

King.

It ſeemes then, that the tidings of this broile,

Brake off our buſineſſe for the Holy land.

Weſt.

This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord,

Farre more vneuen and vnwelcome Newes

Came from the North, and thus it did report:

On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotſpurre there,

Young Harry Percy, and braue Archibald,

That euer-valiant and approoued Scot,

At Holmeden met, where they did ſpend

A ſad and bloody houre:

As by diſcharge of their Artillerie,

And ſhape of likely-hood the newes was told:

For he that brought them, in the very heate

And pride of their contention, did take horſe,

Vncertaine of the iſſue any way.

King.

Heere is a deere and true induſtrious friend,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horſe,

Strain’d with the variation of each ſoyle,

Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:

And he hath brought vs ſmooth and welcome newes.

The Earle of Dowglas is diſcomfited,

Ten thouſand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights

Balk’d in their owne blood did Sir Walter ſee

On Holmedons Plaines. Of Priſoners, Hotſpurre tooke

Mordake Earle of Fife, and eldeſt ſonne

To beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl,

Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an honourable ſpoyle?

A gallant prize? Ha Coſin, is it not? Infaith it is.

Weſt.

A Conqueſt for a Prince to boaſt of.

King.

Yea, there thou mak’ſt me ſad, & mak’ſt me ſin,

In enuy, that my Lord Northumberland

Should be the Father of ſo bleſt a Sonne:

A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue;

Among’ſt a Groue, the very ſtraighteſt Plant,

Who is ſweet Fortunes Minion, and her Pride:

Whil’ſt I by looking on the praiſe of him,

See Ryot and Diſhonor ſtaine the brow

Of my yong Harry. O that it could be prou’d,

That ſome Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchang’d

In Cradle-clothes, our Children where they lay,

And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet:

Then would I haue his Harry, and he mine:

But let him from my thoughts. What thinke you Coze

Of this young Percies pride? The Priſoners

Which he in this aduenture hath ſurpriz’d,

To his owne vſe he keepes, and ſends me word

I ſhall haue none but Mordake Earle of Fife.

Weſt.

This is his Vnckles teaching. This is Worceſter

Maleuolent to you in all Aſpeƈts:

Which makes him prune himſelfe, and briſtle vp

The creſt of Youth againſt your Dignity.

King.

But I haue ſent for him to anſwer this:

And for this cauſe a-while we muſt negleƈt

Our holy purpoſe to Ieruſalem.

Coſin, on Wedneſday next, our Councell we will hold

At Windſor, and ſo informe the Lords:

But come your ſelfe with ſpeed to vs againe,

For more is to be ſaide, and to be done,

Then out of anger can be vttered.

Weſt.

I will my Liege.

Exeunt

Scœna Secunda.

Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, and Pointz.

Fal.

Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad?

Prince.

Thou art ſo fat-witted with drinking of olde

Sacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and ſleeping

vpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou haſt forgotten

to demand that truely, which thou wouldeſt truly know.

What a diuell haſt thou to do with the time of the day?

vnleſſe houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons,

and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the ſignes

of Leaping-houſes, and the bleſſed Sunne himſelfe a faire

hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I ſee no reaſon,

why thou ſhouldeſt bee ſo ſuperfluous, to demaund the

time of the day.

Fal.

Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that

take Purſes, go by the Moone and ſeuen Starres, and not

by Phœbus hee, that wand’ring Knight ſo faire. And I

prythee ſweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God ſaue

thy Grace, Maieſty I ſhould ſay, for Grace thou wilte

haue none.

Prin.

What, none?

Fal.

No, not ſo much as will ſerue to be Prologue to

an Egge and Butter.

Prin.

Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly.

Fal.

Marry then, ſweet Wagge, when thou art King,

let not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call’d

Theeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forre-

ſters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone;

and let men ſay, we be men of good Gouernment, being

gouerned as the Sea, by our noble and chaſt miſtris the

Moone, vnder whoſe countenance we ſteale.

Prin.

Thou ſay’ſt well, and it holds well too: for the

fortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and

flow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by the

Moone: as for proofe. Now a Purſe of Gold moſt reſo-

lutely ſnatch’d on Monday night, and moſt diſſolutely

ſpent on Tueſday Morning; got with ſwearing, Lay by:

and ſpent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe

as the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow

as the ridge of the Gallowes.

Fal.

Thou ſay’ſt true Lad: and is not my Hoſteſſe of

the Tauerne a moſt ſweet Wench?

Prin.

As is the hony, my old Lad of the Caſtle: and is

not a Buffe Ierkin a moſt ſweet robe of durance?

Fal.

How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy

quips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doe

with a Buffe-Ierkin?

Prin.

Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Ho-

ſteſſe of the Tauerne?

Fal.

Well, thou haſt call’d her to a reck’ning many a

time and oft.

Prin.

Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal.

No, Ile giue thee thy due, thou haſt paid al there.

Prin.

Yea and elſewhere, ſo farre as my Coine would

ſtretch, and where it would not, I haue vs’d my credit.

Fal.

Yea, and ſo vs’d it, that were it heere apparant,

that thou art Heire apparant. But I prythee ſweet Wag,

ſhall there be Gallowes ſtanding in England when thou

art King? and reſolution thus fobb’d as it is, with the ru-

ſtie curbe of old Father Anticke the Law? Doe not thou

when thou art a King, hang a Theefe.

Prin.

No, thou ſhalt.

Fal.

Shall I? O rare! Ile be a braue Iudge.

Prin.

Thou iudgeſt falſe already. I meane, thou ſhalt

haue the hanging of the Theeues, and ſo become a rare

Hangman.

Fal.

Well Hal, well: and in ſome ſort it iumpes with

my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I can tell

you.

Prin.

For obtaining of ſuites?

Fal.

Yea, for obtaining of ſuites, whereof the Hang-

man hath no leane Wardrobe. I am as Melancholly as a

Gyb-Cat, or a lugg’d Beare.

Prin.

Or an old Lyon, or a Louers Lute.

Fal.

Yea, or the Drone of a Lincolnſhire Bagpipe.

Prin.

What ſay’ſt thou to a Hare, or the Melancholly

of Moore Ditch?

Fal.

Thou haſt the moſt vnſauoury ſmiles, and art in-

deed the moſt comparatiue raſcalleſt ſweet yong Prince.

But Hal, I prythee trouble me no more with vanity, I wold

thou and I knew, where a Commodity of good names

were to be bought: an olde Lord of the Councell rated

me the other day in the ſtreet about you ſir; but I mark’d

him not, and yet hee talk’d very wiſely, but I regarded

him not, and yet he talkt wiſely, and in the ſtreet too.

Prin.

Thou didſt well: for no man regards it.

Fal.

O, thou haſt damnable iteration, and art indeede

able to corrupt a Saint. Thou haſt done much harme vn-

to me Hall, God forgiue thee for it. Before I knew thee

Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (if a man ſhold ſpeake

truly) little better then one of the wicked. I muſt giue o-

uer this life, and I will giue it ouer: and I do not, I am a

Villaine. Ile be damn’d for neuer a Kings ſonne in Chri-

ſtendome.

Prin.

Where ſhall we take a purſe to morrow, Iacke?

Fal.

Where thou wilt Lad, Ile make one: and I doe

not, call me Villaine, 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.

Pointz.

Now ſhall wee know if Gads hill haue ſet a

Watch. O, if men were to be ſaued by merit, what hole

in Hell were hot enough for him? This is the moſt omni-

potent Villaine, that euer cryed, Stand, to a true man.

Prin.

Good morrow Ned.

Poines.

Good morrow ſweet Hal. What ſaies Mon-

ſieur Remorſe? What ſayes Sir Iohn Sacke and Sugar:

Iacke? How agrees the Diuell and thee about thy Soule,

that thou ſoldeſt him on Good-Friday laſt, for a Cup of

Madera, and a cold Capons legge?

Prin.

Sir Iohn ſtands to his word, the diuel ſhall haue

his bargaine, for he was neuer yet a Breaker of Prouerbs:

He will giue the diuell his due.

Poin.

Then art thou damn’d for keeping thy word with

the diuell.

Prin.

Elſe he had damn’d for cozening the diuell.

Poy.

But my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by

foure a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes go-

ing to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders ri-

ding to London with fat Purſes. I haue vizards for you

all; you haue horſes for your ſelues: Gads-hill lyes to

night in Rocheſter, I haue beſpoke Supper to morrow in

Eaſtcheape; we may doe it as ſecure as ſleepe: if you will

go, I will ſtuffe your Purſes full of Crownes: if you will

not, tarry at home and be hang’d.

Fal.

Heare ye Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not,

Ile hang you for going.

Poy.

You will chops.

Fal.

Hal, wilt thou make one?

Prin.

Who, I rob? I a Theefe? Not I.

Fal.

There’s neither honeſty, manhood, nor good fel-

lowſhip in thee, nor thou cam’ſt not of the blood-royall,

if thou dar’ſt not ſtand for ten ſhillings.

Prin.

Well then, once in my dayes Ile be a mad-cap.

Fal.

Why, that’s well ſaid.

Prin.

Well, come what will, Ile tarry at home.

Fal.

Ile be a Traitor then, when thou art King.

Prin.

I care not.

Poyn.

Sir Iohn, I prythee leaue the Prince & me alone,

I will lay him downe ſuch reaſons for this aduenture, that

he ſhall go.

Fal.

Well, maiſt thou haue the Spirit of perſwaſion;

and he the eares of profiting, that what thou ſpeakeſt,

may moue; and what he heares may be beleeued, that the

true Prince, may (for recreation ſake) proue a falſe theefe;

for the poore abuſes of the time, want countenance. Far-

well, you ſhall finde me in Eaſtcheape.

Prin.

Farwell the latter Spring. Farewell Alhollown

Summer.

Poy.

Now, my good ſweet Hony Lord, ride with vs

to morrow. I haue a ieſt to execute, that I cannot man-

nage alone. Falſtaffe, Haruey, Roſſill, and Gads-hill, ſhall

robbe thoſe men that wee haue already way-layde, your

ſelfe and I, wil not be there: and when they haue the boo-

ty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my

ſhoulders.

Prin.

But how ſhal we part with them in ſetting forth?

Poyn.

Why, we wil ſet forth before or after them, and

appoint them a place of meeting, wherin it is at our plea-

ſure to faile; and then will they aduenture vppon the ex-

ploit themſelues, which they ſhall haue no ſooner atchie-

ued, but wee’l ſet vpon them.

Prin.

I, but tis like that they will know vs by our

horſes, by our habits, and by euery other appointment to

be our ſelues.

Poy.

Tut our horſes they ſhall not ſee, Ile tye them in

the wood, our vizards wee will change after wee leaue

them: and ſirrah, I haue Caſes of Buckram for the nonce,

to immaske our noted outward garments.

Prin.

But I doubt they will be too hard for vs.

Poin.

Well, for two of them, I know them to bee as

true bred Cowards as euer turn’d backe: and for the third

if he fight longer then he ſees reaſon, Ile forſwear Armes.

The vertue of this Ieſt will be, the incomprehenſible lyes

that this fat Rogue will tell vs, when we meete at Supper:

how thirty at leaſt he fought with, what Wardes, what

blowes, what extremities he endured; and in the reproofe

of this, lyes the ieſt.

Prin.

Well, Ile goe with thee, prouide vs all things

neceſſary, and meete me to morrow night in Eaſtcheape,

there Ile ſup. Farewell.

Poyn.

Farewell, my Lord.

Exit Pointz

Prin.

I know you all, and will a-while vphold

The vnyoak’d humor of your idleneſſe:

Yet heerein will I imitate the Sunne,

Who doth permit the baſe contagious cloudes

To ſmother vp his Beauty from the world,

That when he pleaſe againe to be himſelfe,

Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,

By breaking through the foule and vgly miſts

Of vapours, that did ſeeme to ſtrangle him.

If all the yeare were playing holidaies,

To ſport, would be as tedious as to worke;

But when they ſeldome come, they wiſht-for come,

And nothing pleaſeth but rare accidents.

So when this looſe behauiour I throw off,

And pay the debt I neuer promiſed;

By how much better then my word I am,

By ſo much ſhall I falſifie mens hopes,

And like bright Mettall on a ſullen ground:

My reformation glittering o’re my fault,

Shall ſhew more goodly, and attraƈt more eyes,

Then that which hath no foyle to ſet it off.

Ile ſo offend, to make offence a skill,

Redeeming time, when men thinke leaſt I will.

Scœna Tertia.

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worceſter, Hotſpurre, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.

King.

My blood hath beene too cold and temperate,

Vnapt to ſtirre at theſe indignities,

And you haue found me; for accordingly,

You tread vpon my patience: But be ſure,

I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe,

Mighty, and to be fear’d, then my condition

Which hath beene ſmooth as Oyle, ſoft as yong Downe,

And therefore loſt that Title of reſpeƈt,

Which the proud ſoule ne’re payes, but to the proud.

Wor.

Our houſe (my Soueraigne Liege) little deſerues

The ſcourge of greatneſſe to be vſed on it,

And that ſame greatneſſe too, which our owne hands

Haue holpe 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 Maieſtie might neuer yet endure

The moody Frontier of a ſeruant brow,

You haue good leaue to leaue vs. When we need

Your vſe and counſell, we ſhall ſend for you.

You were about to ſpeake.

North.

Yea, my good Lord.

Thoſe Priſoners in your Highneſſe demanded,

Which Harry Percy heere at Holmedon tooke,

Were (as he ſayes) not with ſuch ſtrength denied

As was deliuered to your Maieſty:

Who either through enuy, or miſpriſion,

Was guilty of this fault; and not my Sonne.

Hot.

My Liege, I did deny no Priſoners.

But, I remember when the fight was done,

When I was dry with Rage, and extreame Toyle,

Breathleſſe, and Faint, leaning vpon my Sword,

Came there a certaine Lord, neat and trimly dreſt;

Freſh as a Bride-groome, and his Chin new reapt,

Shew’d like a ſtubble Land at Harueſt home.

He was perfumed like a Milliner,

And ’twixt his Finger and his Thumbe, he held

A Pouncet-box: which euer and anon

He gaue his Noſe, and took’t away againe:

Who therewith angry, when it next came there,

Tooke it in Snuffe. And ſtill he ſmil’d and talk’d:

And as the Souldiers bare dead bodies by,

He call’d them vntaught Knaues, Vnmannerly,

To bring a ſlouenly vnhandſome Coarſe

Betwixt the Winde, and his Nobility.

With many Holiday and Lady tearme

He queſtion’d me: Among the reſt, demanded

My Priſoners, in your Maieſties behalfe.

I then, all-ſmarting, with my wounds being cold,

(To be ſo peſtered with a Popingay)

Out of my Greefe, and my Impatience,

Anſwer’d (negleƈtingly) I know not what,

He ſhould, or ſhould not: For he made me mad,

To ſee him ſhine ſo briske, and ſmell ſo ſweet,

And talke ſo like a Waiting-Gentlewoman,

Of Guns, & Drums, and Wounds: God ſaue the marke;

And telling me, the Soueraign’ſt thing on earth

Was Parmacity, for an inward bruiſe:

And that it was great pitty, ſo it was,

That villanous Salt-peter ſhould be digg’d

Out of the Bowels of the harmleſſe Earth,

Which many a good Tall Fellow had deſtroy’d

So Cowardly. And but for theſe vile Gunnes,

He would himſelfe haue beene a Souldier.

This bald, vnioynted Chat of his (my Lord)

Made me to anſwer indireƈtly (as I ſaid.)

And I beſeech you, let not this report

Come currant for an Accuſation,

Betwixt my Loue, and your high Maieſty.

Blunt.

The circumſtance conſidered, good my Lord,

What euer Harry Percie then had ſaid,

To ſuch a perſon, and in ſuch a place,

At ſuch a time, with all the reſt retold,

May reaſonably dye, and neuer riſe

To do him wrong, or any way impeach

What then he ſaid, ſo he vnſay it now.

King.

Why yet doth deny his Priſoners,

But with Prouiſo and Exception,

That we at our owne charge, ſhall ranſome ſtraight

His Brother-in-Law, the fooliſh Mortimer,

Who (in my ſoule) hath wilfully betraid

The liues of thoſe, that he did leade to Fight,

Againſt the great Magitian, damn’d Glendower:

Whoſe daughter (as we heare) the Earle of March

Hath lately married. Shall our Coffers then,

Be emptied, to redeeme a Traitor home?

Shall we buy Treaſon? and indent with Feares,

When they haue loſt and forfeyted themſelues.

No: on the barren Mountaine let him ſterue:

For I ſhall neuer hold that man my Friend,

Whoſe tongue ſhall aske me for one peny coſt

To ranſome home reuolted Mortimer.

Hot.

Reuolted Mortimer?

He neuer did fall off, my Soueraigne Liege,

But by the chance of Warre: to proue that true,

Needs no more but one tongue. For all thoſe Wounds,

Thoſe mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he tooke,

When on the gentle Seuernes ſiedgie banke,

In ſingle Oppoſition hand to hand,

He did confound the beſt part of an houre

In changing hardiment with great Glendower:

Three times they breath’d, and three times did they drink

Vpon agreement, of ſwift Seuernes flood;

Who then affrighted with their bloody lookes,

Ran fearefully among the trembling Reeds,

And hid his criſpe-head in the hollow banke,

Blood-ſtained with theſe Valiant Combatants.

