The Second Part of Henry the Fourth
Part 1 out of 3
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The Second Part of Henry the Fourth
Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Open your Eares: For which of you will stop
The vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor speakes?
I, from the Orient, to the drooping West
(Making the winde my Post-horse) still vnfold
The Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.
Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride,
The which, in euery Language, I pronounce,
Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports:
I speake of Peace, while couert Enmitie
(Vnder the smile of Safety) wounds the World:
And who but Rumour, who but onely I
Make fearfull Musters, and prepar'd Defence,
Whil'st the bigge yeare, swolne with some other griefes,
Is thought with childe, by the sterne Tyrant, Warre,
And no such matter? Rumour, is a Pipe
Blowne by Surmises, Ielousies, Coniectures;
And of so easie, and so plaine a stop,
That the blunt Monster, with vncounted heads,
The still discordant, wauering Multitude,
Can play vpon it. But what neede I thus
My well-knowne Body to Anathomize
Among my houshold? Why is Rumour heere?
I run before King Harries victory,
Who in a bloodie field by Shrewsburie
Hath beaten downe yong Hotspurre, and his Troopes,
Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion,
Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane I
To speake so true at first? My Office is
To noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
Vnder the Wrath of Noble Hotspurres Sword:
And that the King, before the Dowglas Rage
Stoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.
This haue I rumour'd through the peasant-Townes,
Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie,
And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone,
Where Hotspurres Father, old Northumberland,
Lyes crafty sicke. The Postes come tyring on,
And not a man of them brings other newes
Then they haue learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues,
They bring smooth-Comforts-false, worse then True-wrongs.
Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter.
L.Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere hoa?
Where is the Earle?
Por. What shall I say you are?
Bar. Tell thou the Earle
That the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere
Por. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard,
Please it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate,
And he himselfe will answer.
L.Bar. Heere comes the Earle
Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'ry minute now
Should be the Father of some Stratagem;
The Times are wilde: Contention (like a Horse
Full of high Feeding) madly hath broke loose,
And beares downe all before him
L.Bar. Noble Earle,
I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury
Nor. Good, and heauen will
L.Bar. As good as heart can wish:
The King is almost wounded to the death:
And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne,
Prince Harrie slaine out-right: and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince Iohn,
And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field.
And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn)
Is prisoner to your Sonne. O, such a Day,
(So fought, so follow'd, and so fairely wonne)
Came not, till now, to dignifie the Times
Since Cęsars Fortunes
Nor. How is this deriu'd?
Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury?
L.Bar. I spake with one (my L[ord].) that came fro[m] thence,
A Gentleman well bred, and of good name,
That freely render'd me these newes for true
Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last, to listen after Newes.
L.Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way,
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More then he (haply) may retaile from me
Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes fro[m] you?
Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Vmfreuill turn'd me backe
With ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd)
Out-rod me. After him, came spurring head
A Gentleman (almost fore-spent with speed)
That stopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester: And of him
I did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury:
He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke,
And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold.
With that he gaue his able Horse the head,
And bending forwards strooke his able heeles
Against the panting sides of his poore Iade
Vp to the Rowell head, and starting so,
He seem'd in running, to deuoure the way,
Staying no longer question
North. Ha? Againe:
Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold?
(Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion,
Had met ill lucke?
L.Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what,
If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day,
Vpon mine Honor, for a silken point
Ile giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it
Nor. Why should the Gentleman that rode by Trauers
Giue then such instances of Losse?
L.Bar. Who, he?
He was some hielding Fellow, that had stolne
The Horse he rode-on: and vpon my life
Speake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes.
Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title-leafe,
Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume:
So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious Flood
Hath left a witnest Vsurpation.
Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord)
Where hatefull death put on his vgliest Maske
To fright our party
North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?
Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy Cheeke
Is apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.
Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse,
So dull, so dead in looke, so woe-be-gone,
Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night,
And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.
But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue:
And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'st it.
This, thou would'st say: Your Sonne did thus, and thus:
Your Brother, thus. So fought the Noble Dowglas,
Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds.
