King Henry IV, Second Part
by
William Shakespeare [Chiswick edition]
Part 1 out of 3
KING HENRY IV, SECOND PART
by William Shakespeare
Dramatis Personae
RUMOUR, the Presenter.
KING HENRY the Fourth.
His sons
HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards King Henry V.
THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE.
PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER.
PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER.
EARL OF WARWICK.
EARL OF WESTMORELAND.
EARL OF SURREY.
GOWER.
HARCOURT.
BLUNT.
Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.
A Servant of the Chief-Justice.
EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
SCROOP, Archbishop of York.
LORD MOWBRAY.
LORD HASTINGS.
LORD BARDOLPH.
SIR JOHN COLEVILLE.
TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland.
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF.
His Page.
BARDOLPH.
PISTOL.
POINS.
PETO.
SHALLOW and SILENCE, country justices.
DAVY, Servant to Shallow.
MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULLCALF, recruits.
FANG and SNARE, sheriff's officers.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND.
LADY PERCY.
MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.
DOLL TEARSHEET.
Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, etc.
A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.
SCENE: England.
INDUCTION
Warkworth. Before the castle.
[Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues.]
RUMOUR.
Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert emnity
Under the smile of safety wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepared defence,
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.
[Exit.]
ACT I.
SCENE 1. The same.
[Enter Lord Bardolph.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who keeps the gate here, ho?
[The Porter opens the gate.]
Where is the earl?
PORTER.
What shall I say you are?
LORD BARDOLPH.
Tell thou the earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
PORTER.
His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard:
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.
[Enter Northumberland.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
Here comes the earl.
[Exit Porter.]
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem:
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Good, an God will!
LORD BARDOLPH.
As good as heart can wish:
The king is almost wounded to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field:
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Caesar's fortunes!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How is this derived?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
LORD BARDOLPH.
I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
[Enter Travers.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from me.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
TRAVERS.
My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And bending forward struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ha! Again:
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?
LORD BARDOLPH.
My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
[Enter Morton.]
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
To fright our party.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say: "Your son did thus and thus;
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:"
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with "Brother, son, and all are dead."
MORTON.
Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord your son,--
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
MORTON.
You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye;
Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd tolling a departing friend.
LORD BARDOLPH.
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
MORTON.
I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
TRAVERS.
This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
MORTON.
The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said
"Let us make head." It was your presurmise,
That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop:
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
You were advised his flesh was capable
Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:
Yet did you say "Go forth;" and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be?
LORD BARDOLPH.
We all that are engaged to this loss
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed
Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will put forth, body and goods.
MORTON.
'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,
I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth:
The gentle Archbishop of York is up
With well-appointed powers: he is a man
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corpse,
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He 's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
And more and less do flock to follow him.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety and revenge:
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed:
Never so few, and never yet more need.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. London. A street.
[Enter Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler.]
FALSTAFF.
Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?
PAGE.
He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but,
for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he
knew for.
FALSTAFF.
Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of
this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing
that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me:
I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her
litter but one.
If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to
set me off, why then I have no judgement. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou
art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never
manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor
silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for
a jewel,--the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet
fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he
shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is
a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet:
he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn
sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever
since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's
almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about
the satin for my short cloak and my slops?
PAGE.
He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph:
he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security.
FALSTAFF.
Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter!
A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a
gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson
smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys
at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking
up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would
put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security.
I looked 'a should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I
am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in
security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of
his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his
own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph?
PAGE.
He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse.
FALSTAFF.
I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield:
an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed,
and wived.
[Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant.]
PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for
striking him about Bardolph.
FALSTAFF.
Wait close; I will not see him.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What's he that goes there?
SERVANT.
Falstaff, an 't please your lordship.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
He that was in question for the robbery?
SERVANT.
He, my lord; but he hath since done good service at
Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the
Lord John of Lancaster.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What, to York? Call him back again.
SERVANT.
Sir John Falstaff!
FALSTAFF.
Boy, tell him I am deaf.
PAGE.
You must speak louder; my master is deaf.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good.
Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.
SERVANT.
Sir John!
FALSTAFF.
What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is
there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the
rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but
one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were
it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
SERVANT.
You mistake me, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood
and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so.
SERVANT.
I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your soldiership aside;
and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I
am any other than an honest man.
FALSTAFF.
I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me!
If thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave,
thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt!
SERVANT.