Neuer did baſe and rotten Policy

Colour her working with ſuch deadly wounds;

Nor neuer could the Noble Mortimer

Receiue ſo many, and all willingly:

Then let him not be ſland’red with Reuolt.

King.

Thou do’ſt bely him Percy, thou doſt bely him;

He neuer did encounter with Glendower:

I tell thee, he durſt as well haue met the diuell alone,

As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art thou not aſham’d? But Sirrah, henceforth

Let me not heare you ſpeake of Mortimer.

Send me your Priſoners with the ſpeedieſt meanes,

Or you ſhall heare in ſuch a kinde from me

As will diſpleaſe ye. My Lord Northumberland,

We Licenſe your departure with your ſonne,

Send vs your Priſoners, or you’l heare of it.

Exit King.

Hot.

And if the diuell come and roare for 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? drunke with choller? ſtay & pauſe awhile,

Heere comes your Vnckle.

Enter Worceſter.

Hot.

Speake of Mortimer?

Yes, I will ſpeake of him, and let my ſoule

Want mercy, if I do not ioyne with him.

In his behalfe, Ile empty all theſe Veines,

And ſhed my deere blood drop by drop i’th duſt,

But I will lift the downfall Mortimer

As high i’th Ayre, as this Vnthankfull King,

As this Ingrate and Cankred Bullingbrooke.

Nor.

Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad

Wor.

Who ſtrooke this heate vp after I was gone?

Hot.

He will (forſooth) haue all my Priſoners:

And when I vrg’d the ranſom once againe

Of my Wiues Brother, then his cheeke look’d pale,

And on my face he turn’d an eye of death,

Trembling euen at the name of Mortimer.

Wor.

I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim’d

By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?

Nor.

He was: I heard the Proclamation,

And then it was, when the vnhappy King

(Whoſe wrongs in vs God pardon) did ſet forth

Vpon his Iriſh Expedition:

From whence he intercepted, did returne

To be depos’d, and ſhortly murthered.

Wor.

And for whoſe death, we in the worlds wide mouth

Liue ſcandaliz’d, and fouly ſpoken of.

Hot.

But ſoft I pray you; did King Richard then

Proclaime my brother Mortimer,

Heyre to the Crowne?

Nor.

He did, my ſelfe did heare it.

Hot.

Nay then I cannot blame his Couſin King,

That wiſh’d him on the barren Mountaines ſtaru’d.

But ſhall it be, that you that ſet the Crowne

Vpon the head of this forgetfull man,

And for his ſake, wore the deteſted blot

Of murtherous ſubornation? Shall it be,

That you a world of curſes vndergoe,

Being the Agents, or baſe ſecond meanes,

The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?

O pardon, if that I deſcend ſo low,

To ſhew the Line, and the Predicament

Wherein you range vnder this ſubtill King.

Shall it for ſhame, be ſpoken in theſe dayes,

Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come,

That men of your Nobility and Power,

Did gage them both in an vniuſt behalfe

(As Both of you, God pardon it, haue done)

To put downe Richard, that ſweet louely Roſe,

And plant this Thorne, this Canker Bullingbrooke?

And ſhall it in more ſhame be further ſpoken,

That you are fool’d, diſcarded, and ſhooke off

By him, for whom theſe ſhames ye vnderwent?

No: yet time ſerues, wherein you may redeeme

Your baniſh’d Honors, and reſtore your ſelues

Into the good Thoughts of the world againe.

Reuenge the geering and diſdain’d contempt

Of this proud King, who ſtudies day and night

To anſwer all the Debt he owes vnto you,

Euen with the bloody Payment of your deaths:

Therefore I ſay —

Wor.

Peace Couſin, ſay no more.

And now I will vnclaspe a Secret booke,

And to your quicke conceyuing Diſcontents,

Ile reade you Matter, deepe and dangerous,

As full of perill and aduenturous Spirit,

As to o’re-walke a Current, roaring loud

On the vnſtedfaſt footing of a Speare.

Hot.

If he fall in, good night, or ſinke or ſwimme:

Send danger from the Eaſt vnto the Weſt,

So Honor croſſe it from the North to South,

And let them grapple: The blood more ſtirres

To rowze a Lyon, then to ſtart a Hare.

Nor.

Imagination of ſome great exploit,

Driues him beyond the bounds of Patience.

Hot.

By heauen, me thinkes it were an eaſie leap,

To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac’d Moone,

Or diue into the bottome of the deepe,

Where Fadome-line could neuer touch the ground,

And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes:

So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weare

Without Co-riuall, all her Dignities:

But out vpon this halfe-fac’d Fellowſhip.

Wor.

He apprehends a World of Figures here,

But not the forme of what he ſhould attend:

Good Couſin giue me audience for a-while,

And liſt to me.

Hot.

I cry you mercy.

Wor.

Thoſe ſame Noble Scottes

That are your Priſoners.

Hot.

Ile keepe them all.

By heauen, he ſhall not haue a Scot of them:

No, if a Scot would ſaue his Soule, he ſhall not.

Ile keepe them, by this Hand.

Wor.

You ſtart away,

And lend no eare vnto my purpoſes.

Thoſe Priſoners you ſhall keepe.

Hot.

Nay, I will: that’s flat:

He ſaid, he would not ranſome Mortimer:

Forbad my tongue to ſpeake of Mortimer.

But I will finde him when he lyes aſleepe,

And in his eare, Ile holla Mortimer.

Nay, Ile haue a Starling ſhall be taught to ſpeake

Nothing but Mortimer, and giue it him,

To keepe his anger ſtill in motion.

Wor.

Heare you Couſin: a word.

Hot.

All ſtudies heere I ſolemnly defie,

Saue how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrooke,

And that ſame Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales.

But that I thinke his Father loues him not,

And would be glad he met with ſome miſchance,

I would haue poyſon’d him with a pot of Ale.

Wor.

Farewell Kinſman: Ile talke to you

When you are better temper’d to attend.

Nor.

Why what a Waſpe-tongu’d & impatient foole

Art thou, to breake into this Womans mood,

Tying thine eare to no tongue but thine owne?

Hot.

Why look you, I am whipt & ſcourg’d with rods,

Netled, and ſtung with Piſmires, when I heare

Of this vile Politician Bullingbrooke.

In Richards time: What de’ye call the place?

A plague vpon’t, it is in Glouſterſhire:

’Twas, where the madcap Duke his Vncle kept,

His Vncle Yorke, where I firſt bow’d my knee

Vnto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbrooke:

When you and he came backe from Rauenſpurgh.

Nor.

At Barkley Caſtle.

Hot.

You ſay true:

Why what a caudie deale of curteſie,

This fawning Grey-hound then did proffer me,

Looke when his infant Fortune came to age,

And gentle Harry Percy, and kinde Couſin:

O, the Diuell take ſuch Couzeners, God forgiue me,

Good Vncle tell your tale, for I haue done.

Wor.

Nay, if you haue not, too’t againe,

Wee’l ſtay your leyſure.

Hot.

I haue done inſooth.

Wor.

Then once more to your Scottiſh Priſoners.

Deliuer them vp without their ranſome ſtraight,

And make the Dowglas ſonne your onely meane

For powres in Scotland: which for diuers reaſons

Which I ſhall ſend you written, be aſſur’d

Will eaſily be granted you, my Lord.

Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imploy’d,

Shall ſecretly into the boſome creepe

Of that ſame noble Prelate, well belou’d,

The Archbiſhop.

Hot.

Of Yorke, is’t not?

Wor.

True, who beares hard

His Brothers death at Briſtow, the Lord Scroope.

I ſpeake not this in eſtimation,

As what I thinke might be, but what I know

Is ruminated, plotted, and ſet downe,

And onely ſtayes but to behold the face

Of that occaſion that ſhall bring it on.

Hot.

I ſmell it:

Vpon my life, it will do wond’rous well.

Nor.

Before the game’s a-foot, thou ſtill let’ſt ſlip.

Hot.

Why, it cannot chooſe but be a Noble plot,

And then the power of Scotland, and of Yorke

To ioyne with Mortimer, Ha.

Wor.

And ſo they ſhall.

Hot.

Infaith it is exceedingly well aym’d.

Wor.

And ’tis no little reaſon bids vs ſpeed,

To ſaue our heads, by raiſing of a Head:

For, beare our ſelues as euen as we can,

The King will alwayes thinke him in our debt,

And thinke, we thinke our ſelues vnſatisfied,

Till he hath found a time to pay vs home.

And ſee already, how he doth beginne

To make vs ſtrangers to his lookes of loue.

Hot.

He does, he does; wee’l be reueng’d on him.

Wor.

Couſin, farewell. No further go in this,

Then I by Letters ſhall direƈt your courſe

When time is ripe, which will be ſodainly:

Ile ſteale to Glendower, and loe, Mortimer,

Where you, and Dowglas, and our powres at once,

As I will faſhion it, ſhall happily meete,

To beare our fortunes in our owne ſtrong armes,

Which now we hold at much vncertainty.

Nor.

Farewell good Brother, we ſhall thriue, I truſt.

Hot.

Vncle, adieu: O let the houres be ſhort,

Till fields, and blowes, and grones, applaud our ſport.

exit

Aƈtus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Aƈtus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand.

1. Car.

Heigh-ho, an’t be not foure by the day, Ile be

hang’d. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet

our horſe not packt. What Oſtler?

Oſt.

Anon, anon.

1. Car.

I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few

Flockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the wi-

thers, out of all ceſſe.

Enter another Carrier.

2. Car.

Peaſe and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog,

and this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes:

This houſe is turned vpſide downe ſince Robin the Oſtler

dyed.

1. Car.

Poore fellow neuer ioy’d ſince the price of oats

roſe, it was the death of him.

2. Car.

I thinke this is the moſt villanous houſe in al

London rode for Fleas: I am ſtung like a Tench.

1. Car.

Like a Tench? There is ne’re a King in Chri-

ſtendome, could be better bit, then I haue beene ſince the

firſt Cocke.

2. Car.

Why, you will allow vs ne’re a Iourden, and

then we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye

breeds Fleas like a Loach.

1. Car.

What Oſtler, come away, and be hangd: come

away.

2. Car.

I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of

Ginger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-croſſe.

1. Car.

The Turkies in my Pannier are quite ſtarued.

What Oſtler? A plague on thee, haſt thou neuer an eye in

thy head? Can’ſt not heare? And t’were not as good a

deed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Vil-

laine. Come and be hang’d, haſt no faith in thee?

Enter Gads-hill.

Gad.

Good-morrow Carriers. What’s a clocke?

Car.

I thinke it be two a clocke.

Gad.

I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to ſee my Gel-

ding in the ſtable.

1. Car.

Nay ſoft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two

of that.

Gad.

I prethee lend me thine.

2. Car.

I, when, canſt tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne

(quoth-a) marry Ile ſee thee hang’d firſt.

Gad.

Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come

to London?

2. Car.

Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I

warrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee’ll call vp

the Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they

haue great charge.

Exeunt

Enter Chamberlaine.

Gad.

What ho, Chamberlaine?

Cham.

At hand quoth Pick-purſe.

Gad.

That’s euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Cham-

berlaine: For thou varieſt no more from picking of Pur-

ſes, then giuing direƈtion, doth from labouring. Thou

lay’ſt the plot, how.

Cham.

Good morrow Maſter Gads-Hill, it holds cur-

rant that I told you yeſternight. There’s a Franklin in the

wilde of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes with

him in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company laſt

night at Supper; a kinde of Auditor, one that hath abun-

dance of charge too (God knowes what) they are vp al-

ready, and call for Egges and Butter. They will away

preſently.

Gad.

Sirra, if they meete not with S. Nicholas Clarks,

Ile giue thee this necke.

Cham.

No, Ile none of it: I prythee keep that for the

Hangman, for I know thou worſhipſt S. Nicholas as tru-

ly as a man of falſhood may.

Gad.

What talkeſt thou to me of the Hangman? If I

hang, Ile make a fat payre of Gallowes. For, if I hang,

old Sir Iohn hangs with mee, and thou know’ſt hee’s no

Starueling. Tut, there are other Troians that ӳ dream’ſt

not of, the which (for ſport ſake) are content to doe the

Profeſſion ſome grace; that would (if matters ſhould bee

look’d into) for their owne Credit ſake, make all Whole.

I am ioyned with no Foot-land-Rakers, No Long-ſtaffe

ſix-penny ſtrikers, none of theſe mad Muſtachio-purple-

hu’d-Maltwormes, but with Nobility, and Tranquilitie;

Bourgomaſters, and great Oneyers, ſuch as can holde in,

ſuch as will ſtrike ſooner then ſpeake; and ſpeake ſooner

then drinke, and drinke ſooner then pray: and yet I lye,

for they pray continually vnto their Saint the Common-

wealth; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: for

they ride vp & downe on her, and make hir their Boots.

Cham.

What, the Commonwealth their Bootes? Will

ſhe hold out water in foule way?

Gad.

She will, ſhe will; Iuſtice hath liquor’d her. We

ſteale as in a Caſtle, cockſure: we haue the receit of Fern-

ſeede, we walke inuiſible.

Cham.

Nay, I thinke rather, you are more beholding

to the Night, then to the Fernſeed, for your walking in-

uiſible.

Gad.

Giue me thy hand.

Thou ſhalt haue a ſhare in our purpoſe,

As I am a true man.

Cham.

Nay, rather let mee haue it, as you are a falſe

Theefe.

Gad.

Goe too: Homo is a common name to all men.

Bid the Oſtler bring the Gelding out of the ſtable. Fare-

well, ye muddy Knaue.

Exeunt.

Scœna Secunda.

Enter Prince, Poynes, and Peto.

Poines.

Come ſhelter, ſhelter, I haue remoued Falſtafs

Horſe, and he frets like a gum’d Veluet.

Prin.

Stand cloſe.

Enter Falſtaffe.

Fal.

Poines, Poines, and be hang’d Poines.

Prin.

Peace ye fat-kidney’d Raſcall, what a brawling

doſt thou keepe.

Fal.

What Poines. Hal?

Prin.

He is walk’d vp to the top of the hill, Ile go ſeek

him.

Fal.

I am accurſt to rob in that Theefe company: that

Raſcall hath remoued my Horſe, and tied him I know not

where. If I trauell but foure foot by the ſquire further a

foote, I ſhall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but

to dye a faire death for all this, if I ſcape hanging for kil-

ing that Rogue, I haue forſworne his company hourely

any time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht

with the Rogues company. If the Raſcall haue not giuen

me medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang’d; it could

not be elſe: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, a

Plague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile ſtarue ere I

rob a foote further. And ’twere not as good a deede as to

drinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue theſe Rogues, I

am the verieſt Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth.

Eight yards of vneuen ground, is threeſcore & ten miles

afoot with me: and the ſtony-hearted Villaines knowe it

well enough. A plague vpon’t, when Theeues cannot be

true one to another.

They Whiſtle.

Whew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horſe you

Rogues: giue me my Horſe, and be hang’d.

Prin.

Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare

cloſe to the ground, and liſt if thou can heare the tread of

Trauellers.

Fal.

Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being

downe? Ile not beare mine owne fleſh ſo far afoot again,

for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague

meane ye to colt me thus?

Prin.

Thou ly’ſt, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted.

Fal.

I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horſe,

good Kings ſonne.

Prin.

Out you Rogue, ſhall I be your Oſtler?

Fal.

Go hang thy ſelfe in thine owne heire-apparant-

Garters: If I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue not

Ballads made on all, and ſung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of

Sacke be my poyſon: when a ieſt is ſo forward, & a foote

too, I hate it.

Enter Gads-hill.

Gad.

Stand.

Fal.

So I do againſt my will.

Poin.

O ’tis our Setter, I know his voyce:

Bardolfe, what newes?

Bar.

Caſe ye, caſe ye; on with your Vizards, there’s

mony of the Kings comming downe the hill, ’tis going

to the Kings Exchequer.

Fal.

You lie you rogue, ’tis going to the Kings Tauern.

Gad.

There’s enough to make vs all.

Fal.

To be hang’d.

Prin.

You foure ſhall front them in the narrow Lane:

Ned and I, will walke lower; if they ſcape from your en-

counter, then they light on vs.

Peto.

But how many be of them?

Gad.

Some eight or ten.

Fal.

Will they not rob vs?

Prin.

What, a Coward Sir Iohn Paunch?

Fal.

Indeed I am not Iohn of Gaunt your Grandfather;

but yet no Coward, Hal.

Prin.

Wee’l leaue that to the proofe.

Poin.

Sirra Iacke, thy horſe ſtands behinde the hedg,

when thou need’ſt him, there thou ſhalt finde him. Fare-

well, and ſtand faſt.

Fal.

Now cannot I ſtrike him, if I ſhould be hang’d.

Prin.

Ned, where are our diſguiſes?

Poin.

Heere hard by: Stand cloſe.

Fal.

Now my Maſters, happy man be his dole, ſay I:

euery man to his buſineſſe.

Enter Trauellers.

Tra.

Come Neighbor: the boy ſhall leade our Horſes

downe the hill: Wee’l walke a-foot a while, and eaſe our

Legges.

Theeues.

Stay.

Tra.

Ieſu bleſſe vs.

Fal.

Strike down with them, cut the villains throats;

a whorſon Caterpillars: Bacon-fed Knaues, they hate vs

youth; downe with them, fleece them.

Tra.