But in the end (to stop mine Eare indeed)
Thou hast a Sigh, to blow away this Praise,
Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead
Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet:
But for my Lord, your Sonne
North. Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue Suspition hath:
He that but feares the thing, he would not know,
Hath by Instinct, knowledge from others Eyes,
That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet speake (Morton)
Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination Lies,
And I will take it, as a sweet Disgrace,
And make thee rich, for doing me such wrong
Mor. You are too great, to be (by me) gainsaid:
Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine
North. Yet for all this, say not that Percies dead.
I see a strange Confession in thine Eye:
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it Feare, or Sinne,
To speake a truth. If he be slaine, say so:
The Tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth sinne that doth belye the dead:
Not he, which sayes the dead is not aliue:
Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome Newes
Hath but a loosing Office: and his Tongue,
Sounds euer after as a sullen Bell
Remembred, knolling a departing Friend
L.Bar. I cannot thinke (my Lord) your son is dead
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to beleeue
That, which I would to heauen, I had not seene.
But these mine eyes, saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd)
To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downe
The neuer-daunted Percie to the earth,
From whence (with life) he neuer more sprung vp.
In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire,
Euen to the dullest Peazant in his Campe)
Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate away
From the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.
For from his Mettle, was his Party steel'd;
Which once, in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselues, like dull and heauy Lead:
And as the Thing, that's heauy in it selfe,
Vpon enforcement, flyes with greatest speede,
So did our Men, heauy in Hotspurres losse,
Lend to this weight, such lightnesse with their Feare,
That Arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme,
Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their safety)
Fly from the field. Then was that Noble Worcester
Too soone ta'ne prisoner: and that furious Scot,
(The bloody Dowglas) whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slaine th' appearance of the King,
Gan vaile his stomacke, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backes: and in his flight,
Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The summe of all,
Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you my Lord,
Vnder the Conduct of yong Lancaster
And Westmerland. This is the Newes at full
North. For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.
In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes
(Hauing beene well) that would haue made me sicke,
Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.
And as the Wretch, whose Feauer-weakned ioynts,
Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,
Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fire
Out of his keepers armes: Euen so, my Limbes
(Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'd with greefe,
Are thrice themselues. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,
A scalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of Steele
Must gloue this hand. And hence thou sickly Quoife,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes, flesh'd with Conquest, ayme to hit.
Now binde my Browes with Iron and approach
The ragged'st houre, that Time and Spight dare bring
To frowne vpon th' enrag'd Northumberland.
Let Heauen kisse Earth: now let not Natures hand
Keepe the wilde Flood confin'd: Let Order dye,
And let the world no longer be a stage
To feede Contention in a ling'ring Act:
But let one spirit of the First-borne Caine
Reigne in all bosomes, that each heart being set
On bloody Courses, the rude Scene may end,
And darknesse be the burier of the dead
L.Bar. Sweet Earle, diuorce not wisedom from your Honor
Mor. The liues of all your louing Complices
Leane-on your health, the which if you giue-o're
To stormy Passion, must perforce decay.
You cast th' euent of Warre (my Noble Lord)
And summ'd the accompt of Chance, before you said
Let vs make head: It was your presurmize,
That in the dole of blowes, your Son might drop.
You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edge
More likely to fall in, then to get o're:
You were aduis'd his flesh was capeable
Of Wounds, and Scarres; and that his forward Spirit
Would lift him, where most trade of danger rang'd,
Yet did you say go forth: and none of this
(Though strongly apprehended) could restraine
The stiffe-borne Action: What hath then befalne?
Or what hath this bold enterprize bring forth,
More then that Being, which was like to be?
L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this losse,
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous Seas,
That if we wrought out life, was ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd for the gaine propos'd,
Choak'd the respect of likely perill fear'd,
And since we are o're-set, venture againe.
Come, we will all put forth; Body, and Goods,
Mor. 'Tis more then time: And (my most Noble Lord)
I heare for certaine, and do speake the truth:
The gentle Arch-bishop of Yorke is vp
With well appointed Powres: he is a man
Who with a double Surety bindes his Followers.
My Lord (your Sonne) had onely but the Corpes,
But shadowes, and the shewes of men to fight.
