The Complete Works of William Shakespeare The Second Part of King Henry IVPart 2 out of 3
SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county, and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure with me? BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir John Falstaff--a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword man. How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth? BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a wife. SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it. Good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. 'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good phrase. BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you it? By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a may be thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing. Enter FALSTAFF SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth, you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir John. FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. Master Surecard, as I think? SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me. FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the peace. SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome. FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men? SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you. SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,--so, so--yea, marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? MOULDY. Here, an't please you. SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young, strong, and of good friends. FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy? MOULDY. Yea, an't please you. FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd. SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir John; very well said. FALSTAFF. Prick him. MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let me alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are other men fitter to go out than I. FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time you were spent. MOULDY. Spent! SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you are? For th' other, Sir John--let me see. Simon Shadow! FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be a cold soldier. SHALLOW. Where's Shadow? SHADOW. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou? SHADOW. My mother's son, sir. FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's shadow. So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often so indeed; but much of the father's substance! SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John? FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have a number of shadows fill up the muster-book. SHALLOW. Thomas Wart! FALSTAFF. Where's he? WART. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart? WART. Yea, sir. FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John? FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more. SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I commend you well. Francis Feeble! FEEBLE. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble? FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir? FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha' prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor--well, Master Shallow, deep, Master Shallow. FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir. FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir. FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green! FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. BULLCALF. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar again. BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain- FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd? BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man. FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou? BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir. FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is here all? SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in Saint George's Field? FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that. SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive? FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. She never could away with me. FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide Master Shallow. SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well? FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork, before I came to Clement's Inn. SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago. SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well? FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come. Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much. BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's sake, stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, sir. BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow. FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have? SHALLOW. Four of which you please. BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf. FALSTAFF. Go to; well. SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have? FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me. SHALLOW. Marry, then--Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow. FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you come unto it. I will none of you. SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best. FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge you and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow--give me this man. He presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat--how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph. BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse--thus, thus, thus. FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So--very well. Go to; very good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good scab. Hold, there's a tester for thee. SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn--I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show--there was a little quiver fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah, tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again would 'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a fellow. FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you! Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your affairs; God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our old acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the court. FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would. SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you. FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt JUSTICES] On, Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF] As I return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he hath done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring. When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was so forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible. 'A was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once in the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court--and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be acquainted with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him a philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. Exit < PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace. ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth To know the numbers of our enemies. HASTINGS. We have sent forth already. ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done. My friends and brethren in these great affairs, I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd New-dated letters from Northumberland; Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus: Here doth he wish his person, with such powers As might hold sortance with his quality, The which he could not levy; whereupon He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers That your attempts may overlive the hazard And fearful meeting of their opposite. MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground And dash themselves to pieces. Enter A MESSENGER HASTINGS. Now, what news? MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form comes on the enemy; And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out. Let us sway on and face them in the field. Enter WESTMORELAND ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general, The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace, What doth concern your coming. WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord, Unto your Grace do I in chief address The substance of my speech. If that rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, And countenanc'd by boys and beggary- I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd In his true, native, and most proper shape, You, reverend father, and these noble lords, Had not been here to dress the ugly form Of base and bloody insurrection With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop, Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd, Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd, Whose white investments figure innocence, The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace- Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war; Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine To a loud trumpet and a point of war? ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands. Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd And with our surfeiting and wanton hours Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it; of which disease Our late King, Richard, being infected, died. But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, I take not on me here as a physician; Nor do I as an enemy to peace Troop in the throngs of military men; But rather show awhile like fearful war To diet rank minds sick of happiness, And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs heavier than our offences. We see which way the stream of time doth run And are enforc'd from our most quiet there By the rough torrent of occasion; And have the summary of all our griefs, When time shall serve, to show in articles; Which long ere this we offer'd to the King, And might by no suit gain our audience: When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access unto his person, Even by those men that most have done us wrong. The dangers of the days but newly gone, Whose memory is written on the earth With yet appearing blood, and the examples Of every minute's instance, present now, Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms; Not to break peace, or any branch of it, But to establish here a peace indeed, Concurring both in name and quality. WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied; Wherein have you been galled by the King; What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you That you should seal this lawless bloody book Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth, To brother horn an household cruelty, I make my quarrel in particular. WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress; Or if there were, it not belongs to you. MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all That feel the bruises of the days before, And suffer the condition of these times To lay a heavy and unequal hand Upon our honours? WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray, Construe the times to their necessities, And you shall say, indeed, it is the time, And not the King, that doth you injuries. Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, Either from the King or in the present time, That you should have an inch of any ground To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories, Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's? MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was force perforce compell'd to banish him, And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, Being mounted and both roused in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together-- Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, O, when the King did throw his warder down-- His own life hung upon the staff he threw-- Then threw he down himself, and all their lives That by indictment and by dint of sword Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what. The Earl of Hereford was reputed then In England the most valiant gentleman. Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd? But if your father had been victor there, He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry; For all the country, in a general voice, Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King. But this is mere digression from my purpose. Here come I from our princely general To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace That he will give you audience; and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just, You shall enjoy them, everything set off That might so much as think you enemies. MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer; And it proceeds from policy, not love. WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so. This offer comes from mercy, not from fear; For, lo! within a ken our army lies- Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full of names than yours, Our men more perfect in the use of arms, Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; Then reason will our hearts should be as good. Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd. MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley. WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence: A rotten case abides no handling. HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father, To hear and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon? WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name. I muse you make so slight a question. ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule, For this contains our general grievances. Each several article herein redress'd, All members of our cause, both here and hence, That are insinewed to this action, Acquitted by a true substantial form, And present execution of our wills To us and to our purposes confin'd- We come within our awful banks again, And knit our powers to the arm of peace. WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords, In sight of both our battles we may meet; And either end in peace--which God so frame!- Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords Which must decide it. ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me That no conditions of our peace can stand. HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace Upon such large terms and so absolute As our conditions shall consist upon, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such That every slight and false-derived cause, Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, Shall to the King taste of this action; That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, And good from bad find no partition. ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary Of dainty and such picking grievances; For he hath found to end one doubt by death Revives two greater in the heirs of life; And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, And keep no tell-tale to his memory That may repeat and history his los To new remembrance. For full well he knows He cannot so precisely weed this land As his misdoubts present occasion: His foes are so enrooted with his friends That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. So that this land, like an offensive wife That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes, As he is striking, holds his infant up, And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm That was uprear'd to execution. HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement; So that his power, like to a fangless lion, May offer, but not hold. ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true; And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal, If we do now make our atonement well, Our peace will, like a broken limb united, Grow stronger for the breaking. MOWBRAY. Be it so. Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. Re-enter WESTMORELAND WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies? MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward. ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come. Exeunt SCENE II. Another part of the forest Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP, HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray. Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop; And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. My Lord of York, it better show'd with you When that your flock, assembled by the bell, Encircled you to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text Than now to see you here an iron man, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man that sits within a monarch's heart And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop, It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken How deep you were within the books of God? To us the speaker in His parliament, To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself, The very opener and intelligencer Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings. O, who shall believe But you misuse the reverence of your place, Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n As a false favourite doth his prince's name, In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up, Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of His substitute, my father, And both against the peace of heaven and him Have here up-swarm'd them. ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster, I am not here against your father's peace; But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, The time misord'red doth, in common sense, Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace The parcels and particulars of our grief, The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court, Whereon this hydra son of war is born; Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep With grant of our most just and right desires; And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man. HASTINGS. And though we here fall down, We have supplies to second our attempt. If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; And so success of mischief shall be born, And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up Whiles England shall have generation. PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow, To sound the bottom of the after-times. WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly How far forth you do like their articles. PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well; And swear here, by the honour of my blood, My father's purposes have been mistook; And some about him have too lavishly Wrested his meaning and authority. My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, Discharge your powers unto their several counties, As we will ours; and here, between the armies, Let's drink together friendly and embrace, That all their eyes may bear those tokens home Of our restored love and amity. ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses. PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word; And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part. I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain. Exit Officer ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, You would drink freely; but my love to ye Shall show itself more openly hereafter. ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you. WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it. Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season, For I am on the sudden something ill. ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry; But heaviness foreruns the good event. WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.' ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shouts within] PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they shout! MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory. ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdu'd, And neither party loser. PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord, And let our army be discharged too. Exit WESTMORELAND And, good my lord, so please you let our trains March by us, that we may peruse the men We should have cop'd withal. ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings, And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. Exit HASTINGS PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together. Re-enter WESTMORELAND Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, Will not go off until they hear you speak. PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties. Re-enter HASTINGS HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already. Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up, Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place. WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason; And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray, Of capital treason I attach you both. MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable? WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so? ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith? PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redress of these same grievances Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most Christian care. But for you, rebels--look to taste the due Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray. God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. Some guard these traitors to the block of death, Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt SCENE III. Another part of the forest Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of what place, I pray? COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale. FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place--a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale. COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield, sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me. FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. Here comes our general. Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, BLUNT, and others PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now. Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. Exit WESTMORELAND Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When everything is ended, then you come. These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back. FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame. PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing my foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount. FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then. PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine. FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville? COLVILLE. It is, my lord. PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville. FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him. COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me, You should have won them dearer than you have. FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for thee. Re-enter WESTMORELAND PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit? WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates, To York, to present execution. Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. Exeunt BLUNT and others And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords. I hear the King my father is sore sick. Our news shall go before us to his Majesty, Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him And we with sober speed will follow you. FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition, Shall better speak of you than you deserve. Exeunt all but FALSTAFF FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh--but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before, cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage--and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. Enter BARDOLPH How now, Bardolph! BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone. FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away. Exeunt SCENE IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will our youth lead on to higher fields, And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is address'd, our power connected, Our substitutes in absence well invested, And everything lies level to our wish. Only we want a little personal strength; And pause us till these rebels, now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government. WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty Shall soon enjoy. KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, Where is the Prince your brother? PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. KING. And how accompanied? PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord. KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here. CLARENCE. What would my lord and father? KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. Thou hast a better place in his affection Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy, And noble offices thou mayst effect Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren. Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, Nor lose the good advantage of his grace By seeming cold or careless of his will; For he is gracious if he be observ'd. He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity; Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd. Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth; But, being moody, give him line and scope Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion-- As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-- Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum or rash gunpowder. CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love. KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that? CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers. KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them; therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, In forms imaginary, th'unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. The Prince but studies his companions Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, 'Tis needful that the most immodest word Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd, Your Highness knows, comes to no further use But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, The Prince will, in the perfectness of time, Cast off his followers; and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live By which his Grace must mete the lives of other, Turning past evils to advantages. KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion. Enter WESTMORELAND Who's here? Westmoreland? WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness Added to that that am to deliver! Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand. Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, Are brought to the correction of your law. There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. The manner how this action hath been borne Here at more leisure may your Highness read, With every course in his particular. KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day. Enter HARCOURT Look here's more news. HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty; And, when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of! The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, With a great power of English and of Scots, Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown. The manner and true order of the fight This packet, please it you, contains at large. KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach and no food- Such are the poor, in health--or else a feast, And takes away the stomach--such are the rich That have abundance and enjoy it not. I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy. O me! come near me now I am much ill. PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty! CLARENCE. O my royal father! WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up. WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits Are with his Highness very ordinary. Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs. Th' incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in So thin that life looks through, and will break out. PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature. The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over. CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; And the old folk, Time's doting chronicles, Say it did so a little time before That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers. PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end. KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. Exeunt SCENE V. Westminster. Another chamber The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit. WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room. KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. WARWICK. Less noise! less noise! Enter PRINCE HENRY PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad! How doth the King? PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill. PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt'red much upon the hearing it. PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic. WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low; The King your father is dispos'd to sleep. CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room. WARWICK. Will't please your Grace to go along with us? PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King. Exeunt all but the PRINCE Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not. Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it sits- Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me. This from thee Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. Exit KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE CLARENCE. Doth the King call? WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace? KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you. KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him. He is not here. WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way. PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow? WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. KING. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose My sleep my death? Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. Exit WARWICK This part of his conjoins with my disease And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, Their brains with care, their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and pil'd up The cank'red heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises; When, like the bee, tolling from every flower The virtuous sweets, Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd, We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, Are murd'red for our pains. This bitter taste Yields his engrossments to the ending father. Re-enter WARWICK Now where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown? Re-enter PRINCE HENRY Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again. KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind That it will quickly drop; my day is dim. Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours, Were thine without offense; and at my death Thou hast seal'd up my expectation. Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head; Only compound me with forgotten dust; Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; For now a time is come to mock at form- Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity: Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence. And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness. Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum. Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? Be happy, he will trouble you no more. England shall double gild his treble guilt; England shall give him office, honour, might; For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, The moist impediments unto my speech, I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown, And he that wears the crown immortally Long guard it yours! [Kneeling] If I affect it more Than as your honour and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, Which my most inward true and duteous spirit Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending! God witness with me, when I here came in And found no course of breath within your Majesty, How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, O, let me in my present wildness die, And never live to show th' incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead- And dead almost, my liege, to think you were- I spake unto this crown as having sense, And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold. Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in med'cine potable; But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on my head, To try with it--as with an enemy That had before my face murd'red my father-- The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did with the least affection of a welcome Give entertainment to the might of it, Let God for ever keep it from my head, And make me as the poorest vassal is, That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! KING. O my son, God put it in thy mind to take it hence, That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways I met this crown; and I myself know well How troublesome it sat upon my head: To thee it shall descend with better quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation; For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seem'd in me But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand; And I had many living to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances; Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears Thou seest with peril I have answered; For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument. And now my death Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displac'd; which to avoid, I cut them off; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land, Lest rest and lying still might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out, May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God, forgive; And grant it may with thee in true peace live! PRINCE. My gracious liege, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Then plain and right must my possession be; Which I with more than with a common pain 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father! KING. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight My worldly business makes a period. Where is my Lord of Warwick? PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick! KING. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? WARWICK. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land. But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt < PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ACT V. SCENE I. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night. What, Davy, I say! FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excus'd. Why, Davy! Enter DAVY DAVY. Here, sir. SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see--yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not be excus'd. DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and, again, sir--shall we sow the headland with wheat? SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook--are there no young pigeons? DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and plough-irons. SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused. DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had; and, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley fair? SHALLOW. 'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i' th' court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves and will backbite. DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have marvellous foul linen. SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy--about thy business, Davy. DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot against Clement Perkes o' th' hill. SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. I have serv'd your worship truly, sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir; therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc'd. SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about, DAVY. [Exit DAVY] Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph. BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship. SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph. [To the PAGE] And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John. FALSTAFF. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow. [Exit SHALLOW] Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear themselves like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married in conjunction with the participation of society that they flock together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with Master Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take heed of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of six fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and 'a shall laugh without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up! SHALLOW. [Within] Sir John! FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow. Exit SCENE II. Westminster. The palace Enter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away? CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King? WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead. WARWICK. He's walk'd the way of nature; And to our purposes he lives no more. CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call'd me with him. The service that I truly did his life Hath left me open to all injuries. WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself To welcome the condition of the time, Which cannot look more hideously upon me Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WESTMORELAND, and others WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry. O that the living Harry had the temper Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen! How many nobles then should hold their places That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd. PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow. GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin. PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument Is all too heavy to admit much talk. PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed; And I dare swear you borrow not that face Of seeming sorrow--it is sure your own. PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find, You stand in coldest expectation. I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise. CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair; Which swims against your stream of quality. CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you see that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission. If truth and upright innocency fail me, I'll to the King my master that is dead, And tell him who hath sent me after him. WARWICK. Here comes the Prince. Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty! KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Sits not so easy on me as you think. Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear. This is the English, not the Turkish court; Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, For, by my faith, it very well becomes you. Sorrow so royally in you appears That I will deeply put the fashion on, And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad; But entertain no more of it, good brothers, Than a joint burden laid upon us all. For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, I'll be your father and your brother too; Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I; But Harry lives that shall convert those tears By number into hours of happiness. BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty. KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most. You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me. KING. No? How might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me? What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison, Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy? May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten? CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father; The image of his power lay then in me; And in th' administration of his law, Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, Your Highness pleased to forget my place, The majesty and power of law and justice, The image of the King whom I presented, And struck me in my very seat of judgment; Whereon, as an offender to your father, I gave bold way to my authority And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the garland, To have a son set your decrees at nought, To pluck down justice from your awful bench, To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person; Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings in a second body. Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; Be now the father, and propose a son; Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; And then imagine me taking your part And, in your power, soft silencing your son. After this cold considerance, sentence me; And, as you are a king, speak in your state What I have done that misbecame my place, My person, or my liege's sovereignty. KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well; Therefore still bear the balance and the sword; And I do wish your honours may increase Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words: 'Happy am I that have a man so bold That dares do justice on my proper son; And not less happy, having such a son That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me; For which I do commit into your hand Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear; With this remembrance--that you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. You shall be as a father to my youth; My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practis'd wise directions. And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you, My father is gone wild into his grave, For in his tomb lie my affections; And with his spirits sadly I survive, To mock the expectation of the world, To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now. Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Now call we our high court of parliament; And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, That the great body of our state may go In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us; In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. Our coronation done, we will accite, As I before rememb'red, all our state; And--God consigning to my good intents- No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, God shorten Harry's happy life one day. Exeunt SCENE III. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed. FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich. SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said, Davy. FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving-man and your husband. SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin. SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a--we shall [Singing] Do nothing but eat and make good cheer, And praise God for the merry year; When flesh is cheap and females dear, And lusty lads roam here and there, So merrily, And ever among so merrily. FALSTAFF. There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll give you a health for that anon. SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy. DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet sir, sit. Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's all. Exit SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier there, be merry. SILENCE. [Singing] Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; For women are shrews, both short and tall; 'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an; And welcome merry Shrove-tide. Be merry, be merry. FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this mettle. SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now. Re-enter DAVY DAVY. [To BARDOLPH] There's a dish of leather-coats for you. SHALLOW. Davy! DAVY. Your worship! I'll be with you straight. [To BARDOLPH] A cup of wine, sir? SILENCE. [Singing] A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, And drink unto the leman mine; And a merry heart lives long-a. FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence. SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' th' night. FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence! SILENCE. [Singing] Fill the cup, and let it come, I'll pledge you a mile to th' bottom. SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st anything and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all the cabileros about London. DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die. BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy! SHALLOW. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together--ha! will you not, Master Bardolph? BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. SHALLOW. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true bred. BARDOLPH. And I'll stick by him, sir. SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry. [One knocks at door] Look who's at door there, ho! Who knocks? Exit DAVY FALSTAFF. [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper] Why, now you have done me right. SILENCE. [Singing] Do me right, And dub me knight. Samingo. Is't not so? FALSTAFF. 'Tis so. SILENCE. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat. Re-enter DAVY DAVY. An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the court with news. FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in. Enter PISTOL How now, Pistol? PISTOL. Sir John, God save you! FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm. SILENCE. By'r lady, I think 'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson. PISTOL. Puff! Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base! Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, And golden times, and happy news of price. FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world. PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base! I speak of Africa and golden joys. FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. SILENCE. [Singing] And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? And shall good news be baffled? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore. SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it there's but two ways--either to utter them or conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority. PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die. SHALLOW. Under King Harry. PISTOL. Harry the Fourth--or Fifth? SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth. PISTOL. A foutra for thine office! Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King; Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth. When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like The bragging Spaniard. FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead? PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just. FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee with dignities. BARDOLPH. O joyful day! I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. PISTOL. What, I do bring good news? FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt--I am Fortune's steward. Get on thy boots; we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph! [Exit BARDOLPH] Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow! I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief Justice! PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! 'Where is the life that late I led?' say they. Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! Exeunt SCENE IV. London. A street Enter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die, that I might have thee hang'd. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately kill'd about her. DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what, thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-fac'd villain. HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry! FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you. DOLL. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you as soundly swing'd for this--you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear half-kirtles. FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease. DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice. HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound. DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones! HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou! DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal! FIRST BEADLE. Very well. Exeunt SCENE V. Westminster. Near the Abbey Enter GROOMS, strewing rushes FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes! SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice. THIRD GROOM. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the coronation. Dispatch, dispatch. Exeunt Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make the King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do but mark the countenance that he will give me. PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight! FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. [To SHALLOW] O, if I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter; this poor show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. SHALLOW. It doth so. FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection- SHALLOW. It doth so. FALSTAFF. My devotion-- SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth. FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to shift me-- SHALLOW. It is best, certain. FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done but to see him. PISTOL. 'Tis 'semper idem' for 'obsque hoc nihil est.' 'Tis all in every part. SHALLOW. 'Tis so, indeed. PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver And make thee rage. Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, Is in base durance and contagious prison; Hal'd thither By most mechanical and dirty hand. Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake, For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth. FALSTAFF. I will deliver her. [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound] PISTOL. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE among them FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal! PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy! KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man. CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you speak? FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! I have long dreamt of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; But being awak'd, I do despise my dream. Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace; Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape For thee thrice wider than for other men-- Reply not to me with a fool-born jest; Presume not that I am the thing I was, For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, That I have turn'd away my former self; So will I those that kept me company. When thou dost hear I am as I have been, Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, The tutor and the feeder of my riots. Till then I banish thee, on pain of death, As I have done the rest of my misleaders, Not to come near our person by ten mile. For competence of life I will allow you, That lack of means enforce you not to evils; And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, We will, according to your strengths and qualities, Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord, To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
Back to Full Books |