O, we are vndone, both we and ours for euer.

Fal.

Hang ye gorbellied knaues, are you vndone? No

ye Fat Chuffes, I would your ſtore were heere. On Ba-

cons, on, what ye knaues? Yong men muſt liue, you are

Grand Iurers, are ye? Wee’l iure ye ifaith.

Heere they rob them, and binde them. Enter the Prince and Poines.

Prin.

The Theeues haue bound the True-men: Now

could thou and I rob the Theeues, and go merily to Lon-

don, it would be argument for a Weeke, Laughter for a

Moneth, and a good ieſt for euer.

Poynes.

Stand cloſe, I heare them comming.

Enter Theeues againe.

Fal.

Come my Maſters, let vs ſhare, and then to horſſe

before day: and the Prince and Poynes bee not two ar-

rand Cowards, there’s no equity ſtirring. There’s no moe

valour in that Poynes, than in a wilde Ducke.

Prin.

Your money.

Poin.

Villaines.

As they are ſharing, the Prince and Poynes ſet vpon them.
They all run away, leauing the booty behind them.
Prince.

Got with much eaſe. Now merrily to Horſe:

The Theeues are ſcattred, and poſſeſt with fear ſo ſtrong-

ly, that they dare not meet each other: each takes his fel-

low for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falſtaffe ſweates to

death, and Lards the leane earth as he walkes along: wer’t

not for laughing, I ſhould pitty him.

Poin.

How the Rogue roar’d.

Exeunt.

Scœna Tertia.

Enter Hotſpurre ſolus, reading a Letter.

But for mine owne part, my Lord. I could bee well contented to

be there, in reſpeƈt of the loue I beare your houſe.

He could be contented: Why is he not then? in reſpeƈt of

the loue he beares our houſe. He ſhewes in this, he loues

his owne Barne better then he loues our houſe. Let me

ſee ſome more. The purpoſe you vndertake is dangerous.

Why that’s certaine: ’Tis dangerous to take a Colde, to

ſleepe, to drinke: but I tell you (my Lord foole) out of

this Nettle, Danger; we plucke this Flower, Safety. The

purpoſe you vndertake is dangerous, the Friends you haue na-

med vncertaine, the Time it ſelfe vnſorted, and your whole

Plot too light, for the counterpoize of ſo great an Oppoſition.

Say you ſo, ſay you ſo: I ſay vnto you againe, you are a

ſhallow cowardly Hinde, and you Lye. What a lacke-

braine is this? I proteſt, our plot is as good a plot as euer

was laid; our Friend true and conſtant: A good Plotte,

good Friends, and full of expeƈtation: An excellent plot,

very good Friends. What a Froſty-ſpirited rogue is this?

Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot, and the

generall courſe of the aƈtion. By this hand, if I were now

by this Raſcall, I could braine him with his Ladies Fan.

Is there not my Father, my Vncle, and my Selfe, Lord

Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of Yorke, and Owen Glendour?

Is there not beſides, the Dowglas? Haue I not all their let-

ters, to meete me in Armes by the ninth of the next Mo-

neth? and are they not ſome of them ſet forward already?

What a Pagan Raſcall is this? An Infidell. Ha, you ſhall

ſee now in very ſincerity of Feare and Cold heart, will he

to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could

diuide my ſelfe, and go to buffets, for mouing ſuch a diſh

of skim’d Milk with ſo honourable an Aƈtion. Hang him,

let him tell the King we are prepared. I will ſet forwards

to night.

Enter his Lady.

How now Kate, I muſt leaue you within theſe two hours.

La.

O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?

For what offence haue I this fortnight bin

A baniſh’d woman from my Harries bed?

Tell me (ſweet Lord) what is’t that takes from thee

Thy ſtomacke, pleaſure, and thy golden ſleepe?

Why doſt thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth?

And ſtart ſo often when thou ſitt’ſt alone?

Why haſt thou loſt the freſh blood in thy cheekes?

And giuen my Treaſures and my rights of thee,

To thicke-ey’d muſing, and curſt melancholly?

In my faint-ſlumbers, I by thee haue watcht,

And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres:

Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed,

Cry courage to the field. And thou haſt talk’d

Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents,

Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets,

Of Baſiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin,

Of Priſoners ranſome, and of Souldiers ſlaine,

And all the current of a headdy fight.

Thy ſpirit within thee hath beene ſo at Warre,

And thus hath ſo beſtirr’d thee in thy ſleepe,

That beds of ſweate hath ſtood vpon thy Brow,

Like bubbles in a late-diſturbed Streame;

And in thy face ſtrange motions haue appear’d,

Such as we ſee when men reſtraine their breath

On ſome great ſodaine haſt. O what portents are theſe?

Some heauie buſineſſe hath my Lord in hand,

And I muſt know it: elſe he loues me not.

Hot.

What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?

Ser.

He is my Lord, an houre agone.

Hot.

Hath Butler brought thoſe horſes frō the Sheriffe?

Ser.

One horſe, my Lord, he brought euen now.

Hot.

What Horſe? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not.

Ser.

It is my Lord.

Hot.

That Roane ſhall be my Throne. Well, I will

backe him ſtraight. Eſperance, bid Butler lead him forth

into the Parke.

La.

But heare you, my lord.

Hot.

What ſay’ſt thou my Lady?

La.

What is it carries you away?

Hot.

Why, my horſe (my Loue) my horſe.

La.

Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath not

ſuch a deale of Spleene, as you are toſt with. In ſooth Ile

know your buſineſſe Harry, that I will. I feare my Bro-

ther Mortimer doth ſtirre about his Title, and hath ſent

for you to line his enterprize. But if you go —

Hot.

So farre a foot, I ſhall be weary, Loue.

La.

Come, come, you Paraquito, anſwer me direƈtly

vnto this queſtion, that I ſhall aske. Indeede Ile breake

thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true.

Hot.

Away, away you trifler: Loue, I loue thee not,

I care not for thee Kate: this is no world

To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips.

We muſt haue bloodie Noſes, and crack’d Crownes,

And paſſe them currant too. Gods me, my horſe.

What ſay’ſt thou Kate? what wold’ſt thou haue with me?

La.

Do ye not loue me? Do ye not indeed?

Well, do not then. For ſince you loue me not,

I will not loue my ſelfe. Do you not loue me?

Nay, tell me if thou ſpeak’ſt in ieſt, or no.

Hot.

Come, wilt thou ſee me ride?

And when I am a horſebacke, I will ſweare

I loue thee infinitely. But hearke you Kate,

I muſt not haue you henceforth, queſtion me,

Whether I go: nor reaſon whereabout.

Whether I muſt, I muſt: and to conclude,

This Euening muſt I leaue thee, gentle Kate.

I know you wiſe, but yet no further wiſe

Then Harry Percies wife. Conſtant you are,

But yet a woman: and for ſecrecie,

No Lady cloſer. For I will beleeue

Thou wilt not vtter what thou do’ſt not know,

And ſo farre wilt I truſt thee, gentle Kate.

La.

How ſo farre?

Hot.

Not an inch further. But harke you Kate,

Whither 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

Scena Quarta.

Enter Prince and Poines.

Prin.

Ned, prethee come out of that fat roome, & lend

me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poines.

Where haſt bene Hall?

Prin.

With three or foure Logger-heads, amongſt 3.

or foureſcore Hogſheads. I haue ſounded the verie baſe

ſtring of humility. Sirra, I am ſworn brother to a leaſh of

Drawers, and can call them by their names, as Tom, Dicke,

and Francis. They take it already vpon their confidence,

that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King

of Curteſie: telling me flatly I am no proud Iack like Fal-

ſtaffe, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, and

when I am King of England, I ſhall command al the good

Laddes in Eaſt-cheape. They call drinking deepe, dy-

ing Scarlet; and when you breath in your watering, then

they cry hem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am

ſo good a proficient in one quarter of an houre, that I can

drinke with any Tinker in his owne Language during my

life. I tell thee Ned, thou haſt loſt much honor, that thou

wer’t not with me in this aƈtion: but ſweet Ned, to ſwee-

ten which name of Ned, I giue thee this peniworth of Su-

gar, clapt euen now into my hand by an vnder Skinker,

one that neuer ſpake other Engliſh in his life, then Eight

ſhillings and ſix pence, and, You are welcome: with this ſhril

addition, Anon, Anon ſir, Score a Pint of Baſtard in the

Halfe Moone, or ſo. But Ned, to driue away time till Fal-

ſtaffe come, I prythee doe thou ſtand in ſome by-roome,

while I queſtion my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaue

me the Sugar, and do neuer leaue calling Francis, that his

Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: ſtep aſide, and Ile

ſhew thee a Preſident.

Poines.

Francis.

Prin.

Thou art perfeƈt.

Poin.

Francis.

Enter Drawer.

Fran.

Anon, anon ſir; looke downe into the Pomgar-

net, Ralfe.

Prince.

Come hither Francis.

Fran.

My Lord.

Prin.

How long haſt thou to ſerue, Francis?

Fran.

Forſooth fiue yeares, and as much as to —

Poin.

Francis.

Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

Prin.

Fiue yeares: Berlady a long Leaſe for the clin-

king of Pewter. But Francis, dareſt thou be ſo valiant, as

to play the coward with thy Indenture, & ſhew it a faire

paire of heeles, and run from it?

Fran.

O Lord ſir, Ile be ſworne vpon all the Books in

England, I could finde in my heart.

Poin.

Francis.

Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

Prin.

How old art thou, Francis?

Fran.

Let me ſee, about Michaelmas next I ſhalbe —

Poin.

Francis.

Fran.

Anon ſir, pray you ſtay a little, my Lord.

Prin.

Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou

gaueſt me, ’twas a penyworth, was’t not?

Fran.

O Lord ſir, I would it had bene two.

Prin.

I will giue thee for it a thouſand pound: Aske

me when thou wilt, and thou ſhalt haue it.

Poin.

Francis.

Fran.

Anon, anon.

Prin.

Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Fran-

cis: or Francis, on thurſday: or indeed Francis when thou

wilt. But Francis.

Fran.

My Lord.

Prin.

Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Chriſtall

button, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke ſtocking, Caddice

garter, Smooth tongue, Spaniſh pouch.

Fran.

O Lord ſir, who do you meane?

Prin.

Why then your browne Baſtard is your onely

drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doub-

let will ſulley. In Barbary ſir, it cannot come to ſo much.

Fran.

What ſir?

Poin.

Francis.

Prin.

Away you Rogue, doſt thou heare them call?

Heere they both call him, the Drawer ſtands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint.

What, ſtand’ſt thou ſtill, and hear’ſt ſuch a cal-

ling? Looke to the Gueſts within: My Lord, olde Sir

Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: ſhall I let

them in?

Prin.

Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore.

Poines.

Enter Poines.

Poin.

Anon, anon ſir.

Prin.

Sirra, Falſtaffe and the reſt of the Theeues, are at

the doore, ſhall we be merry?

Poin.

As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee,

What cunning match haue you made this ieſt of the

Drawer? Come, what’s the iſſue?

Prin.

I am now of all humors, that haue ſhewed them-

ſelues humors, ſince the old dayes of goodman Adam, to

the pupill age of this preſent twelue a clock at midnight.

What’s a clocke Francis?

Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

Prin.

That euer this Fellow ſhould haue fewer words

then a Parret, and yet the ſonne of a Woman. His indu-

ſtry is vp-ſtaires and down-ſtaires, his eloquence the par-

cell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hot-

ſpurre of the North, he that killes me ſome ſixe or ſeauen

dozen of Scots at a Breakfaſt, waſhes his hands, and ſaies

to his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my

ſweet Harry ſayes ſhe, how many haſt thou kill’d to day?

Giue my Roane horſe a drench (ſayes hee) and anſweres,

ſome fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee

call in Falſtaffe, Ile play Percy, and that damn’d Brawne

ſhall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Riuo, ſayes the drun-

kard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.

Enter Falſtaffe.

Poin.

Welcome Iacke, where haſt thou beene?

Fal.

A plague of all Cowards I ſay, and a Vengeance

too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere

I leade this life long, Ile ſowe nether ſtockes, and mend

them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup of

Sacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant?

Prin.

Didſt thou neuer ſee Titan kiſſe a diſh of Butter,

pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the ſweete Tale of

the Sunne? If thou didſt, then behold that compound.

Fal.

You Rogue, heere’s Lime in this Sacke too: there

is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet

a Coward is worſe then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil-

lanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou

wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the

face of the earth, then am I a ſhotten Herring: there liues

not three good men vnhang’d in England, & one of them

is fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad world I

ſay. I would I were a Weauer, I could ſing all manner of

ſongs. A plague of all Cowards, I ſay ſtill.

Prin.

How now Woolſacke, what mutter you?

Fal.

A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy

Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Sub-

ieƈts afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geeſe, Ile neuer

weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales?

Prin.

Why you horſon round man? what’s the matter?

Fal.

Are you not a Coward? Anſwer me to that, and

Poines there?

Prin.

Ye fatch paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ile

ſtab thee.

Fal.

I call thee Coward? Ile ſee thee damn’d ere I call

the Coward: but I would giue a thouſand pound I could

run as faſt as thou canſt. You are ſtraight enough in the

ſhoulders, you care not who ſees your backe: Call you

that backing of your friends? a plague vpon ſuch bac-

king: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cup

of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day.

Prince.

O Villaine, thy Lippes are ſcarce wip’d, ſince

thou drunk’ſt laſt.

Falſt.

All’s one for that.

He drinkes.

A plague of all Cowards ſtill, ſay I.

Prince.

What’s the matter?

Falſt.

What’s the matter? here be foure of vs, haue

ta’ne a thouſand pound this Morning.

Prince.

Where is it, Iack? where is it?

Falſt.

Where is it? taken from vs, it is: a hundred

vpon poore foure of vs.

Prince.

What, a hundred, man?

Falſt.

I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword with

a dozen of them two houres together. I haue ſcaped by

miracle. I am eight times thruſt through the Doublet,

foure through the Hoſe, my Buckler cut through and

through, my Sword hackt like a Hand-ſaw, ecce ſignum.

I neuer dealt better ſince I was a man: all would not doe.

A plague of all Cowards: let them ſpeake; if they ſpeake

more or leſſe then truth, they are villaines, and the ſonnes

of darkneſſe.

Prince.

Speake ſirs, how was it?

Gad.

We foure ſet vpon ſome dozen.

Falſt.

Sixteene, at leaſt, my Lord.

Gad.

And bound them.

Peto.

No, no, they were not bound.

Falſt.

You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of

them, or I am a Iew elſe, an Ebrew Iew.

Gad.

As we were ſharing, ſome ſixe or ſeuen freſh men

ſet vpon vs.

Falſt.

And vnbound the reſt, and then come in the

other.

Prince.

What, fought yee with them all?

Falſt.

All? I know not what yee call all: but if I

fought not with fiftie of them, I am a bunch of Radiſh:

if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde

Iack, then am I no two-legg’d Creature.

Poin.

Pray Heauen, you haue not murthered ſome of

them.

Falſt.

Nay, that’s paſt praying for, I haue pepper’d

two of them: Two I am ſure I haue payed, two Rogues

in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a

Lye, ſpit in my face, call me Horſe: thou knoweſt my olde

word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; foure Rogues

in Buckrom let driue at me.

Prince.

What, foure? thou ſayd’ſt but two, euen now.

Falſt.

Foure Hal, I told thee foure.

Poin.

I, I, he ſaid foure.

Falſt.

Theſe foure came all a-front, and mainely thruſt

at me; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their ſeuen

points in my Targuet, thus.

Prince.

Seuen? why there were but foure, euen now.

Falſt.

In Buckrom.

Poin.

I, foure, in Buckrom Sutes.

Falſt.

Seuen, by theſe Hilts, or I am a Villaine elſe.

Prin.

Prethee let him alone, we ſhall haue more anon.

Falſt.

Doeſt thou heare me, Hal?

Prin.

I, and marke thee too, Iack.

Falſt.

Doe ſo, for it is worth the liſtning too: theſe

nine in Buckrom, that I told thee of.

Prin.

So, two more alreadie.

Falſt.

Their Points being broken.

Poin.

Downe fell his Hoſe.

Falſt.

Began to giue me ground: but I followed me

cloſe, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, ſeuen of

the eleuen I pay’d.

Prin.

O monſtrous! eleuen Buckrom men growne

out of two?

Falſt.

But as the Deuill would haue it, three miſ-be-

gotten Knaues, in Kendall Greene, came at my Back, and

let driue at me; for it was ſo darke, Hal, that thou could’ſt

not ſee thy Hand.

Prin.

Theſe Lyes are like the Father that begets them,

groſſe as a Mountaine, open, palpable. Why thou Clay-

brayn’d Guts, thou Knotty-pated Foole, thou Horſon ob-

ſcene greaſie Tallow Catch.

Falſt.

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the

truth, the truth?

Prin.

Why, how could’ſt thou know theſe men in

Kendall Greene, when it was ſo darke, thou could’ſt not

ſee thy Hand? Come, tell vs your reaſon: what ſay’ſt thou

to this?

Poin.

Come, your reaſon Iack, your reaſon.

Falſt.

What, vpon compulſion? No: were I at the

Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not

tell you on compulſion. Giue you a reaſon on compulſi-

on? If Reaſons were as plentie as Black-berries, I would

giue no man a Reaſon vpon compulſion, I.

Prin.