For that same word (Rebellion) did diuide
The action of their bodies, from their soules,
And they did fight with queasinesse, constrain'd
As men drinke Potions; that their Weapons only
Seem'd on our side: but for their Spirits and Soules,
This word (Rebellion) it had froze them vp,
As Fish are in a Pond. But now the Bishop
Turnes Insurrection to Religion,
Suppos'd sincere, and holy in his Thoughts:
He's follow'd both with Body, and with Minde:
And doth enlarge his Rising, with the blood
Of faire King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones,
Deriues from heauen, his Quarrell, and his Cause:
Tels them, he doth bestride a bleeding Land,
Gasping for life, vnder great Bullingbrooke,
And more, and lesse, do flocke to follow him
North. I knew of this before. But to speake truth,
This present greefe had wip'd it from my minde.
Go in with me, and councell euery man
The aptest way for safety, and reuenge:
Get Posts, and Letters, and make Friends with speed,
Neuer so few, nor neuer yet more need.
Enter Falstaffe, and Page.
Fal. Sirra, you giant, what saies the Doct[or]. to my water?
Pag. He said sir, the water it selfe was a good healthy
water: but for the party that ow'd it, he might haue more
diseases then he knew for
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at mee: the
braine of this foolish compounded Clay-man, is not able
to inuent any thing that tends to laughter, more then I
inuent, or is inuented on me. I am not onely witty in my
selfe, but the cause that wit is in other men. I doe heere
walke before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd all
her Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Seruice
for any other reason, then to set mee off, why then I
haue no iudgement. Thou horson Mandrake, thou art
fitter to be worne in my cap, then to wait at my heeles. I
was neuer mann'd with an Agot till now: but I will sette
you neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell, and
send you backe againe to your Master, for a Iewell. The
Iuuenall (the Prince your Master) whose Chin is not yet
fledg'd, I will sooner haue a beard grow in the Palme of
my hand, then he shall get one on his cheeke: yet he will
not sticke to say, his Face is a Face-Royall. Heauen may
finish it when he will, it is not a haire amisse yet: he may
keepe it still at a Face-Royall, for a Barber shall neuer
earne six pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if
he had writ man euer since his Father was a Batchellour.
He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almost out of
mine, I can assure him. What said M[aster]. Dombledon, about
the Satten for my short Cloake, and Slops?
Pag. He said sir, you should procure him better Assurance,
then Bardolfe: he wold not take his Bond & yours,
he lik'd not the Security
Fal. Let him bee damn'd like the Glutton, may his
Tongue be hotter, a horson Achitophel; a
to beare a Gentleman in hand, and then
stand vpon Security? The horson smooth-pates doe now
weare nothing but high shoes, and bunches of Keyes at
their girdles: and if a man is through with them in honest
Taking-vp, then they must stand vpon Securitie: I
had as liefe they would put Rats-bane in my mouth, as
offer to stoppe it with Security. I look'd hee should haue
sent me two and twenty yards of Satten (as I am true
Knight) and he sends me Security. Well, he may sleep in
Security, for he hath the horne of Abundance: and the
lightnesse of his Wife shines through it, and yet cannot
he see, though he haue his owne Lanthorne to light him.
Pag. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship
Fal. I bought him in Paules, and hee'l buy mee a horse
in Smithfield. If I could get mee a wife in the Stewes, I
were Mann'd, Hors'd, and Wiu'd.
Enter Chiefe Iustice, and Seruant.
Pag. Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that committed
the Prince for striking him, about Bardolfe
Fal. Wait close, I will not see him
Ch.Iust. What's he that goes there?
Ser. Falstaffe, and't please your Lordship
Iust. He that was in question for the Robbery?
Ser. He my Lord, but he hath since done good seruice
at Shrewsbury: and (as I heare) is now going with some
Charge, to the Lord Iohn of Lancaster
Iust. What to Yorke? Call him backe againe
Ser. Sir Iohn Falstaffe
Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deafe
Pag. You must speake lowder, my Master is deafe
Iust. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.