Sir, my lord would speak with you.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
FALSTAFF.
My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to
see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick:
I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though
not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some
relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship
to have a reverend care of your health.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.
FALSTAFF.
An 't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned
with some discomfort from Wales.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I
sent for you.
FALSTAFF.
And I hear, moreover, his highness is fall'n into this same
whoreson apoplexy.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you.
FALSTAFF.
This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an 't please
your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
FALSTAFF.
It hath it original from much grief, from study and perturbation
of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen:
it is a kind of deafness.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I think you are fallen into the disease, for you hear not
what I say to you.
FALSTAFF.
Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an 't please you, it
is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that
I am troubled withal.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
To punish you by the heels would amend the attention
of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician.
FALSTAFF.
I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship
may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty;
but how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions,
the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I sent for you, when there were matters against you
for your life, to come speak with me.
FALSTAFF.
As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws
of this land-service, I did not come.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.
FALSTAFF.
He that buckles himself in my belt cannot live in less.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Your means are very slender, and your waste is great.
FALSTAFF.
I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater,
and my waist slenderer.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
You have misled the youthful prince.
FALSTAFF.
The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the
great belly, and he my dog.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service
at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit
on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet
o'er-posting that action.
FALSTAFF.
My lord?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf.
FALSTAFF.
To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out.
FALSTAFF.
A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my
growth would approve the truth.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
There is not a white hair in your face but should have his
effect of gravity.
FALSTAFF.
His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel.
FALSTAFF.
Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks
upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects,
I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard
in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd;
pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving
reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of
this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old
consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the
heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that
are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written
down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye?
a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an
increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your
chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted
with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie,
fie, Sir John!
FALSTAFF.
My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon,
with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I
have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my
youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgement
and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand
marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him!
For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a
rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked
him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and
sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well, God send the prince a better companion!
FALSTAFF.
God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry:
I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the
Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland.
FALSTAFF.
Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all
you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a
hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I
mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish
any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again.
There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust
upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of
our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I
would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is:
I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to
nothing with perpetual motion.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition!
FALSTAFF.
Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses.
Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant.]
FALSTAFF.
If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate
age and covetousness than 'a can part young limbs and lechery: but
the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the
degrees prevent my curses. Boy!
PAGE.
Sir?
FALSTAFF.
What money is in my purse?
PAGE.
Seven groats and two pence.
FALSTAFF.
I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse:
borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is
incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the
prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress
Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the
first white hair of my chin. About it: you know where to find me.
[Exit Page.]
A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other
plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I
have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more
reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn
diseases to commodity.
[Exit.]
SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace.
[Enter the Archbishop, the Lords Hastings, Mowbray, Bardolph.]
ARCHBISHOP.
Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?
MOWBRAY.
I well allow the occasion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied
How in our means we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.
HASTINGS.
Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
LORD BARDOLPH.
The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?
HASTINGS.
With him, we may.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Yea, marry, there 's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgement is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand;
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain should not be admitted.
ARCHBISHOP.
'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
LORD BARDOLPH.
It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself in project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death
And winking leap'd into destruction.
HASTINGS.
But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Yes, if this present quality of war,
Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot
Lives so in hope as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then we must rate the cost of the erection;
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then but draw anew the model
In fewer offices, or at least desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
And set another up, should we survey
The plot of situation and the model,
Consent upon a sure foundation,
Question surveyors, know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or else
We fortify in paper and in figures,
Using the names of men instead of men;
Like one that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
HASTINGS.
Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The utmost man of expectation,
I think we are a body strong enough,
Even as we are, to equal with the king.
LORD BARDOLPH.
What, is the king but five and twenty thousand?
HASTINGS.
To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads: one power against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce a third
Must take up us: so is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
ARCHBISHOP.
That he should draw his several strengths together
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
HASTINGS.
If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
HASTINGS.
The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth:
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
ARCHBISHOP.
Let us on,
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many, with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provokest thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times?
They that, when Richard lived, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou that threw'st dust upon his goodly head
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Criest now "O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this!" O thoughts of men accursed!
Past and to come seems best; things present worst.
MOWBRAY.
Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
HASTINGS.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II.
SCENE I. London. A street.
[Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy with her, and Snare following.]
HOSTESS.
Master Fang, have you entered the action?
FANG.
It is entered.
HOSTESS.
Where 's your yeoman? Is 't a lusty yeoman? will 'a stand to 't?