Ile be no longer guiltie of this ſinne. This ſan-

guine Coward, this Bed-preſſer, this Horſ-back-breaker,

this huge Hill of Fleſh.

Falſt.

Away you Starueling, you Elfe-skin, you dried

Neats tongue, Bulles-piſſell, you ſtocke-fiſh: O for breth

to vtter. What is like thee? You Tailors yard, you ſheath

you Bow-caſe, you vile ſtanding tucke.

Prin.

Well, breath a-while, and then to’t againe: and

when thou haſt tyr’d thy ſelfe in baſe compariſons, heare

me ſpeake but thus.

Poin.

Marke Iacke.

Prin.

We two, ſaw you foure ſet on foure and bound

them, and were Maſters of their Wealth: mark now how

a plaine Tale ſhall put you downe. Then did we two, ſet

on you foure, and with a word, outfac’d you from your

prize, and haue it: yea, and can ſhew it you in the Houſe.

And Falſtaffe, you caried your Guts away as nimbly, with

as quicke dexteritie, and roared for mercy, and ſtill ranne

and roar’d, as euer I heard Bull-Calfe. What a Slaue art

thou, to hacke thy ſword as thou haſt done, and then ſay

it was in fight. What trick? what deuice? what ſtarting

hole canſt thou now find out, to hide thee from this open

and apparant ſhame?

Poines.

Come, let’s heare Iacke: What tricke haſt

thou now?

Fal.

I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why heare

ye my Maſters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant?

Should I turne vpon the true Prince? Why, thou knoweſt

I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware Inſtinƈt, the Lion

will not touch the true Prince: Inſtinƈt is a great matter.

I was a Coward on Inſtinƈt: I ſhall thinke the better of

my ſelfe, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion,

and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you haue

the Mony. Hoſteſſe, clap to the doores: watch to night,

pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boyes, Harts of Gold,

all the good Titles of Fellowſhip come to you. What,

ſhall we be merry? ſhall we haue a Play extempory.

Prin.

Content, and the argument ſhall be, thy runing

away.

Fal.

A, no more of that Hall, and thou loueſt me.

Enter Hoſteſſe.

Hoſt.

My Lord, the Prince?

Prin.

How now my Lady the Hoſteſſe, what ſay’ſt

thou to me?

Hoſteſſe.

Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble man of the

Court at doore would ſpeake with you: hee ſayes, hee

comes from your Father.

Prin.

Giue him as much as will make him a Royall

man, and ſend him backe againe to my Mother.

Falſt.

What manner of man is hee?

Hoſteſſe.

An old man.

Falſt.

What doth Grauitie out of his Bed at Midnight?

Shall I giue him his anſwere?

Prin.

Prethee doe Iacke.

Falſt.

’Faith, and Ile ſend him packing.

Exit.

Prince.

Now Sirs: you fought faire; ſo did you

Peto, ſo did you Bardol: you are Lyons too, you ranne

away vpon inſtinƈt: you will not touch the true Prince;

no, fie.

Bard.

’Faith, I ranne when I ſaw others runne.

Prin.

Tell mee now in earneſt, how came Falſtaffes

Sword ſo hackt?

Peto.

Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and ſaid, hee

would ſweare truth out of England, but hee would make

you beleeue it was done in fight, and perſwaded vs to doe

the like.

Bard.

Yea, and to tickle our Noſes with Spear-graſſe,

to make them bleed, and then to beſlubber our garments

with it, and ſweare it was the blood of true men. I did

that I did not this ſeuen yeeres before, I bluſht to heare

his monſtrous deuices.

Prin.

O Villaine, thou ſtoleſt a Cup of Sacke eigh-

teene yeeres agoe, and wert taken with the manner, and

euer ſince thou haſt bluſht extempore: thou hadſt fire

and ſword on thy ſide, and yet thou ranſt away; what

inſtinƈt hadſt thou for it?

Bard.

My Lord, doe you ſee theſe Meteors? doe you

behold theſe Exhalations?

Prin.

I doe.

Bard.

What thinke you they portend?

Prin.

Hot Liuers, and cold Purſes.

Bard.

Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.

Prin.

No, if rightly taken, Halter

Enter Falſtaffe.

Heere comes leane Iacke, heere comes bare-bone. How

now my ſweet Creature of Bombaſt, how long is’t agoe,

Iacke, ſince thou ſaw’ſt thine owne Knee?

Falſt.

My owne Knee? When I was about thy yeeres

(Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Waſte, I could

haue crept into any Aldermans Thumbe-Ring: a plague

of ſighing and griefe, it blowes a man vp like a Bladder.

There’s villanous Newes abroad: heere was Sir Iohn

Braby from your Father; you muſt goe to the Court in

the Morning. The ſame mad fellow of the North, Percy;

and hee of Wales, that gaue Amamon the Baſtinado,

and made Lucifer Cuckold, and ſwore the Deuill his true

Liege-man vpon the Croſſe of a Welch-hooke; what a

plague call you him?

Poin.

O, Glendower.

Falſt.

Owen, Owen; the ſame, and his Sonne in Law

Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the ſprightly

Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runnes a Horſe-backe vp a

Hill perpendicular.

Prin.

Hee that rides at high ſpeede, and with a Piſtoll

kills a Sparrow flying.

Falſt.

You haue hit it.

Prin.

So did he neuer the Sparrow.

Falſt.

Well, that Raſcall hath good mettall in him,

hee will not runne.

Prin.

Why, what a Raſcall art thou then, to prayſe him

ſo for running?

Falſt.

A Horſe-backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee will

not budge a foot.

Prin.

Yes Iacke, vpon inſtinƈt.

Falſt.

I grant ye, vpon inſtinƈt: Well, hee is there too,

and one Mordake, and a thouſand blew-Cappes more.

Worceſter is ſtolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is

turn’d white with the Newes; you may buy Land now

as cheape as ſtinking Mackrell.

Prin.

Then ’tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and this

ciuill buffetting hold, wee ſhall buy Maiden-heads as

they buy Hob-nayles, by the Hundreds.

Falſt.

By the Maſſe Lad, thou ſay’ſt true, it is like wee

ſhall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, art

not thou horrible afear’d? thou being Heire apparant,

could the World picke thee out three ſuch Enemyes a-

gaine, as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that

Deuill Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Doth

not thy blood thrill at it?

Prin.

Not a whit: I lacke ſome of thy inſtinƈt.

Falſt.

Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow,

when thou commeſt to thy Father: if thou doe loue me,

praƈtiſe an anſwere.

Prin.

Doe thou ſtand for my Father, and examine mee

vpon the particulars of my Life.

Falſt.

Shall I? content: This Chayre ſhall bee my

State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cuſhion my

Crowne.

Prin.

Thy State is taken for a Ioyn’d-Stoole, thy Gol-

den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich

Crowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne.

Falſt.

Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of

thee now ſhalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke

to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I

haue wept, for I muſt ſpeake in paſſion, and I will doe it

in King Cambyſes vaine.

Prin.

Well, heere is my Legge.

Falſt.

And heere is my ſpeech: ſtand aſide Nobilitie.

Hoſteſſe.

This is excellent ſport, yfaith.

Falſt.

Weepe not, ſweet Queene, for trickling teares

are vaine.

Hoſteſſe.

O the Father, how hee holdes his counte-

nance?

Falſt.

For Gods ſake Lords, conuey my truſtfull Queen,

For teares doe ſtop the floud-gates of her eyes.

Hoſteſſe.

O rare, he doth it as like one of theſe harlotry

Players, as euer I ſee.

Falſt.

Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine.

Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou ſpendeſt thy

time; but alſo, how thou art accompanied: For though

the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faſter it growes;

yet Youth, the more it is waſted, the ſooner it weares.

Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word,

partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of

thine Eye, and a fooliſh hanging of thy nether Lippe, that

doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere

lyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou ſo

poynted at? Shall the bleſſed Sonne of Heauen proue a

Micher, and eate Black-berryes? a queſtion not to bee

askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and

take Purſes? a queſtion to be askt. There is a thing,

Harry, which thou haſt often heard of, and it is knowne to

many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as

ancient Writers doe report) doth defile; ſo doth the com-

panie thou keepeſt: for Harry, now I doe not ſpeake to

thee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleaſure, but in Paſ-

ſion; not in Words onely, but in Woes alſo: and yet

there is a vertuous man, whom I haue often noted in thy

companie, but I know not his Name.

Prin.

What manner of man, and it like your Ma-

ieſtie?

Falſt.

A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent,

of a chearefull Looke, a pleaſing Eye, and a moſt noble

Carriage, and as I thinke, his age ſome fiftie, or (byrlady)

inclining to threeſcore; and now I remember mee, his

Name is Falſtaffe: if that man ſhould be lewdly giuen,

hee deceiues mee; for Harry, I ſee Vertue in his Lookes.

If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruit

by the Tree, then peremptorily I ſpeake it, there is Vertue

in that Falſtaffe: him keepe with, the reſt baniſh. And

tell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where haſt

thou beene this moneth?

Prin.

Do’ſt thou ſpeake like a King? doe thou ſtand

for mee, and Ile play my Father.

Falſt.

Depoſe me: if thou do’ſt it halfe ſo grauely, ſo

maieſtically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the

heeles for a Rabbet-ſucker, or a Poulters Hare.

Prin.

Well, heere I am ſet.

Falſt.

And heere I ſtand: iudge my Maſters.

Prin.

Now Harry, whence come you?

Falſt.

My Noble Lord, from Eaſt-cheape.

Prin.

The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous.

Falſt.

Yfaith, my Lord, they are falſe: Nay, Ile tickle

ye for a young Prince.

Prin.

Sweareſt thou, vngracious Boy? henceforth

ne’re looke on me: thou art violently carryed away from

Grace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likeneſſe of a

fat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Why

do’ſt thou conuerſe with that Trunke of Humors, that

Boulting-Hutch of Beaſtlineſſe, that ſwolne Parcell of

Dropſies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that ſtuft Cloake-

bagge of Guts, that roſted Manning Tree Oxe with the

Pudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey Ini-

quitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? where-

in is he good, but to taſte Sacke, and drinke it? wherein

neat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? where-

in Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villa-

nie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein wor-

thy, but in nothing?

Falſt.

I would your Grace would take me with you:

whom meanes your Grace?

Prince.

That villanous abhominable mis-leader of

Youth, Falſtaffe, that old white-bearded Sathan.

Falſt.

My Lord, the man I know.

Prince.

I know thou do’ſt.

Falſt.

But to ſay, I know more harme in him then in

my ſelfe, were to ſay more then I know. That hee is olde

(the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witneſſe it:

but that hee is (ſauing your reuerence) a Whore-ma-

ſter, that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault,

Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be a

ſinne, then many an olde Hoſte that I know, is damn’d:

if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaohs leane Kine are

to be loued. No, my good Lord, baniſh Peto, baniſh

Bardolph, baniſh Poines: but for ſweete Iacke Falſtaffe,

kinde Iacke Falſtaffe, true Iacke Falſtaffe, valiant Iacke Fal-

ſtaffe, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde Iack

Falſtaffe, baniſh not him thy Harryes companie, baniſh

not him thy Harryes companie; baniſh plumpe Iacke, and

baniſh all the World.

Prince.

I doe, I will.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bard.

O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a moſt

moſt monſtrous Watch, is at the doore.

Falſt.

Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue much

to ſay in the behalfe of that Falſtaffe.

Enter the Hoſteſſe.

Hoſteſſe.

O, my Lord, my Lord.

Falſt.

Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddle-

ſticke: what’s the matter?

Hoſteſſe.

The Sherife and all the Watch are at the

doore: they are come to ſearch the Houſe, ſhall I let

them in?

Falſt.

Do’ſt thou heare Hal, neuer call a true peece of

Gold a Counterfeit: thou art eſſentially made, without

ſeeming ſo.

Prince.

And thou a naturall Coward, without in-

ſtinƈt.

Falſt.

I deny your Maior: if you will deny the

Sherife, ſo: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart

as well as another man, a plague on my bringing vp: I

hope I ſhall as ſoone be ſtrangled with a Halter, as ano-

ther.

Prince.

Goe hide thee behinde the Arras, the reſt

walke vp aboue. Now my Maſters, for a true Face and

good Conſcience.

Falſt.

Both which I haue had: but their date is out,

and therefore Ile hide me.

Exit.

Prince.

Call in the Sherife.

Enter Sherife and the Carrier.

Prince.

Now Maſter Sherife, what is your will with

mee?

She.

Firſt pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath

followed certaine men vnto this houſe.

Prince.

What men?

She.

One of them is well knowne, my gracious Lord,

a groſſe fat man.

Car.

As fat as Butter.

Prince.

The man, I doe aſſure you, is not heere,

For I my ſelfe at this time haue imploy’d him:

And Sherife, I will engage my word to thee,

That I will by to morrow Dinner time,

Send him to anſwere thee, or any man,

For any thing he ſhall be charg’d withall:

And ſo let me entreat you, leaue the houſe.

She.

I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen

Haue in this Robberie loſt three hundred Markes.

Prince.

It may be ſo: if he haue robb’d theſe men,

He ſhall be anſwerable: and ſo farewell.

She.

Good Night, my Noble Lord.

Prince.

I thinke it is good Morrow, is it not?

She.

Indeede, my Lord, I thinke it be two a Clocke.

Exit.

Prince.

This oyly Raſcall is knowne as well as Poules:

goe call him forth.

Peto.

Falſtaffe? faſt aſleepe behinde the Arras, and

ſnorting like a Horſe.

Prince.

Harke, how hard he fetches breath: ſearch his

Pockets.

He ſearcheth his Pockets, and findeth certaine Papers.

Prince.

What haſt thou found?

Peto.

Nothing but Papers, my Lord.

Prince.

Let’s ſee, what be they? reade them.

Peto.

Item, a Capon. ii.s.ii.d.

Item, Sawce. iiii.d.

Item, Sacke, two Gallons. v.s.viii.d.

Item, Anchoues and Sacke after Supper. ii.s.vi.d.

Item, Bread. ob.

Prince.

O monſtrous, but one halfe penny-worth of

Bread to this intollerable deale of Sacke? What there is

elſe, keepe cloſe, wee’le reade it at more aduantage: there

let him ſleepe till day. Ile to the Court in the Morning:

Wee muſt all to the Warres, and thy place ſhall be hono-

rable. Ile procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot,

and I know his death will be a Match of Twelue-ſcore.

The Money ſhall be pay’d backe againe with aduantage.

Be with me betimes in the Morning: and ſo good mor-

row Peto.

Peto.

Good morrow, good my Lord.

Exeunt.

Aƈtus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Aƈtus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Hotſpurre, Worceſter, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.

Mort.

Theſe promiſes are faire, the parties ſure,

And our induƈtion full of proſperous hope.

Hotſp.

Lord Mortimer, and Couſin Glendower,

Will you ſit downe?

And Vnckle Worceſter; a plague vpon it,

I haue forgot the Mappe.

Glend.

No, here it is:

Sit Couſin Percy, ſit good Couſin Hotſpurre:

For by that Name, as oft as Lancaſter doth ſpeake of you,

His Cheekes looke pale, and with a riſing ſigh,

He wiſheth you in Heauen.

Hotſp.

And you in Hell, as oft as he heares Owen Glen-

dower ſpoke of.

Glend.

I cannot blame him: At my Natiuitie,

The front of Heauen was full of fierie ſhapes,

Of burning Creſſets: and at my Birth,

The frame and foundation of the Earth

Shak’d like a Coward.

Hotſp.

Why ſo it would haue done at the ſame ſeaſon,

if your Mothers Cat had but kitten’d, though your ſelfe

had neuer beene borne.

Glend.

I ſay the Earth did ſhake when I was borne.

Hotſp.

And I ſay the Earth was not of my minde,

If you ſuppoſe, as fearing you, it ſhooke.

Glend.

The heauens were all on fire, the Earth did

tremble.

Hotſp.

Oh, then the Earth ſhooke

To ſee the Heauens on fire,

And not in feare of your Natiuitie.

Diſeaſed Nature oftentimes breakes forth

In ſtrange eruptions; and the teeming Earth

Is with a kinde of Collick pincht and vext,

By the impriſoning of vnruly Winde

Within her Wombe: which for enlargement ſtriuing,

Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tombles downe

Steeples, and moſſe-growne Towers. At your Birth,

Our Grandam Earth, hauing this diſtemperature,

In paſſion ſhooke.

Glend.

Couſin: of many men

I doe not beare theſe Croſſings: Giue me leaue

To tell you once againe, that at my Birth

The front of Heauen was full of fierie ſhapes,

The Goates ranne from the Mountaines, and the Heards

Were ſtrangely clamorous to the frighted fields:

Theſe ſignes haue markt me extraordinarie,

And all the courſes of my Life doe ſhew,

I am not in the Roll of common men.

Where is the Liuing, clipt in with the Sea,

That chides the Bankes of England, Scotland, and Wales,

Which calls me Pupill, or hath read to me?

And bring him out, that is but Womans Sonne,

Can trace me in the tedious wayes of Art,

And hold me pace in deepe experiments.

Hotſp.

I thinke there’s no man ſpeakes better Welſh:

Ile to Dinner.

Mort.

Peace Couſin Percy, you will make him mad.

Glend.

I can call Spirits from the vaſtie Deepe.

Hotſp.

Why ſo can I, or ſo can any man:

But will they come, when you doe call for them?