Go plucke him by the Elbow, I must speake with him
Ser. Sir Iohn
Fal. What? a yong knaue and beg? Is there not wars? Is
there not imployment? Doth not the K[ing]. lack subiects? Do
not the Rebels want Soldiers? Though it be a shame to be
on any side but one, it is worse shame to begge, then to
be on the worst side, were it worse then the name of Rebellion
can tell how to make it
Ser. You mistake me Sir
Fal. Why sir? Did I say you were an honest man? Setting
my Knight-hood, and my Souldiership aside, I had
lyed in my throat, if I had said so
Ser. I pray you (Sir) then set your Knighthood and
your Souldier-ship aside, and giue mee leaue to tell you,
you lye in your throat, if you say I am any other then an
Fal. I giue thee leaue to tell me so? I lay a-side that
which growes to me? If thou get'st any leaue of me, hang
me: if thou tak'st leaue, thou wer't better be hang'd: you
Hunt-counter, hence: Auant
Ser. Sir, my Lord would speake with you
Iust. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, a word with you
Fal. My good Lord: giue your Lordship good time of
the day. I am glad to see your Lordship abroad: I heard
say your Lordship was sicke. I hope your Lordship goes
abroad by aduise. Your Lordship (though not clean past
your youth) hath yet some smack of age in you: some rellish
of the saltnesse of Time, and I most humbly beseech
your Lordship, to haue a reuerend care of your health
Iust. Sir Iohn, I sent you before your Expedition, to
Fal. If it please your Lordship, I heare his Maiestie is
return'd with some discomfort from Wales
Iust. I talke not of his Maiesty: you would not come
when I sent for you?
Fal. And I heare moreouer, his Highnesse is falne into
this same whorson Apoplexie
Iust. Well, heauen mend him. I pray let me speak with you
Fal. This Apoplexie is (as I take it) a kind of Lethargie,
a sleeping of the blood, a horson Tingling
Iust. What tell you me of it? be it as it is
Fal. It hath it originall from much greefe; from study
and perturbation of the braine. I haue read the cause of
his effects in Galen. It is a kinde of deafenesse
Iust. I thinke you are falne into the disease: For you
heare not what I say to you
Fal. Very well (my Lord) very well: rather an't please
you) it is the disease of not Listning, the malady of not
Marking, that I am troubled withall
Iust. To punish you by the heeles, would amend the
attention of your eares, & I care not if I be your Physitian
Fal. I am as poore as Iob, my Lord; but not so Patient:
your Lordship may minister the Potion of imprisonment
to me, in respect of Pouertie: but how I should bee your
Patient, to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make
some dram of a scruple, or indeede, a scruple it selfe
Iust. I sent for you (when there were matters against
you for your life) to come speake with me
Fal. As I was then aduised by my learned Councel, in
the lawes of this Land-seruice, I did not come
Iust. Wel, the truth is (sir Iohn) you liue in great infamy
Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, ca[n]not liue in lesse
Iust. Your Meanes is very slender, and your wast great
Fal. I would it were otherwise: I would my Meanes
were greater, and my waste slenderer
Iust. You haue misled the youthfull Prince
Fal. The yong Prince hath misled mee. I am the Fellow
with the great belly, and he my Dogge
Iust. Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd wound: your
daies seruice at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded ouer
your Nights exploit on Gads-hill. You may thanke the
vnquiet time, for your quiet o're-posting that Action
Fal. My Lord?
Iust. But since all is wel, keep it so: wake not a sleeping Wolfe
Fal. To wake a Wolfe, is as bad as to smell a Fox
Iu. What? you are as a candle, the better part burnt out
Fal. A Wassell-Candle, my Lord; all Tallow: if I did
say of wax, my growth would approue the truth
Iust. There is not a white haire on your face, but shold
haue his effect of grauity
Fal. His effect of grauy, grauy, grauy
Iust. You follow the yong Prince vp and downe, like
his euill Angell
Fal. Not so (my Lord) your ill Angell is light: but I
hope, he that lookes vpon mee, will take mee without,
weighing: and yet, in some respects I grant, I cannot go:
I cannot tell. Vertue is of so little regard in these Costormongers,
that true valor is turn'd Beare-heard. Pregnancie
is made a Tapster, and hath his quicke wit wasted in
giuing Recknings: all the other gifts appertinent to man
(as the malice of this Age shapes them) are not woorth a
Gooseberry. You that are old, consider not the capacities
of vs that are yong: you measure the heat of our Liuers,
with the bitternes of your gals: & we that are in the
vaward of our youth, I must confesse, are wagges too
Iust. Do you set downe your name in the scrowle of
youth, that are written downe old, with all the Charracters
of age? Haue you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow
cheeke? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an incresing
belly? Is not your voice broken? your winde short? your
wit single? and euery part about you blasted with Antiquity?