FANG.
Sirrah, where 's Snare?
HOSTESS.
O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.
SNARE.
Here, here.
FANG.
Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.
HOSTESS.
Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.
SNARE.
It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab.
HOSTESS.
Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house,
and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what
mischief he does, if his weapon be out: he will foin like any
devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
FANG.
If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
HOSTESS.
No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.
FANG.
An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice,--
HOSTESS.
I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he 's an
infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure:
good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to
Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is
indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert Street, to
Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is
entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be
brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor
lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and
have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this
day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no
honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and
a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that
arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices,
do your offices, Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me
your offices.
[Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph.]
FALSTAFF.
How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter?
FANG.
Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.
FALSTAFF.
Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's
head: throw the quean in the channel.
HOSTESS.
Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel.
Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah,
thou honey-suckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the
king's?
Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller,
and a woman-queller.
FALSTAFF.
Keep them off, Bardolph.
FANG.
A rescue! a rescue!
HOSTESS.
Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou?
thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!
PAGE.
Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian! I'll tickle
your catastrophe.
[Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men.]
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!
HOSTESS.
Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here?
Doth this become your place, your time and business?
You should have been well on your way to York.
Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st thou upon him?
HOSTESS.
O my most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a
poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
For what sum?
HOSTESS.
It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have.
He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance
into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again,
or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare.
FALSTAFF.
I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any
vantage of ground to get up.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would
endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce
a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own?
FALSTAFF.
What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
HOSTESS.
Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too.
Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in
my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon
Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for
liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to
me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my
lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the
butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? Coming
in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of
prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told
thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when she
was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with
such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam?
And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings?
I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst.
FALSTAFF.
My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the
town that her eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case,
and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these
foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your
manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a
confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more
than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level
consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the
easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses
both in purse and in person.
HOSTESS.
Yea, in truth, my lord.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the
villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling
money, and the other with current repentance.
FALSTAFF.
My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply.
You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make
courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble
duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire
deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the
king's affairs.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer
in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman.
FALSTAFF.
Come hither, hostess.
[Enter Gower.]
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Now, Master Gower, what news?
GOWER.
The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.
FALSTAFF.
As I am a gentleman.
HOSTESS.
Faith, you said so before.
FALSTAFF.
As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it.
HOSTESS.
By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn
both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers.
FALSTAFF.
Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty
slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting
in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and
these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst.
Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in
England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be
in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast
set on to this.
HOSTESS.
Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith,
I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la!
FALSTAFF.
Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still.
HOSTESS.
Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope
you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together?
FALSTAFF.
Will I live? [To Bardolph.] Go, with her, with her;
hook on, hook on.
HOSTESS.
Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?
FALSTAFF.
No more words; let 's have her.
[Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Boy.]
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I have heard better news.
FALSTAFF.
What 's the news, my lord?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Where lay the king last night?
GOWER.
At Basingstoke, my lord.
FALSTAFF.
I hope, my lord, all 's well: what is the news, my lord?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Come all his forces back?
GOWER.
No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.
FALSTAFF.
Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
You shall have letters of me presently:
Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.
FALSTAFF.
My lord!
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What's the matter?
FALSTAFF.
Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?
GOWER.
I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to
take soldiers up in counties as you go.
FALSTAFF.
Will you sup with me, Master Gower?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John?
FALSTAFF.
Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that
taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for
tap, and so part fair.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. London. Another street.
[Enter Prince Henry and Poins.]
PRINCE.
Before God, I am exceeding weary.
POINS.
Is 't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have
attach'd one of so high blood.
PRINCE.
Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of
my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to
desire small beer?
POINS.
Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to
remember so weak a composition.
PRINCE.
Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth,
I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed,
these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness.
What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy
face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou
hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to
bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another
for use!
But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low
ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made
a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl
out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the
midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world
increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened.
POINS.
How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you
should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would
do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?
PRINCE.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
POINS.
Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.
PRINCE.
It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.
POINS.
Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell.
PRINCE.
Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father
is sick: albeit I could tell to thee, as to one it pleases me, for
fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too.
POINS.
Very hardly upon such a subject.
PRINCE.
By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou
and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man.
But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick:
and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from
me all ostentation of sorrow.
POINS.
The reason?
PRINCE.
What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?
POINS.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
PRINCE.
It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to
think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps
the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an
hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to
think so?
POINS.
Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed
to Falstaff.