Glend.

Why, I can teach thee, Couſin, to command the

Deuill.

Hotſp.

And I can teach thee, Couſin, to ſhame the Deuil,

By telling truth. Tell truth, and ſhame the Deuill.

If thou haue power to rayſe him, bring him hither,

And Ile be ſworne, I haue power to ſhame him hence.

Oh, while you liue, tell truth, and ſhame the Deuill.

Mort.

Come, come, no more of this vnprofitable

Chat.

Glend.

Three times hath Henry Bullingbrooke made head

Againſt my Power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,

And ſandy-bottom’d Seuerne, haue I hent him

Bootleſſe home, and Weather-beaten backe.

Hotſp.

Home without Bootes,

And in foule Weather too,

How ſcapes he Agues in the Deuils name?

Glend.

Come, heere’s the Mappe:

Shall wee diuide our Right,

According to our three-fold order ta’ne?

Mort.

The Arch-Deacon hath diuided it

Into three Limits, very equally:

England, from Trent, and Seuerne. hitherto,

By South and Eaſt, is to my part aſſign’d:

All Weſtward, Wales, beyond the Seuerne ſhore,

And all the fertile Land within that bound,

To Owen Glendower: And deare Couze, to you

The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.

And our Indentures Tripartite are drawne:

Which being ſealed enterchangeably,

(A Buſineſſe that this Night may execute)

To morrow, Couſin Percy, you and I,

And my good Lord of Worceſter, will ſet forth,

To meete your Father, and the Scottiſh Power,

As is appointed vs at Shrewsbury.

My Father Glendower is not readie yet,

Nor ſhall wee neede his helpe theſe foureteene dayes:

Within that ſpace, you may haue drawne together

Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen.

Glend.

A ſhorter time ſhall ſend me to you, Lords:

And in my Conduƈt ſhall your Ladies come,

From whom you now muſt ſteale, and take no leaue,

For there will be a World of Water ſhed,

Vpon the parting of your Wiues and you.

Hotſp.

Me thinks my Moity, North from Burton here,

In quantitie equals not one of yours:

See, how this Riuer comes me cranking in,

And cuts me from the beſt of all my Land,

A huge halfe Moone, a monſtrous Cantle out.

Ile haue the Currant in this place damn’d vp,

And here the ſmug and Siluer Trent ſhall runne,

In a new Channell, faire and euenly:

It ſhall not winde with ſuch a deepe indent,

To rob me of ſo rich a Bottome here.

Glend.

Not winde? it ſhall, it muſt, you ſee it doth.

Mort.

Yea, but marke how he beares his courſe,

And runnes me vp, with like aduantage on the other ſide,

Gelding the oppoſed Continent as much,

As on the other ſide it takes from you.

Worc.

Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,

And on this North ſide winne this Cape of Land,

And then he runnes ſtraight and euen.

Hotſp.

Ile haue it ſo, a little Charge will doe it.

Glend.

Ile not haue it alter’d.

Hotſp.

Will not you?

Glend.

No, nor you ſhall not.

Hotſp.

Who ſhall ſay me nay?

Glend.

Why, that will I.

Hotſp.

Let me not vnderſtand you then, ſpeake it in

Welſh.

Glend.

I can ſpeake Engliſh, Lord, as well as you:

For I was trayn’d vp in the Engliſh Court;

Where, being but young, I framed to the Harpe

Many an Engliſh Dittie, louely well,

And gaue the Tongue a helpefull Ornament;

A Vertue that was neuer ſeene in you.

Hotſp.

Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart,

I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,

Then one of theſe ſame Meeter Ballad-mongers:

I had rather heare a Brazen Candleſtick turn’d,

Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree,

And that would ſet my teeth nothing an edge,

Nothing ſo much, as mincing Poetrie;

’Tis like the forc’t gate of a ſhuffling Nagge.

Glend.

Come, you ſhall haue Trent turn’d.

Hotſp.

I doe not care: Ile giue thrice ſo much Land

To any well-deſeruing friend;

But in the way of Bargaine, marke ye me,

Ile cauill on the ninth part of a hayre.

Are the Indentures drawne? ſhall we be gone?

Glend.

The Moone ſhines faire,

You may away by Night:

Ile haſte the Writer; and withall,

Breake with your Wiues, of your departure hence:

I am afraid my Daughter will runne madde,

So much ſhe doteth on her Mortimer.

Exit.

Mort.

Fie, Couſin Percy, how you croſſe my Fa-

ther.

Hotſp.

I cannot chuſe: ſometime he angers me,

With telling me of the Moldwarpe and the Ant,

Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies;

And of a Dragon, and a finne-leſſe Fiſh,

A clip-wing’d Griffin, and a moulten Rauen,

A couching Lyon, and a ramping Cat,

And ſuch a deale of skimble-skamble Stuffe,

As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what,

He held me laſt Night, at leaſt, nine howres,

In reckning vp the ſeuerall Deuils Names,

That were his Lacqueyes:

I cry’d hum, and well, goe too,

But mark’d him not a word. O, he is as tedious

As a tyred Horſe, a rayling Wife,

Worſe then a ſmoakie Houſe. I had rather liue

With Cheeſe and Garlick in a Windmill farre,

Then feede on Cates, and haue him talke to me,

In any Summer-Houſe in Chriſtendome.

Mort.

In faith he was a worthy Gentleman,

Exceeding well read, and profited,

In ſtrange Concealements:

Valiant as a Lyon, and wondrous affable,

And as bountifull, as Mynes of India.

Shall I tell you, Couſin,

He holds your temper in a high reſpeƈt,

And curbes himſelfe, euen of his naturall ſcope,

When you doe croſſe his humor: ’faith he does.

I warrant you, that man is not aliue,

Might ſo haue tempted him, as you haue done,

Without the taſte of danger, and reproofe:

But doe not vſe it oft, let me entreat you.

Worc.

In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,

And ſince your comming hither, haue done enough,

To put him quite beſides his patience.

You muſt needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:

Though ſometimes it ſhew Greatneſſe, Courage, Blood,

And that’s the deareſt grace it renders you;

Yet oftentimes it doth preſent harſh Rage,

Defeƈt of Manners, want of Gouernment,

Pride, Haughtineſſe, Opinion, and Diſdaine:

The leaſt of which, haunting a Nobleman,

Loſeth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a ſtayne

Vpon the beautie of all parts beſides,

Beguiling them of commendation.

Hotſp.

Well, I am ſchool’d:

Good-manners be your ſpeede;

Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue.

Enter Glendower, with the Ladies.

Mort.

This is the deadly ſpight, that angers me,

My Wife can ſpeake no Engliſh, I no Welſh.

Glend.

My Daughter weepes, ſhee’le not part with you,

Shee’le be a Souldier too, ſhee’le to the Warres.

Mort.

Good Father tell her, that ſhe and my Aunt Percy

Shall follow in your Conduƈt ſpeedily.

Glendower ſpeakes to her in Welſh, and ſhe anſweres him in the ſame.
Glend.

Shee is deſperate heere:

A peeuiſh ſelfe-will’d Harlotry,

One that no perſwaſion can doe good vpon.

The Lady ſpeakes in Welſh.

Mort.

I vnderſtand thy Lookes: that pretty Welſh

Which thou powr’ſt down from theſe ſwelling Heauens,

I am too perfeƈt in: and but for ſhame,

In ſuch a parley ſhould I anſwere thee.

The Lady againe in Welſh.

Mort.

I vnderſtand thy Kiſſes, and thou mine,

And that’s a feeling diſputation:

But I will neuer be a Truant, Loue,

Till I haue learn’d thy Language: for thy tongue

Makes Welſh as ſweet as Ditties highly penn’d,

Sung by a faire Queene in a Summers Bowre,

With rauiſhing Diuiſion to her Lute.

Glend.

Nay, if thou melt, then will ſhe runne madde.

The Lady ſpeakes againe in Welſh.

Mort.

O, I am Ignorance it ſelfe in this.

Glend.

She bids you,

On the wanton Ruſhes lay you downe,

And reſt your gentle Head vpon her Lappe,

And ſhe will ſing the Song that pleaſeth you,

And on your Eye-lids Crowne the God of Sleepe,

Charming your blood with pleaſing heauineſſe;

Making ſuch difference betwixt Wake and Sleepe,

As is the difference betwixt Day and Night,

The houre before the Heauenly Harneis’d Teeme

Begins his Golden Progreſſe in the Eaſt.

Mort.

With all my heart Ile ſit, and heare her ſing:

By that time will our Booke, I thinke, be drawne.

Glend.

Doe ſo:

And thoſe Muſitians that ſhall play to you,

Hang in the Ayre a thouſand Leagues from thence;

And ſtraight they ſhall be here: ſit, and attend.

Hotſp.

Come Kate, thou art perfeƈt in lying downe:

Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my Head in thy

Lappe.

Lady.

Goe, ye giddy-Gooſe.

The Muſicke playes.

Hotſp.

Now I perceiue the Deuill vnderſtands Welſh,

And ’tis no maruell he is ſo humorous:

Byrlady hee’s a good Muſitian.

Lady.

Then would you be nothing but Muſicall,

For you are altogether gouerned by humors:

Lye ſtill ye Theefe, and heare the Lady ſing in Welſh.

Hotſp.

I had rather heare (Lady) my Brach howle in

Iriſh.

Lady.

Would’ſt haue thy Head broken?

Hotſp.

No.

Lady.

Then be ſtill.

Hotſp.

Neyther, ’tis a Womans fault.

Lady.

Now God helpe thee.

Hotſp.

To the Welſh Ladies Bed.

Lady.

What’s that?

Hotſp.

Peace, ſhee ſings.

Heere the Lady ſings a Welſh Song.

Hotſp.

Come, Ile haue your Song too.

Lady.

Not mine, in good ſooth.

Hotſp.

Not yours, in good ſooth?

You ſweare like a Comfit-makers Wife:

Not you, in good ſooth; and, as true as I liue;

And, as God ſhall mend me; and, as ſure as day:

And giueſt ſuch Sarcenet ſuretie for thy Oathes,

As if thou neuer walk’ſt further then Finsbury.

Sweare me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,

A good mouth-filling Oath: and leaue in ſooth,

And ſuch proteſt of Pepper Ginger-bread,

To Veluet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens.

Come, ſing.

Lady.

I will not ſing.

Hotſp.

’Tis the next way to turne Taylor, or be Red-

breſt teacher: and the Indentures be drawne, Ile away

within theſe two howres: and ſo come in, when yee

will.

Exit.

Glend.

Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as ſlow,

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to goe.

By this our Booke is drawne: wee’le but ſeale,

And then to Horſe immediately.

Mort.

With all my heart.

Exeunt.

Scœna Secunda.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

King.

Lords, giue vs leaue:

The Prince of Wales, and I,

Muſt haue ſome priuate conference:

But be neere at hand,

For wee ſhall preſently haue neede of you.

Exeunt Lords.

I know not whether Heauen will haue it ſo,

For ſome diſpleaſing ſeruice I haue done;

That in his ſecret Doome, out of my Blood,

Hee’le breede Reuengement, and a Scourge for me:

But thou do’ſt in thy paſſages of Life,

Make me beleeue, that thou art onely mark’d

For the hot vengeance, and the Rod of heauen

To puniſh my Miſtreadings. Tell me elſe,

Could ſuch inordinate and low deſires,

Such poore, ſuch bare, ſuch lewd, ſuch meane attempts,

Such barren pleaſures, rude ſocietie,

As thou art matcht withall, and grafted too,

Accompanie the greatneſſe of thy blood,

And hold their leuell with thy Princely heart?

Prince.

So pleaſe your Maieſty, I would I could

Quit all offences with as cleare excuſe,

As well as I am doubtleſſe I can purge

My ſelfe of many I am charg’d withall:

Yet ſuch extenuation let me begge,

As in reproofe of many Tales deuis’d,

Which oft the Eare of Greatneſſe needes muſt heare,

By ſmiling Pick-thankes, and baſe Newes-mongers;

I may for ſome things true, wherein my youth

Hath faultie wandred, and irregular,

Finde pardon on my true ſubmiſſion.

King.

Heauen pardon thee:

Yet let me wonder, Harry,

At thy affeƈtions, which doe hold a Wing

Quite from the flight of all thy anceſtors.

Thy place in Councell thou haſt rudely loſt,

Which by thy younger Brother is ſupply’de;

And art almoſt an alien to the hearts

Of all the Court and Princes of my blood.

The hope and expeƈtation of thy time

Is ruin’d, and the Soule of euery man

Prophetically doe fore-thinke thy fall.

Had I ſo lauiſh of my preſence beene,

So common hackney’d in the eyes of men,

So ſtale and cheape to vulgar Company;

Opinion, that did helpe me to the Crowne,

Had ſtill kept loyall to poſſeſſion,

And left me in reputeleſſe baniſhment,

A fellow of no marke, nor likelyhood.

By being ſeldome ſeene, I could not ſtirre,

But like a Comet, I was wondred at,

That men would tell their Children, This is hee:

Others would ſay; Where, Which is Bullingbrooke.

And then I ſtole all Courteſie from Heauen,

And dreſt my ſelfe in ſuch Humilitie,

That I did plucke Allegeance from mens hearts,

Lowd Showts and Salutations from their mouthes,

Euen in the preſence of the Crowned King.

Thus I did keepe my Perſon freſh and new,

My Preſence like a Robe Pontificall,

Ne’re ſeene, but wondred at: and ſo my State,

Seldome but ſumptuous, ſhewed like a Feaſt,

And wonne by rareneſſe ſuch Solemnitie.

The skipping King hee ambled vp and downe,

With ſhallow Ieſters, and raſh Bauin Wits,

Soone kindled, and ſoone burnt, carded his ſtate,

Mingled his Royaltie with Carping Fooles,

Had his great Name prophaned with their Scornes,

And gaue his Countenance, againſt his Name,

To laugh at gybing Boyes, and ſtand the puſh

Of euery Beardleſſe vaine Comparatiue;

Grew a Companion to the common Streetes,

Enfeoff’d himſelfe to Popularitie:

That being dayly ſwallowed by mens Eyes,

They ſurfeted with Honey, and began to loathe

The taſte of Sweetneſſe, whereof a little

More then a little, is by much too much.

So when he had occaſion to be ſeene,

He was but as the Cuckow is in Iune,

Heard, not regarded: ſeene but with ſuch Eyes,

As ſicke and blunted with Communitie,

Affoord no extraordinarie Gaze,

Such as is bent on Sunne-like Maieſtie,

When it ſhines ſeldome in admiring Eyes:

But rather drowz’d, and hung their eye-lids downe,

Slept in his Face, and rendred ſuch aſpeƈt

As Cloudie men vſe to doe to their aduerſaries,

Being with his preſence glutted, gorg’d, and full.

And in that very Line, Harry, ſtandeſt thou:

For thou haſt loſt thy Princely Priuiledge,

With vile participation. Not an Eye

But is awearie of thy common ſight,

Saue mine, which hath deſir’d to ſee thee more:

Which now doth that I would not haue it doe,

Make blinde it ſelfe with fooliſh tenderneſſe.

Prince.

I ſhall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,

Be more my ſelfe.

King.

For all the World,

As thou art to this houre, was Richard then,

When I from France ſet foot at Rauenſpurgh;

And euen as I was then, is Percy now:

Now by my Scepter, and my Soule to boot,

He hath more worthy intereſt to the State

Then thou, the ſhadow of Succeſſion;

For of no Right, nor colour like to Right.

He doth fill fields with Harneis in the Realme,

Turnes head againſt the Lyons armed Iawes;

And being no more in debt to yeeres, then thou,

Leades ancient Lords, and reuerent Biſhops on

To bloody Battailes, and to bruſing Armes.

What neuer-dying Honor hath he got,

Againſt renowned Dowglas? whoſe high Deedes,

Whoſe hot Incurſions, and great Name in Armes,

Holds from all Souldiers chiefe Maioritie,

And Militarie Title Capitall.

Through all the Kingdomes that acknowledge Chriſt,

Thrice hath the Hotſpur Mars, in ſwathing Clothes,

This Infant Warrior, in his Enterpriſes,

Diſcomfited great Dowglas, ta’ne him once,

Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,

To fill the mouth of deepe Defiance vp,

And ſhake the peace and ſafetie of our Throne.

And what ſay you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

The Arch-biſhops Grace of Yorke, Dowglas, Mortimer,

Capitulate againſt vs, and are vp.

But wherefore doe I tell theſe Newes to thee?

Why, Harry, doe I tell thee of my Foes,

Which art my neer’ſt and deareſt Enemie?

Thou, that art like enough, through vaſſall Feare,

Baſe Inclination, and the ſtart of Spleene,

To fight againſt me vnder Percies pay,

To dogge his heeles, and curtſie at his frownes,

To ſhew how much thou art degenerate.

Prince.

Doe not thinke ſo, you ſhall not finde it ſo:

And Heauen forgiue them, that ſo much haue ſway’d

Your Maieſties good thoughts away from me:

I will redeeme all this on Percies head,

And in the cloſing of ſome glorious day,

Be bold to tell you, that I am your Sonne,

When I will weare a Garment all of Blood,

And ſtaine my fauours in a bloody Maske:

Which waſht away, ſhall ſcowre my ſhame with it.

And that ſhall be the day, when ere it lights,

That this ſame Child of Honor and Renowne.

This gallant Hotſpur, this all-prayſed Knight.

And your vnthought-of Harry chance to meet:

For euery Honor ſitting on his Helme,

Would they were multitudes, and on my head

My ſhames redoubled. For the time will come,

That I ſhall make this Northerne Youth exchange

His glorious Deedes for my Indignities:

Percy is but my Faƈtor, good my Lord,

To engroſſe vp glorious Deedes on my behalfe:

And I will call him to ſo ſtriƈt account,

That he ſhall render euery Glory vp,

Yea, euen the ſleighteſt worſhip of his time,

Or I will teare the Reckoning from his Heart.

This, in the Name of Heauen, I promiſe here:

The which, if I performe, and doe ſuruiue,

I doe beſeech your Maieſtie, may ſalue

The long-growne Wounds of my intemperature:

If not, the end of Life cancells all Bands,

And I will dye a hundred thouſand Deaths,

Ere breake the ſmalleſt parcell of this Vow.

King.

A hundred thouſand Rebels dye in this:

Thou ſhalt haue Charge, and ſoueraigne truſt herein.

Enter Blunt.

How now good Blunt? thy Lookes are full of ſpeed.

Blunt.

So hath the Buſineſſe that I come to ſpeake of.

Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath ſent word,

That Dowglas and the Engliſh Rebels met

The eleuenth of this moneth, at Shrewsbury:

A mightie and a fearefull Head they are,

(If Promiſes be kept on euery hand)

As euer offered foule play in a State.

King.

The earle of Weſtmerland ſet forth to day:

With him my ſonne, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter,

For this aduertiſement is fiue dayes old.

On Wedneſday next, Harry thou ſhalt ſet forward:

On Thurſday, wee our ſelues will march.

Our meeting is Bridgenorth: and Harry, you ſhall march

Through Gloceſterſhire: by which account,

Our Buſineſſe valued ſome twelue dayes hence,

Our generall Forces at Bridgenorth ſhall meete.

Our Hands are full of Buſineſſe: let’s away,

Aduantage feedes him fat, while men delay.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Falſtaffe and Bardolph.

Falſt.

Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, ſince this

laſt aƈtion? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Why

my skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies looſe

Gowne: I am withered like an olde Apple Iohn. Well,

Ile repent, and that ſuddenly, while I am in ſome liking:

I ſhall be out of heart ſhortly, and then I ſhall haue no

ſtrength to repent. And I haue not forgotten what the

in-ſide of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper-Corne, a

Brewers Horſe, the in-ſide of a Church. Company, villa-

nous Company hath beene the ſpoyle of me.

Bard.

Sir Iohn, you are ſo fretfull, you cannot liue

long.

Falſt.

Why there is it: Come, ſing me a bawdy Song,

make me merry; I was as vertuouſly giuen, as a Gentle-

man need to be; vertuous enough, ſwore little, dic’d not

aboue ſeuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-houſe not

aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I

borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good

compaſſe: and now I liue out of all order, out of com-

paſſe.

Bard.

Why, you are ſo fat, Sir Iohn, that you muſt

needes bee out of of all compaſſe; out all reaſonable

compaſſe, Sir Iohn.

Falſt.

Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thy

Life: Thou art our Admirall, thou beareſt the Lanterne

in the Poope, but ’tis in the Noſe of thee; thou art the

Knight of the burning Lampe.

Bard.

Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme.

Falſt.

No, Ile be ſworne: I make as good vſe of it, as

many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori.

I neuer ſee thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues

that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning,

burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would

ſweare by thy Face; my Oath ſhould bee, By this Fire:

But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede,

but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darke-

neſſe. When thou ran’ſt vp Gads-Hill in the Night, to

catch my Horſe, if I did not thinke that thou hadſt beene

an Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there’s no Purchaſe

in Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euer-

laſting Bone-fire-Light: thou haſt ſaued me a thouſand

Markes in Linkes and Torches, walking with thee in the

Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that

thou haſt drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as

good cheape, as the deareſt Chandlers in Europe. I haue

maintain’d that Salamander of yours with fire, any time

this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it.

Bard.

I would my Face were in your Belly.

Falſt.

So ſhould I be ſure to be heart-burn’d.

Enter Hoſteſſe.

How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir’d yet

who pick’d my Pocket?

Hoſteſſe.

Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn?

doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my Houſe? I haue

ſearch’d, I haue enquired, ſo haz my Husband, Man by

Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a

hayre was neuer loſt in my houſe before.

Falſt.

Ye lye Hoſteſſe: Bardolph was ſhau’d, and loſt

many a hayre; and Ile be ſworne my Pocket was pick’d:

goe to, you are a Woman, goe.

Hoſteſſe.

Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call’d ſo

in mine owne houſe before.

Falſt.

Goe to, I know you well enough.

Hoſteſſe.

No, Sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn:

I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, and

now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought

you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe.

Falſt.

Doulas, filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them

away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of

them.

Hoſteſſe.

Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight

ſhillings an Ell: You owe Money here beſides, Sir Iohn,

for your Dyet, and by-Drinkings, and Money lent you,

foure and twentie pounds.

Falſt.

Hee had his part of it, let him pay.

Hoſteſſe.

Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath no-

thing.

Falſt.

How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What call

you Rich? Let them coyne his Noſe, let them coyne his

Cheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make a

Younker of me? Shall I not take mine eaſe in mine Inne,

but I ſhall haue my Pocket pick’d? I haue loſt a Seale-

Ring of my Grand-fathers, worth fortie Marke.

Hoſteſſe.

I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know not

how oft, that that Ring was Copper.

Falſt.

How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake-Cuppe:

and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge,

if hee would ſay ſo.

Enter the Prince marching, and Falſtaffe meets him, playing on his Trunchion like a Fife.
Falſt.

How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore?

Muſt we all march?

Bard.

Yea, two and two, Newgate faſhion.

Hoſteſſe.

My Lord, I pray you heare me.

Prince.

What ſay’ſt thou, Miſtreſſe Quickly? How

does thy Husband? I loue him well, hee is an honeſt

man.

Hoſteſſe.

Good, my Lord, heare mee.

Falſt.

Prethee let her alone, and liſt to mee.

Prince.

What ſay’ſt thou, Iacke?

Falſt.

The other Night I fell aſleepe heere behind the

Arras, and had my Pocket pickt: this Houſe is turn’d

Bawdy-houſe, they picke Pockets.

Prince.

What didſt thou loſe, Iacke?

Falſt.

Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bonds

of fortie pound apeece, and a Seale-Ring of my Grand-

fathers.

Prince.

A Trifle, ſome eight-penny matter.

Hoſt.

So I told him, my Lord; and I ſaid, I heard your

Grace ſay ſo: and (my Lord) hee ſpeakes moſt vilely of

you, like a foule-mouth’d man as hee is, and ſaid, hee

would cudgell you.

Prince.

What hee did not?

Hoſt.

There’s neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hood

in me elſe.

Falſt.

There’s no more faith in thee then a ſtu’de Prune;

nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and for

Wooman-hood, Maid-marian may be the Deputies wife

of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go.

Hoſt.

Say, what thing? what thing?

Falſt.

What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on.

Hoſt.

I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thou

ſhouldſt know it: I am an honeſt mans wife: and ſetting

thy Knighthood aſide, thou art a knaue to call me ſo.

Falſt.

Setting thy woman-hood aſide, thou art a beaſt

to ſay otherwiſe.

Hoſt.

Say, what beaſt, thou knaue thou?

Fal.

What beaſt? Why an Otter.

Prin.

An Otter, ſir Iohn? Why an Otter?

Fal.

Why? She’s neither fiſh nor fleſh; a man knowes

not where to haue her.

Hoſt.

Thou art vniuſt man in ſaying ſo; thou, or anie

man knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou.

Prince.

Thou ſay’ſt true Hoſteſſe, and he ſlanders thee

moſt groſſely.

Hoſt.

So he doth you, my Lord, and ſayde this other

day, You ought him a thouſand pound.

Prince.

Sirrah, do I owe you a thouſand pound?

Falſt.

A thouſand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue is

worth a Million: thou ow’ſt me thy loue.

Hoſt.

Nay my Lord, he call’d you Iacke, and ſaid hee

would cudgell you.

Fal.

Did I, Bardolph?

Bar.

Indeed Sir Iohn, you ſaid ſo.

Fal.

Yea, if he ſaid my Ring was Copper.

Prince.

I ſay ’tis Copper. Dar’ſt thou bee as good as

thy word now?

Fal.

Why Hal? thou know’ſt, as thou art but a man, I

dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the

roaring of the Lyons Whelpe.

Prince.

And why not as the Lyon?

Fal.

The King himſelfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:

Do’ſt thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nay

if I do, let my Girdle breake.

Prin.

O, if it ſhould, how would thy guttes fall about

thy knees. But ſirra: There’s no roome for Faith, Truth,

nor Honeſty, in this boſome of thine: it is all fill’d vppe

with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honeſt Woman,

with picking thy pocket? Why thou horſon impudent

imboſt Raſcall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but

Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houſes

and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee

long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich’d with anie o-

ther iniuries but theſe, I am a Villaine: And yet you will

ſtand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not

aſham’d?

Fal.

Do’ſt thou heare Hal? Thou know’ſt in the ſtate

of Innocency, Adam fell: and what ſhould poore Iacke

Falſtaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou ſeeſt, I haue

more fleſh then another man, and therefore more frailty.

You confeſſe then you pickt my Pocket?

Prin.

It appeares ſo by the Story.

Fal.

Hoſteſſe, I forgiue thee:

Go make ready Breakfaſt, loue thy Husband,

Looke to thy Seruants, and cheriſh thy Gueſts:

Thou ſhalt find me traƈtable to any honeſt reaſon:

Thou ſeeſt, I am pacified ſtill.

Nay, I prethee be gone.

Exit Hoſteſſe.

Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad?

How is that anſwered?

Prin.

O my ſweet Beefe:

I muſt ſtill be good Angell to thee.

The Monie is paid backe againe.

Fal.

O, I do not like that paying backe, ’tis a double

Labour.

Prin.

I am good Friends with my Father, and may do

anything.

Fal.

Rob me the Exchequer the firſt thing thou do’ſt,

and do it with vnwaſh’d hands too.

Bard.

Do my Lord.

Prin.

I haue procured thee Iacke, A Charge of Foot.

Fal.

I would it had beene of Horſe. Where ſhal I finde

one that can ſteale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and

twentie, or thereabout: I am heynouſly vnprouided. Wel

God be thanked for theſe Rebels, they offend none but

the Vertuous. I laud them, I praiſe them.

Prin.

Bardolph.

Bar.

My Lord.

Prin.

Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of Lancaſter

To my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Weſtmerland,

Go Peto, to horſe: for thou, and I,

Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time.

Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple Hall

At two a clocke in the afternoone,

There ſhalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiue

Money and Order for their Furniture.

The Land is burning, Percie ſtands on hye,

And either they, or we muſt lower lye.

Fal.

Rare words! braue world.

Hoſteſſe, my breakfaſt, come:

Oh, I could wiſh this Tauerne were my drumme.

Exeunt omnes.

Aƈtus Quartus. Scœna Prima.

Aƈtus Quartus. Scœna Prima.

Enter Harrie Hotſpurre, Worceſter, and Dowglas.

Hot.

Well ſaid, my Noble Scot, if ſpeaking truth

In this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,

Such attribution ſhould the Dowglas haue,

As not a Souldiour of this ſeaſons ſtampe,

Should go ſo generall currant through the world.

By heauen I cannot flatter: I defie

The Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place

In my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.

Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord.

Dow.

Thou art the King of Honor:

No man ſo potent breathes vpon the ground,

But I will Beard him.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Hot.

Do ſo, and ’tis well. What letters haſt there?

I can but thanke you.

Meſſ.

Theſe Letters come from your Father.

Hot.

Letters from him?

Why comes he not himſelfe?

Meſ.

He cannot come, my Lord,

He is greeuous ſicke.

Hot.

How? haz he the leyſure to be ſicke now,

In ſuch a iuſtling time? Who leades his power?

Vnder whoſe Gouernment come they along?

Meſſ.

His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde.

Wor.

I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?

Meſſ.

He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I ſet forth:

And at the time of my departure thence,

He was much fear’d by his Phyſician.

Wor.

I would the ſtate of time had firſt beene whole,

Ere he by ſickneſſe had beene viſited:

His health was neuer better worth then now.

Hotſp.

Sicke now? droope now? this ſicknes doth infeƈt

The very Life-blood of our Enterpriſe,

’Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.

He writes me here, that inward ſickneſſe,

And that his friends by deputation

Could not ſo ſoone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,

To lay ſo dangerous and deare a truſt

On any Soule remou’d, but on his owne.

Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertiſement,

That with our ſmall coniunƈtion we ſhould on,

To ſee how Fortune is diſpos’d to vs:

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,

Becauſe the King is certainely poſſeſt

Of all our purpoſes. What ſay you to it?

Wor.

Your Fathers ſickneſſe is a mayme to vs.

Hotſp.

A perillous Gaſh, a very Limme lopt off:

And yet, in faith, it is not his preſent want

Seemes more then we ſhall finde it.

Were it good, to ſet the exaƈt wealth of all our ſtates

All at one Caſt? To ſet ſo rich a mayne

On the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,

It were not good: for therein ſhould we reade

The very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,

The very Liſt, the very vtmoſt Bound

Of all our fortunes.

Dowg.

Faith, and ſo wee ſhould,

Where now remaines a ſweet reuerſion.

We may boldly ſpend, vpon the hope

Of what is to come in:

A comfort of retyrement liues in this.

Hotſp.

A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto,

If that the Deuill and Miſchance looke bigge

Vpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires.

Wor.

But yet I would your Father had beene here:

The Qualitie and Heire of our Attempt

Brookes no diuiſion: It will be thought

By ſome, that know not why he is away,

That wiſedome, loyaltie, and meere diſlike

Of our proceedings, kept the Earle from hence.

And thinke, how ſuch an apprehenſion

May turne the tyde of fearefull Faƈtion,

And breede a kinde of queſtion in our cauſe:

For well you know, wee of the offring ſide,

Muſt keepe aloofe from ſtriƈt arbitrement,

And ſtop all ſight-holes, euery loope, from whence

The eye of reaſon may prie in vpon vs:

This abſence of your Father drawes a Curtaine,

That ſhewes the ignorant a kinde of feare,

Before not dreamt of.

Hotſp.

You ſtrayne too farre.

I rather of his abſence make this vſe:

It lends a Luſtre, and more great Opinion,

A larger Dare to your great Enterprize,

Then if the Earle were here: for men muſt thinke,

If we without his helpe, can make a Head

To puſh againſt the Kingdome; with his helpe,

We ſhall o’re-turne it topſie-turuy downe:

Yet all goes well, yet all our ioynts are whole.

Dowg.

As heart can thinke:

There is not ſuch a word ſpoke of in Scotland,

At this Dreame of Feare.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hotſp.

My Couſin Vernon, welcome by my Soule.

Vern.

Pray God my newes be worth a welcome, Lord.

The Earle of Weſtmerland, ſeuen thouſand ſtrong,

Is marching hither-wards, with Prince Iohn.

Hotſp.

No harme: what more?

Vern.

And further, I haue learn’d,

The King himſelfe in perſon hath ſet forth,

Or hither-wards intended ſpeedily,

With ſtrong and mightie preparation.

Hotſp.

He ſhall be welcome too.

Where is his Sonne,

The nimble-footed Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales,

And his Cumrades, that daft the World aſide,

And bid it paſſe?

Vern.

All furniſht, all in Armes,

All plum’d like Eſtridges, that with the Winde

Bayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath’d,

Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images,

As full of ſpirit as the Moneth of May,

And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid-ſummer,

Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls.

I ſaw young Harry with his Beuer on,

His Cuſhes on his thighes, gallantly arm’d,

Riſe from the ground like feathered Mercury,

And vaulted with ſuch eaſe into his Seat,

As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds,

To turne and winde a fierie Pegaſus,

And witch the World with Noble Horſemanſhip.

Hotſp.

No more, no more,

Worſe then the Sunne in March:

This prayſe doth nouriſh Agues: let them come.

They come like Sacrifices in their trimme,

And to the fire-ey’d Maid of ſmoakie Warre,

All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them:

The mayled Mars ſhall on his Altar ſit

Vp to the eares in blood. I am on fire,

To heare this rich reprizall is ſo nigh,

And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horſe,

Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt,

Againſt the boſome of the Prince of Wales.

Harry to Harry, ſhall not Horſe to Horſe

Meete, and ne’re part, till one drop downe a Coarſe?

Oh, that Glendower were come.

Ver.

There is more newes:

I learned in Worceſter, as I rode along,

He cannot draw his Power this fourteene dayes.

Dowg.

That’s the worſt Tidings that I heare of

yet.

Wor.

I by my faith, that beares a froſty ſound.

Hotſp.

What may the Kings whole Battaile reach

vnto?

Ver.

To thirty thouſand.

Hot.

Forty let it be,

My Father and Glendower being both away,

The powres of vs, may ſerue ſo great a day.

Come, let vs take a muſter ſpeedily:

Doomeſday is neere; dye all, dye merrily.

Dow.

Talke not of dying, I am out of feare

Of death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare.

Exeunt Omnes.

Scœna Secunda.

Enter Falſtaffe and Bardolph.

Falſt.

Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a

Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers ſhall march through: wee’le

to Sutton-cop-hill to Night.

Bard.

Will you giue me Money, Captaine?

Falſt.

Lay out, lay out.

Bard.

This Bottle makes an Angell.

Falſt.

And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it

make twentie, take them all, Ile anſwere the Coynage.

Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end.

Bard.

I will Captaine: farewell.

Exit.

Falſt.

If I be not aſham’d of my Souldiers, I am a

ſowc’t-Gurnet: I haue miſ-vs’d the Kings Preſſe dam-

nably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie

Souldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I preſſe me

none but good Houſe-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire

me out contraƈted Batchelers, ſuch as had beene ask’d

twice on the Banes: ſuch a Commoditie of warme ſlaues,

as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; ſuch as

feare the report of a Caliuer, worſe then a ſtruck-Foole,

or a hurt wilde-Ducke. I preſt me none but ſuch Toſtes

and Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then

Pinnes heads, and they haue bought out their ſeruices:

And now, my whole Charge conſiſts of Ancients, Cor-

porals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as

ragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Glut-

tons Dogges licked his Sores; and ſuch, as indeed were

neuer Souldiers, but diſ-carded vniuſt Seruingmen, youn-

ger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapſters and

Oſtlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and

long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged,

then an old-fac’d Ancient; and ſuch haue I to fill vp the

roomes of them that haue bought out their ſeruices: that

you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter’d

Prodigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating

Draffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way,

and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and preſt the

dead bodyes. No eye hath ſeene ſuch skar-Crowes: Ile

not march through Couentry with them, that’s flat. Nay,

and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if

they had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the moſt of them

out of Priſon. There’s not a Shirt and a halfe in all my

Company: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt to-

gether, and throwne ouer the ſhoulders like a Heralds

Coat, without ſleeues: and the Shirt, to ſay the truth,

ſtolne from my Hoſt of S. Albones, or the Red-Noſe

Inne-keeper of Dauintry. But that’s all one, they’le finde

Linnen enough on euery Hedge.

Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Weſtmerland.

Prince.

How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?

Falſt.

What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill

do’ſt thou in Warwickſhire? My good Lord of Weſt-

merland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had al-

ready beene at Shrewsbury.

Weſt.

’Faith, Sir Iohn, ’tis more then time that I were

there, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie.

The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we muſt away

all to Night.

Falſt.

Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to

ſteale Creame.

Prince.

I thinke to ſteale Creame indeed, for thy theft

hath alreadie made thee Butter: but tell me, Iack, whoſe

fellowes are theſe that come after?

Falſt.

Mine, Hal, mine.

Prince.

I did neuer ſee ſuch pittifull Raſcals.

Falſt.

Tut, tut, good enough to toſſe: foode for Pow-

der, foode for Powder: they’le fill a Pit, as well as better:

tuſh man, mortall men, mortall men.

Weſtm.

I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceeding

poore and bare, too beggarly.

Falſt.

Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where they

had that; and for their bareneſſe, I am ſure they neuer

learn’d that of me.

Prince.

No, Ile be ſworne, vnleſſe you call three fingers

on the Ribbes bare. But ſirra, make haſte, Percy is already

in the field.

Falſt.

What, is the King encamp’d?

Weſtm.

Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee ſhall ſtay too

long.

Falſt.

Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the begin-

ning of a Feaſt, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Gueſt.

Exeunt.

Scœna Tertia.

Enter Hotſpur, Worceſter, Dowglas, and Vernon.

Hotſp.

Wee’le fight with him to Night.

Worc.

It may not be.

Dowg.

You giue him then aduantage.

Vern.

Not a whit.

Hotſp.

Why ſay you ſo? lookes he not for ſupply?

Vern.

So doe wee.

Hotſp.

His is certaine, ours is doubtfull.

Worc.

Good Couſin be aduis’d, ſtirre not to night.

Vern.

Doe not, my Lord.

Dowg.

You doe not counſaile well:

You ſpeake it out of feare, and cold heart.

Vern.

Doe me no ſlander, Dowglas: by my Life,

And I dare well maintaine it with my Life,

If well-reſpeƈted Honor bid me on,

I hold as little counſaile with weake feare,

As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.

Let it be ſeene to morrow in the Battell,

Which of vs feares.

Dowg.

Yea, or to night.

Vern.

Content.

Hotſp.

To night, ſay I.

Vern.

Come, come, it may not be.

I wonder much, being mē of ſuch great leading as you are

That you fore-ſee not what impediments

Drag backe our expedition: certaine Horſe

Of my Couſin Vernons are not yet come vp,

Your Vnckle Worceſters Horſe came but to day,

And now their pride and mettall is aſleepe,

Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,

That not a Horſe is halfe the halfe of himſelfe.

Hotſp.

So are the Horſes of the Enemie

In generall iourney bated, and brought low:

The better part of ours are full of reſt.

Worc.

The number of the King exceedeth ours:

For Gods ſake, Couſin, ſtay till all come in.

The Trumpet ſounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

Blunt.

I come with gracious offers from the King,

If you vouchſafe me hearing, and reſpeƈt.

Hotſp.

Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:

And would to God you were of our determination.

Some of vs loue you well: and euen thoſe ſome

Enuie your great deſeruings, and good name,

Becauſe you are not of our qualitie,

But ſtand againſt vs like an Enemie.

Blunt.

And Heauen defend, but ſtill I ſhould ſtand ſo,

So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,

You ſtand againſt anoynted Maieſtie.

But to my Charge.

The King hath ſent to know

The nature of your Griefes, and whereupon

You coniure from the Breſt of Ciuill Peace,

Such bold Hoſtilitie, teaching his dutious Land

Audacious Crueltie. If that the King

Haue any way your good Deſerts forgot,

Which he confeſſeth to be manifold,

He bids you name your Griefes, and with all ſpeed

You ſhall haue your deſires, with intereſt;

And Pardon abſolute for your ſelfe, and theſe,

Herein mis-led, by your ſuggeſtion.

Hotſp.

The King is kinde:

And well wee know, the King

Knowes at what time to promiſe, when to pay.

My Father, my Vnckle, and my ſelfe,

Did giue him that ſame Royaltie he weares:

And when he was not ſixe and twentie ſtrong,

Sicke in the Worlds regard, wretched, and low,

A poore vnminded Out-law, ſneaking home,

My Father gaue him welcome to the ſhore:

And when he heard him ſweare, and vow to God,

He came but to be Duke of Lancaſter,

To ſue his Liuerie, and begge his Peace,

With teares of Innocencie, and tearmes of Zeale;

My Father, in kinde heart and pitty mou’d,

Swore him aſſiſtance, and perform’d it too.

Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realme

Perceiu’d Northumberland did leane to him,

The more and leſſe came in with Cap and Knee,

Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages,

Attended him on Bridges, ſtood in Lanes,

Layd Gifts before him, proffer’d him their Oathes,

Gaue him their Heires, as Pages followed him,

Euen at the heeles, in golden multitudes.

He preſently, as Greatneſſe knowes it ſelfe,

Step me a little higher then his Vow

Made to my Father, while his blood was poore,

Vpon the naked ſhore at Rauenſpurgh:

And now (forſooth) takes on him to reforme

Some certaine Ediƈts, and ſome ſtrait Decrees,

That lay too heauie on the Common-wealth;

Cryes out vpon abuſes, ſeemes to weepe

Ouer his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face,

This ſeeming Brow of Iuſtice, did he winne

The hearts of all that hee did angle for.

Proceeded further, cut me off the Heads

Of all the Fauorites, that the abſent King

In deputation left behinde him heere,

When hee was perſonall in the Iriſh Warre.

Blunt.

Tut, I came not to hear this.

Hotſp.

Then to the point.

In ſhort time after, hee depos’d the King.

Soone after that, depriu’d him of his Life:

And in the neck of that, task’t the whole State.

To make that worſe, ſuffer’d his Kinſman March,

Who is, if euery Owner were plac’d,

Indeede his King, to be engag’d in Wales,

There, without Ranſome, to lye forfeited:

Diſgrac’d me in my happie Viƈtories,

Sought to intrap me by intelligence,

Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord,

In rage diſmiſs’d my Father from the Court,

Broke Oath on Oath, committed Wrong on Wrong,

And in concluſion, droue vs to ſeeke out

This Head of ſafetie; and withall, to prie

Into his Title: the which wee finde

Too indireƈt, for long continuance.

Blunt.

Shall I returne this anſwer to the King?

Hotſp.

Not ſo, Sir Walter.

Wee’le with-draw a while:

Goe to the King, and let there be impawn’d

Some ſuretie for a ſafe returne againe,

And in the Morning early ſhall my Vnckle

Bring him our purpoſe: and ſo farewell.

Blunt.

I would you would accept of Grace and Loue.

Hotſp.

And’t may be, ſo wee ſhall.

Blunt. Pray Heauen you doe.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter the Arch-Biſhop of Yorke, and Sir Michell.

Arch.

Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this ſealed Briefe

With winged haſte to the Lord Marſhall,

This to my Couſin Scroope, and all the reſt

To whom they are direƈted.

If you knew how much they doe import,

You would make haſte.

Sir Mich.

My good Lord, I gueſſe their tenor.

Arch.

Like enough you doe.

To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,

Wherein the fortune of ten thouſand men

Muſt bide the touch. For Sir, at Shrewsbury,

As I am truly giuen to vnderſtand,

The King, with mightie and quick-rayſed Power,

Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell,

What with the ſickneſſe of Northumberland,

Whoſe Power was in the firſt proportion;

And what with Owen Glendowers abſence thence,

Who with them was rated firmely too,

And comes not in, ouer-rul’d by Prophecies,

I feare the Power of Percy is too weake,

To wage an inſtant tryall with the King.

Sir Mich.

Why, my good Lord, you need not feare,

There is Dowglas, and Lord Mortimer.

Arch.

No, Mortimer is not there.

Sir Mic.

But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,

And there is my Lord of Worceſter,

And a Head of gallant Warriors,

Noble Gentlemen.

Arch.

And ſo there is, but yet the King hath Drawne

The ſpeciall head of all the Land together:

The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter,

The Noble Weſtmerland, and warlike Blunt;

And many moe Corriuals, and deare men

Of eſtimation, and command in Armes.

Sir M.

Doubt not my Lord, he ſhall be well oppos’d

Arch.

I hope no leſſe? Yet needfull ’tis to feare,

And to preuent the worſt, Sir Michell ſpeed;

For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the King

Diſmiſſe his power, he meanes to viſit vs:

For he hath heard of our Confederacie,

And, ’tis but Wiſedome to make ſtrong againſt him:

Therefore make haſt, I muſt go write againe

To other Friends: and ſo farewell, Sir Michell.

Exeunt.

Aƈtus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Aƈtus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falſtaffe.

King.

How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere

Aboue yon busky hill: the day lookes pale

At his diſtemperature

Prin.

The Southerne winde

Doth play the Trumpet to his purpoſes,

And by his hollow whiſtling in the Leaues,

Fortels a Tempeſt, and a bluſt’ring day.

King.

Then with the loſers let it ſympathize,

For nothing can ſeeme foule to thoſe that win.

The Trumpet ſounds.

Enter Worceſter.

King.

How now my Lord of Worſter? ’Tis not well

That you and I ſhould meet vpon ſuch tearmes,

As now we meet. You haue deceiu’d our truſt,

And made vs doffe our eaſie Robes of Peace,

To cruſh our old limbes in vngentle Steele:

This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.

What ſay you to it? Will you againe vnknit

This churliſh knot of all-abhorred Warre?

And moue in the obedient Orbe againe,

Where you did giue a faire and naturall light,

And be no more an exhall’d Meteor,

A prodigie of Feare, and a Portent

Of broached Miſcheefe, to the vnborne Times?

Wor.

Heare me, my Liege:

For mine owne part, I could be well content

To entertaine the Lagge-end of my life

With quiet houres: For I do proteſt,

I haue not ſought the day of this diſlike.

King.

You haue not ſought it: how comes it then?

Fal.

Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

Prin.

Peace, Chewet, peace.

Wor.

It pleas’d your Maieſty, to turne your lookes

Of Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our Houſe;

And yet I muſt remember you my Lord,

We were the firſt, and deareſt of your Friends:

For you, my ſtaffe of Office did I breake

In Richards time, and poaſted day and night

To meete you on the way, and kiſſe your hand,

When yet you were in place, and in account

Nothing ſo ſtrong and fortunate, as I;

It was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne,

That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare

The danger of the time. You ſwore to vs,

And you did ſweare that Oath at Doncaſter,

That you did nothing of purpoſe ’gainſt the State,

Nor claime no further, then your new-falne right,

The ſeate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaſter,

To this, we ſware our aide: But in ſhort ſpace,

It rain’d downe Fortune ſhowring on your head,

And ſuch a floud of Greatneſſe fell on you,

What with our helpe, what with the abſent King.

What with the iniuries of wanton time,

The ſeeming ſufferances that you had borne,

And the contrarious Windes that held the King

So long in the vnlucky Iriſh Warres,

That all in England did repute him dead:

And from this ſwarme of faire aduantages,

You tooke occaſion to be quickly woo’d,

To gripe the generall ſway into your hand,

Forgot your Oath to vs at Doncaſter,

And being fed by vs, you vs’d vs ſo,

As that vngentle gull the Cuckowes Bird,

Vſeth the Sparrow, did oppreſſe our Neſt

Grew by our Feeding, to ſo great a bulke,

That euen our Loue durſt not come neere your ſight

For feare of ſwallowing: But with nimble wing

We were inforc’d for ſafety ſake, to flye

Out of your ſight, and raiſe this preſent Head,

Whereby we ſtand oppoſed by ſuch meanes

As you your ſelfe, haue forg’d againſt your ſelfe,

By vnkinde vſage, dangerous countenance,

And violation of all faith and troth

Sworne to vs in yonger enterprize.

Kin.

Theſe things indeed you haue articulated,

Proclaim’d at Market Croſſes, read in Churches,

To face the Garment of Rebellion

With ſome fine colour, that may pleaſe the eye

Of fickle Changelings, and poore Diſcontents,

Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newes

Of hurly burly Innouation:

And neuer yet did Inſurreƈtion want

Such water-colours, to impaint his cauſe:

Nor moody Beggars, ſtaruing for a time

Of pell-mell hauocke, and confuſion.

Prin.

In both our Armies, there is many a ſoule

Shall pay full dearely for this encounter,

If once they ioyne in triall. Tell your Nephew,

The Prince of Wales doth ioyne with all the world

In praiſe of Henry Percie: By my Hopes,

This preſent enterprize ſet off his head,

I do not thinke a brauer Gentleman,

More aƈtiue, valiant, or more valiant yong,

More daring, or more bold, is now aliue,

To grace this latter Age with Noble deeds.

For my part, I may ſpeake it to my ſhame,

I haue a Truant beene to Chiualry,

And ſo I heare, he doth account me too:

Yet this before my Fathers Maieſty,

I am content that he ſhall take the oddes

Of his great name and eſtimation,

And will, to ſaue the blood on either ſide,

Try fortune with him, in a Single Fight.

King.

And Prince of Wales, ſo dare we venter thee,

Albeit, conſiderations infinite

Do make againſt it: No good Worſter, no,

We loue our people well; euen thoſe we loue

That are miſled vpon your Couſins part:

And will they take the offer of our Grace:

Both he, and they, and you; yea euery man

Shall be my Friend againe, and Ile be his.

So tell your Couſin, and bring me word,

What he will do. But if he will not yeeld,

Rebuke and dread correƈtion waite on vs,

And they ſhall do their Office. So bee gone,

We will not now be troubled with reply,

We offer faire, take it aduiſedly.

Exit Worceſter.

Prin.

It will not be accepted, on my life,

The Dowglas and the Hotſpurre both together,

Are confident againſt the world in Armes.

King.

Hence therefore, euery Leader to his charge,

For on their anſwer will we ſet on them;

And God befriend vs, as our cauſe is iuſt.

Exeunt.

Manet Prince and Falſtaffe.

Fal.

Hal, if thou ſee me downe in the battell,

And beſtride me, ſo; ’tis a point of friendſhip.

Prin.

Nothing but a Coloſſus can do thee that frendſhip

Say thy prayers, and farewell.

Fal.

I would it were bed time Hal, and all well.

Prin.

Why, thou ow’ſt heauen a death.

Falſt.

’Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay him

before his day. What neede I bee ſo forward with him,

that call’s not on me? Well, ’tis no matter, Honor prickes

me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come

on? How then? Can Honour ſet too a legge? No: or an

arme? No: Or take away the greefe of a wound? No.

Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No. What is Ho-

nour? A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: A

trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy’de a Wedneſ-

day. Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare it? No. Is it

inſenſible then? yea, to the dead. But wil it not liue with

the liuing? No. Why? Detraƈtion wil not ſuffer it, ther-

fore Ile none of it. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and ſo

ends my Catechiſme.

Exit.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Worceſter, and Sir Richard Vernon.

Wor.

O no, my Nephew muſt not know, Sir Richard,

The liberall kinde offer of the King.

Ver.

’Twere beſt he did.

Wor.

Then we are all vndone.