PRINCE.
And to thee.
POINS.
By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with mine own
ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second
brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two
things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.
[Enter Bardolph and Page.]
PRINCE.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff: 'a had him from me Christian;
and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape.
BARDOLPH.
God save your grace!
PRINCE.
And yours, most noble Bardolph!
POINS.
Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing?
wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become!
Is 't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead?
PAGE.
'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could
discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his
eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new
petticoat and so peep'd through.
PRINCE.
Has not the boy profited?
BARDOLPH.
Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!
PAGE.
Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!
PRINCE.
Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?
PAGE.
Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a
fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.
PRINCE.
A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy.
POINS.
O, that this blossom could be kept from cankers! Well,
there is sixpence to preserve thee.
BARDOLPH.
An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows
shall have wrong.
PRINCE.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
BARDOLPH.
Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town:
there's a letter for you.
POINS.
Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,
your master?
BARDOLPH.
In bodily health, sir.
POINS.
Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves
not him: though that be sick, it dies not.
PRINCE.
I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog;
and he holds his place; for look you how he writes.
POINS.
[Reads.] "John Falstaff, knight,"--every man must know that, as oft
as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin
to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say,
"There's some of the king's blood spilt."
"How comes that?" says he, that takes upon him not to conceive.
The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap,
"I am the king's poor cousin, sir."
PRINCE.
Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet.
But to the letter:
POINS.
[Reads] "Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king,
nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting." Why, this
is a certificate.
PRINCE.
Peace!
POINS.
[Reads.] "I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:" he sure
means brevity in breath, short-winded. "I commend me to thee, I commend
thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell.
Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell.
"Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou
usest him,
JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and
sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe."
My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.
PRINCE.
That 's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use
me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?
POINS.
God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.
PRINCE.
Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the
wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London?
BARDOLPH.
Yea, my lord.
PRINCE.
Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?
BARDOLPH.
At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
PRINCE.
What company?
PAGE.
Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
PRINCE.
Sup any women with him?
PAGE.
None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.
PRINCE.
What pagan may that be?
PAGE.
A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.
PRINCE.
Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall
we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?
POINS.
I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.
PRINCE.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that
I am yet come to town: there's for your silence.
BARDOLPH.
I have no tongue, sir.
PAGE.
And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
PRINCE.
Fare you well; go.
[Exeunt Bardolph and Page.]
This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.
POINS.
I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London.
PRINCE.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true
colours, and not ourselves be seen?
POINS.
Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at
his table as drawers.
PRINCE.
From a God to a bull? a heavy descension! it was Jove's case.
From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be
mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with the folly.
Follow me, Ned.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle.
[Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, and Lady Percy.]
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs;
Put not you on the visage of the times
And be like them to Percy troublesome.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND.
I have given over, I will speak no more:
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
LADY PERCY.
O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now!
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves:
He had no legs that practis'd not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those who could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him!
O miracle of men! him did you leave,
Second to none, unseconded by you,
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage; to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible: so you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others than with him! let them alone:
The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go and meet with danger there,
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND.
O, fly to Scotland,
Till that the nobles and the armed commons
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
LADY PERCY.
If they get ground and vantage of the king,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son;
He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way:
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.
[Enter two Drawers.]
FIRST DRAWER.
What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?
thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.
SECOND DRAWER.
Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns
before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting
off his hat, said "I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,
old, withered knights." It angered him to the heart: but he hath
forgot that.
FIRST DRAWER.
Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out
Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music.
Dispatch: The room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in
straight.
SECOND DRAWER.
Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they
will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must
not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.
FIRST DRAWER.
By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent
stratagem.
SECOND DRAWER.
I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
[Exit.]
[Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet.]
HOSTESS.
I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good
temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would
desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in
good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and
that 's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one
can say "What's this?" How do you now?
DOLL.
Better than I was: hem!
HOSTESS.
Why, that 's well said; a good heart's worth gold. Lo, here
comes Sir John.
[Enter Falstaff.]
FALSTAFF.
[Singing] "When Arthur first in court"--Empty the jordan.
[Exit First Drawer.]--[Singing] "And was a worthy king."
How now, Mistress Doll!
HOSTESS.
Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.
FALSTAFF.
So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.
DOLL.
You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?
FALSTAFF.
You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.
DOLL.
I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not.
FALSTAFF.
If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases,
Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my poor
virtue, grant that.
DOLL.
Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.
FALSTAFF.
"Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:" for to serve bravely is to come
halting off, you know: to come off the breach with his pike bent
bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged chambers
bravely,--
DOLL.
Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!
HOSTESS.
By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet but you
fall to some discord: you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic
as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities.
What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be you: you are the
weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier vessel.
DOLL.
Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole
merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk
better stuffed in the hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack:
thou art going to the wars; and whether I shall ever see thee again or
no, there is nobody cares.
[Re-enter First Drawer.]
FIRST DRAWER.
Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you.
DOLL.
Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither: it is the
foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.
HOSTESS.
If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my faith; I must live
among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame
with the very best: shut the door; there comes no swaggerers here:
I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now: shut the
door, I pray you.
FALSTAFF.
Dost thou hear, hostess?
HOSTESS.
Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no swaggerers here.
FALSTAFF.
Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.
HOSTESS.
Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your ancient swaggerer comes
not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'other day;
and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last,
"I' good faith, neighbour Quickly," says he; Master Dumbe, our
minister, was by then; "neighbour Quickly," says he, "receive those
that are civil; for" said he "you are in an ill name:" now a' said
so, I can tell whereupon; "for," says he, "you are an honest woman,
and well thought on; therefore take heed what guests you receive:
receive," says he, "no swaggering companions." There comes none here:
you would bless you to hear what he said: no, I'll no swaggerers.
FALSTAFF.
He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith; you may stroke
him as gently as a puppy greyhound: he'll not swagger with a Barbary
hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. Call
him up, drawer.
[Exit First Drawer.]
HOSTESS.
Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no
cheater: but I do not love swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse,
when one says swagger: feel, masters, how I shake; look you, I
warrant you.
DOLL.
So you do, hostess.
HOSTESS.
Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf: I
cannot abide swaggerers.
[Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.]
PISTOL.
God save you, Sir John!
FALSTAFF.
Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with
a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.
PISTOL.
I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.
FALSTAFF.
She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend her.
HOSTESS.
Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets: I'll drink no
more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.
PISTOL.
Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.
DOLL.
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
rogue, away!
I am meat for your master.
PISTOL.
I know you, Mistress Dorothy.
DOLL.
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! by this wine,
I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy
cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's light, with two
points on your shoulder? much!
PISTOL.
God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.
FALSTAFF.
No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:
discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
HOSTESS.
No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.
DOLL.
Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou not ashamed
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earned them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for tearing
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! he lives upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as odious
as the word "occupy;" which was an excellent good word before it
was ill sorted: therefore captains had need look to't.
BARDOLPH.
Pray thee, go down, good ancient.
FALSTAFF.
Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.
PISTOL.
Not I: I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear
her: I'll be revenged of her.
PAGE.
Pray thee go down.
PISTOL.
I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake, by this
hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also.
Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors!
Have we not Hiren here?
HOSTESS.
Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i' faith: I
beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
PISTOL.
These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?
HOSTESS.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.
BARDOLPH.
Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.
PISTOL.
Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren
here?
HOSTESS.
O' my word, captain, there 's none such here. What the
good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be
quiet.
PISTOL.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give 's some sack.
"Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento."
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
[Laying down his sword.]
Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothing?
FALSTAFF.
Pistol, I would be quiet.
PISTOL.
Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what! we have seen the seven
stars.
DOLL.
For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot endure such a
fustian rascal.
PISTOL.
Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?
FALSTAFF.
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling:
nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing, a' shall be nothing
here.
BARDOLPH.
Come, get you down stairs.
PISTOL.
What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?
[Snatching up his sword.]
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!
HOSTESS.
Here's goodly stuff toward!
FALSTAFF.
Give me my rapier, boy.
DOLL.
I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
FALSTAFF.
Get you down stairs.
[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.]
HOSTESS.
Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house, afore
I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now.
Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
[Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph.]
DOLL.
I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you whoreson
little valiant villain, you!
HOSTESS.
Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a shrewd
thrust at your belly.
[Re-enter Bardolph.]
FALSTAFF.
Have you turned him out o' doors?
BARDOLPH.
Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, sir, i'
the shoulder.
FALSTAFF.
A rascal! to brave me!
DOLL.
Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
sweatest! come, let me wipe thy face; come on, you whoreson chops:
ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee: thou art as valorous as Hector
of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the Nine
Worthies: ah, villain!
FALSTAFF.
A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.
DOLL.
Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an thou dost, I'll canvass
thee between a pair of sheets.
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