It is not poſſible, it cannot be,

The King would keepe his word in louing vs,

He will ſuſpeƈt vs ſtill, and finde a time

To puniſh this offence in others faults:

Suppoſition, all our liues, ſhall be ſtucke full of eyes;

For Treaſon is but truſted like the Foxe,

Who ne’re ſo tame, ſo cheriſht, and lock’d vp,

Will haue a wilde tricke of his Anceſtors:

Looke how he can, or ſad or merrily,

Interpretation will miſquote our lookes,

And we ſhall feede like Oxen at a ſtall,

The better cheriſht, ſtill the nearer death.

My Nephewes treſpaſſe may be well forgot,

It hath the excuſe of youth, and heate of blood,

And an adopted name of Priuiledge,

A haire-brain’d Hotſpurre, gouern’d by a Spleene:

All his offences liue vpon my head,

And on his Fathers. We did traine him on,

And his corruption being tane from vs,

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.

Deliuer what you will, Ile ſay ’tis ſo.

Heere comes your Coſin.

Enter Hotſpurre.

Hot.

My Vnkle is return’d,

Deliuer vp my Lord of Weſtmerland.

Vnkle, what newe-?

Wor.

The King will bid you battell preſently.

Dow.

Defie him by the Lord of Weſtmerland

Hot.

Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him ſo.

Dow.

Marry and ſhall, and verie willingly.

Exit Dowglas.

Wor.

There is no ſeeming mercy in the King.

Hot.

Did you begge any? God forbid.

Wor.

I told him gently of our greeuances,

Of his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,

By now forſwearing that he is forſworne,

He cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will ſcourge

With haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs.

Enter Dowglas.

Dow.

Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown

A braue defiance in King Henries teeth:

And Weſtmerland that was ingag’d did beare it,

Which cannot chooſe but bring him quickly on.

Wor.

The Prince of Wales ſtept forth before the king,

And Nephew, challeng’d you to ſingle fight.

Hot.

O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,

And that no man might draw ſhort breath to day,

But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,

How ſhew’d his Talking? Seem’d it in contempt?

Ver.

No, by my Soule: I neuer in my life

Did heare a Challenge vrg’d more modeſtly,

Vnleſſe a Brother ſhould a Brother dare

To gentle exerciſe, and proofe of Armes.

He gaue you all the Duties of a Man,

Trimm’d vp your praiſes with a Princely tongue,

Spoke your deſeruings like a Chronicle,

Making you euer better then his praiſe,

By ſtill diſpraiſing praiſe, valew’d with you:

And which became him like a Prince indeed,

He made a bluſhing citall of himſelfe,

And chid his Trewant youth with ſuch a Grace,

As if he maſtred there a double ſpirit

Of teaching, and of learning inſtantly:

There did he pauſe. But let me tell the World,

If he out-liue the enuie of this day,

England did neuer owe ſo ſweet a hope,

So much miſconſtrued in his Wantonneſſe,

Hot.

Couſin, I thinke thou art enamored

On his Follies: neuer did I heare

Of any Prince ſo wilde at Liberty.

But be he as he will, yet once ere night,

I will imbrace him with a Souldiers arme,

That he ſhall ſhrinke vnder my curteſie.

Arme, arme with ſpeed. And Fellow’s, Soldiers, Friends,

Better conſider what you haue to do,

That I that haue not well the gift of Tongue,

Can lift your blood vp with perſwaſion.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Meſ.

My Lord, heere are Letters for you.

Hot.

I cannot reade them now.

O Gentlemen, the time of life is ſhort;

To ſpend that ſhortneſſe baſely, were too long.

If life did ride vpon a Dials point,

Still ending at the arriuall of an houre,

And if we liue, we liue to treade on Kings:

If dye; braue death, when Princes dye with vs.

Now for our Conſciences, the Armes is faire,

When the intent for bearing them is iuſt.

Enter another Meſſenger.

Meſ.

My Lord prepare, the King comes on apace.

Hot.

I thanke him, that he cuts me from my tale:

For I profeſſe not talking: Onely this,

Let each man do his beſt. And heere I draw a Sword,

Whoſe worthy temper I intend to ſtaine

With the beſt blood that I can meete withall,

In the aduenture of this perillous day.

Now Eſperance Percy, and ſet on:

Sound all the lofty Inſtruments of Warre,

And by that Muſicke, let vs all imbrace:

For heauen to earth, ſome of vs neuer ſhall,

A ſecond time do ſuch a curteſie.

They embrace, the Trumpets ſound, the King entereth with his power, alarum vnto the battell. Then enter Dowglas, and Sir Walter Blunt.

Blu.

What is thy name, that in battel thus ӳ croſſeſt me?

What honor doſt thou ſeeke vpon my head?

Dow.

Know then my name is Dowglas,

And I do haunt thee in the battell thus,

Becauſe ſome tell me, that thou art a King.

Blunt.

They tell thee true.

Dow.

The Lord of Stafford deere to day hath bought

Thy likeneſſe: for inſted of thee King Harry,

This Sword hath ended him, ſo ſhall it thee,

Vnleſſe thou yeeld thee as a Priſoner.

Blu.

I was not borne to yeeld, thou haughty Scot,

And thou ſhalt finde a King that will reuenge

Lords Staffords death.

Fight, Blunt is ſlaine, then enters Hotſpur.

Hot.

O Dowglas, hadſt thou fought at Holmedon thus

I neuer had triumphed o’re a Scot.

Dow.

All’s done, all’s won, here breathles lies the king

Hot.

Where?

Dow.

Heere.

Hot.

This Dowglas? No, I know this face full well:

A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt,

Semblably furniſh’d like the King himſelfe.

Dow.

Ah foole: go with thy ſoule whether it goes,

A borrowed Title haſt thou bought too deere.

Why didſt thou tell me, that thou wer’t a King?

Hot.

The King hath many marching in his Coats.

Dow.

Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coates,

Ile murder all his Wardrobe peece by peece,

Vntill I meet the King.

Hot.

Vp, and away,

Our Souldiers ſtand full fairely for the day.

Exeunt

Alarum, and enter Falſtaffe ſolus.

Fal.

Though I could ſcape ſhot-free at London, I fear

the ſhot heere: here’s no ſcoring, but vpon the pate. Soft

who are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there’s Honour for you:

here’s no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as hea-

uy too; heauen keepe Lead out of mee, I neede no more

weight then mine owne Bowelles. I haue led my rag of

Muffins where they are pepper’d: there’s not three of my

150. left aliue, and they for the Townes end, to beg du-

ring life. But who comes heere?

Enter the Prince.

Pri.

What, ſtand’ſt thou idle here? Lend me thy ſword,

Many a Nobleman lies ſtarke and ſtiffe

Vnder the hooues of vaunting enemies,

Whoſe deaths are vnreueng’d. Prethy lend me thy ſword

Fal.

O Hal, I prethee giue me leaue to breath awhile:

Turke Gregory neuer did ſuch deeds in Armes, as I haue

done this day. I haue paid Percy, I haue made him ſure.

Prin.

He is indeed, and liuing to kill thee:

I prethee lend me thy ſword.

Falſt.

Nay Hal, if Percy bee aliue, thou getſt not my

Sword; but take my Piſtoll if thou wilt.

Prin.

Giue it me: What, is it in the Caſe?

Fal.

I Hal, ’tis hot: There’s that will Sacke a City.

The Prince drawes out a Bottle of Sacke.

Prin.

What, is it a time to ieſt and dally now.

Exit.

Throwes it at him.

Fal.

If Percy be aliue, Ile 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: Giue mee life, which if I can

ſaue, ſo: if not, honour comes vnlook’d for, and ther’s an

end.

Exit

Scena Tertia.

Alarum, excurſions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, and Earle of Weſtmerland.

King.

I prethee Harry withdraw thy ſelfe, thou blee-

deſt too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, go you with him.

P. Ioh.

Not I, My Lord, vnleſſe I did bleed too.

Prin.

I beſeech your Maieſty make vp,

Leaſt you retirement do amaze your friends.

King.

I will do ſo:

My Lord of Weſtmerland leade him to his Tent.

Weſt.

Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent.

Prin.

Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;

And heauen forbid a ſhallow ſcratch ſhould driue

The Prince of Wales from ſuch a field as this,

Where ſtain’d Nobility lyes troden on,

And Rebels Armes triumph in maſſacres.

Ioh.

We breath too long: Come coſin Weſtmerland,

Our duty this way lies, for heauens ſake come.

Prin.

By heauen thou haſt deceiu’d me Lancaſter,

I did not thinke thee Lord of ſuch a ſpirit:

Before, I lou’d thee as a Brother, Iohn;

But now, I do reſpeƈt thee as my Soule.

King.

I ſaw him hold Lord Percy at the point,

With luſtier maintenance then I did looke for

Of ſuch an vngrowne Warriour.

Prin.

O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all.

Exit.

Enter Dowglas.

Dow.

Another King? They grow like Hydra’s heads:

I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thoſe

That weare thoſe colours on them. What art thou

That counterfeit’ſt the perſon of a King?

King.

The King himſelfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart

So many of his ſhadowes thou haſt met,

And not the very King. I haue two Boyes

Seeke Percy and thy ſelfe about the Field:

But ſeeing thou fall’ſt on me ſo luckily,

I will aſſay thee: ſo defend thy ſelfe.

Dow.

I feare thou art another counterfeit:

And yet infaith thou bear’ſt thee like a King:

But mine I am ſure thou art, whoere thou be,

And thus I win thee.

They fight, the K. being in danger,

Enter Prince.

Prin.

Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art like

Neuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits

Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;

It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,

Who neuer promiſeth, but he meanes to pay

They Fight, Dowglas flyeth.

Cheerely My Lord: how fare’s your Grace?

Sir Nicolas Gawſey hath for ſuccour ſent,

And ſo hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton ſtraight.

King.

Stay, and breath awhile.

Thou haſt redeem’d thy loſt opinion,

And ſhew’d thou mak’ſt ſome tender of my life

In this faire reſcue thou haſt brought to mee.

Prin.

O heauen, they did me too much iniury,

That euer ſaid I hearkned to your death.

If it were ſo, I might haue let alone

The inſulting hand of Dowglas ouer you,

Which would haue bene as ſpeedy in your end,

As all the poyſonous Potions in the world,

And ſau’d the Treacherous labour of your Sonne.

K.

Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gauſey.

Exit

Enter Hotſpur.

Hot.

If I miſtake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

Prin.

Thou ſpeak’ſt as if I would deny my name.

Hot.

My name is Harrie Percie.

Prin.

Why then I ſee a very valiant rebel of that name.

I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy,

To ſhare with me in glory any more:

Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere,

Nor can one England brooke a double reigne,

Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales.

Hot.

Nor ſhall it Harry, for the houre is come

To end the one of vs; and would to heauen,

Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine.

Prin.

Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee,

And all the budding Honors on thy Creſt,

Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head.

Hot.

I can no longer brooke thy Vanities.

Fight.

Enter Falſtaffe.

Fal.

Well ſaid Hal, to it Hal. Nay you ſhall finde no

Boyes play heere, I can tell you.

Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falſtaffe, who fals down as if he were dead. The Prince killeth Percie.

Hot.

Oh Harry, thou haſt rob’d me of my youth:

I better brooke the loſſe of brittle life,

Then thoſe proud Titles thou haſt wonne of me,

They wound my thoghts worſe, then the ſword my fleſh:

But thought’s the ſlaue of Life, and Life, Times foole;

And Time, that takes ſuruey of all the world,

Muſt haue a ſtop. O, I could Propheſie,

But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,

Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art duſt

And food for —

Prin.

For Wormes, braue Percy. Farewell great heart:

Ill-weau’d Ambition, how much art thou ſhrunke?

When that this bodie did containe a ſpirit,

A Kingdome for it was too ſmall a bound:

But now two paces of the vileſt Earth

Is roome enough. This Earth that beares the dead,

Beares not aliue ſo ſtout a Gentleman.

If thou wer’t ſenſible of curteſie,

I ſhould not make ſo great a ſhew of Zeale.

But let my fauours hide thy mangled face,

And euen in thy behalfe, Ile thanke my ſelfe

For doing theſe fayre Rites of Tenderneſſe.

Adieu, and take thy praiſe with thee to heauen,

Thy ignomy ſleepe with thee in the graue,

But not remembred in thy Epitaph.

What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this fleſh

Keepe in a little life? Poore Iacke, farewell:

I could haue better ſpar’d a better man.

O, I ſhould haue a heauy miſſe of thee,

If I were much in loue with Vanity.

Death hath not ſtrucke ſo fat a Deere to day,

Though many dearer in this bloody Fray:

Imbowell’d will I ſee thee by and by,

Till then, in blood, by Noble Percie lye.

Exit.

Falſtaffe riſeth vp.

Falſt.

Imbowell’d? If thou imbowell mee to day, Ile

giue you leaue to powder me, and eat me too to morow.

’Twas time to counterfet, or that hotte Termagant Scot,

had paid me ſcot and lot too. Counterfeit? I am no coun-

terfeit; to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for hee is but the

counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: But

to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liueth, is to be

no counterfeit, but the true and perfeƈt image of life in-

deede. The better part of Valour, is Diſcretion; in the

which better part, I haue ſaued my life. I am affraide of

this Gun-powder Percy though he be dead. How if hee

ſhould counterfeit too, and riſe? I am afraid hee would

proue the better counterfeit: therefore Ile make him ſure:

yea, and Ile ſweare I kill’d him. Why may not hee riſe as

well as I: Nothing confutes me but eyes, and no-bodie

ſees me. Therefore ſirra, with a new wound in your thigh

come you along me.

Takes Hotſpurre on his backe.

Enter Prince and Iohn of Lancaſter.

Prin.

Come Brother Iohn, full brauely haſt thou fleſht

thy Maiden ſword.

Iohn.

But ſoft, who haue we heere?

Did you not tell me this Fat man was dead?

Prin.

I did, I ſaw him dead,

Breathleſſe, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue?

Or is it fantaſie that playes vpon our eye-ſight?

I prethee ſpeake, we will not truſt our eyes

Without our eares. Thou art not what thou ſeem’ſt.

Fal.

No, that’s certaine: I am not a double man: but

if I be not Iacke Falſtaffe, then am I a Iacke: There is Per-

cy, if your Father will do me any Honor, ſo: if not, let him

kill the next Percie himſelfe. I looke to be either Earle or

Duke, I can aſſure you.

Prin.

Why, Percy I kill’d my ſelfe, and ſaw thee dead.

Fal.

Did’ſt thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is giuen

to Lying? I graunt you I was downe, and out of Breath,

and ſo was he, but we roſe both at an inſtant, and fought

a long houre by Shrewsburie clocke. If I may bee belee-

ued, ſo: if not, let them that ſhould reward Valour, beare

the ſinne vpon their owne heads. Ile take’t on my death

I gaue him this wound in the Thigh: if the man vvere a-

liue, and would deny it, I would make him eate a peece

of my ſword.

Iohn.

This is the ſtrangeſt Tale that e’re I heard.

Prin.

This is the ſtrangeſt Fellow, Brother Iohn.

Come bring your luggage Nobly on your backe:

For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,

Ile gil’d it with the happieſt tearmes I haue.

A Retreat 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 liuing, who are dead.

Exeunt

Fal.

Ile follow as they ſay, for Reward. Hee that re-

wards me, heauen reward him. If I do grow great again,

Ile grow leſſe? For Ile purge, and leaue Sacke, and liue

cleanly, as a Nobleman ſhould do.

Exit

Scœna Quarta.

The Trumpets ſound.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, with Worceſter & Vernon Priſoners.

King.

Thus euer did Rebellion finde Rebuke.

Ill-ſpirited Worceſter, did we not ſend Grace,

Pardon, and tearmes of Loue to all of you?

And would’ſt thou turne our offers contrary?

Miſuſe the tenor of thy Kinſmans truſt?

Three Knights vpon our party ſlaine to day,

A Noble Earle, and many a creature elſe,

Had beene aliue this houre,

If like a Chriſtian thou had’ſt truly borne

Betwixt our Armies, true Intelligence.

Wor.

What I haue done, my ſafety vrg’d me to,

And I embrace this fortune patiently,

Since not to be auoyded, it fals on mee.

King.

Beare Worceſter to death, and Vernon too:

Other Offenders we will pauſe vpon.

Exit Worceſter and Vernon.

How goes the Field?

Prin.

The Noble Scot Lord Dowglas, when hee ſaw

The fortune of the day quite turn’d from him,

The Noble Percy ſlaine, and all his men,

Vpon the foot of feare, fled with the reſt;

And falling from a hill, he was ſo bruiz’d

That the purſuers tooke him. At my Tent

The Dowglas is, and I beſeech your Grace,

I may diſpoſe of him.

King.

With all my heart.

Prin.

Then Brother Iohn of Lancaſter,

To you this honourable bounty ſhall belong:

Go to the Dowglas, and deliuer him

Vp to his pleaſure, ranſomleſſe and free:

His Valour ſhewne vpon our Creſts to day,

Hath taught vs how to cheriſh ſuch high deeds,

Euen in the boſome of our Aduerſaries.

King.

Then this remaines: that we diuide our Power.

You Sonne Iohn, and my Couſin Weſtmerland

Towards Yorke ſhall bend you, with your deereſt ſpeed

To meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroope,

Who (as we heare) are buſily in Armes.

My Selfe, and you Sonne Harry will towards Wales,

To fight with Glendower, and the Earle of March.

Rebellion in this Land ſhall loſe his way,

Meeting the Checke of ſuch another day:

And ſince this Buſineſſe ſo faire is done,

Let vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne.

Exeunt.

FINIS.

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