and wil you cal your selfe yong? Fy, fy, fy, sir Iohn
Fal. My Lord, I was borne with a white head, & somthing
a round belly. For my voice, I haue lost it with hallowing
and singing of Anthemes. To approue my youth
farther, I will not: the truth is, I am onely olde in iudgement
and vnderstanding: and he that will caper with mee
for a thousand Markes, let him lend me the mony, & haue
at him. For the boxe of th' eare that the Prince gaue you,
he gaue it like a rude Prince, and you tooke it like a sensible
Lord. I haue checkt him for it, and the yong Lion repents:
Marry not in ashes and sacke-cloath, but in new
Silke, and old Sacke
Iust. Wel, heauen send the Prince a better companion
Fal. Heauen send the Companion a better Prince: I
cannot rid my hands of him
Iust. Well, the King hath seuer'd you and Prince Harry,
I heare you are going with Lord Iohn of Lancaster, against
the Archbishop, and the Earle of Northumberland
Fal. Yes, I thanke your pretty sweet wit for it: but
looke you pray, (all you that kisse my Ladie Peace, at
home) that our Armies ioyn not in a hot day: for if I take
but two shirts out with me, and I meane not to sweat
if it bee a hot day, if I brandish any thing
but my Bottle, would I might neuer spit white againe:
There is not a daungerous Action can peepe out his head,
but I am thrust vpon it. Well, I cannot last euer
Iust. Well, be honest, be honest, and heauen blesse your
Fal. Will your Lordship lend mee a thousand pound,
to furnish me forth?
Iust. Not a peny, not a peny: you are too impatient
to beare crosses. Fare you well. Commend mee to my
Fal. If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A man
can no more separate Age and Couetousnesse, then he can
part yong limbes and letchery: but the Gowt galles the
one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the Degrees
preuent my curses. Boy?
Fal. What money is in my purse?
Page. Seuen groats, and two pence
Fal. I can get no remedy against this Consumption of
the purse. Borrowing onely lingers, and lingers it out,
but the disease is incureable. Go beare this letter to my
Lord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earle of
Westmerland, and this to old Mistris Vrsula, whome I
haue weekly sworne to marry, since I perceiu'd the first
white haire on my chin. About it: you know where to
finde me. A pox of this Gowt, or a Gowt of this Poxe:
for the one or th' other playes the rogue with my great
toe: It is no matter, if I do halt, I haue the warres for my
colour, and my Pension shall seeme the more reasonable.
A good wit will make vse of any thing: I will turne diseases
Enter Archbishop, Hastings, Mowbray, and Lord Bardolfe.
Ar. Thus haue you heard our causes, & kno our Means:
And my most noble Friends, I pray you all
Speake plainly your opinions of our hopes,
And first (Lord Marshall) what say you to it?
Mow. I well allow the occasion of our Armes,
But gladly would be better satisfied,
How (in our Meanes) we should aduance our selues
To looke with forhead bold and big enough
Vpon the Power and puisance of the King
Hast. Our present Musters grow vpon the File
To fiue and twenty thousand men of choice:
And our Supplies, liue largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosome burnes
With an incensed Fire of Iniuries
L.Bar. The question then (Lord Hastings) standeth thus
Whether our present fiue and twenty thousand
May hold-vp-head, without Northumberland:
Hast. With him, we may
L.Bar. I marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought to feeble,
My iudgement is, we should not step too farre
Till we had his Assistance by the hand.
For in a Theame so bloody fac'd, as this,
Coniecture, Expectation, and Surmise
Of Aydes incertaine, should not be admitted
Arch. 'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeed
It was yong Hotspurres case, at Shrewsbury
L.Bar. It was (my Lord) who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the ayre, on promise of Supply,
Flatt'ring himselfe with Proiect of a power,
Much smaller, then the smallest of his Thoughts,
And so with great imagination
(Proper to mad men) led his Powers to death,
And (winking) leap'd into destruction
Hast. But (by your leaue) it neuer yet did hurt,
To lay downe likely-hoods, and formes of hope
L.Bar. Yes, if this present quality of warre,
Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot,
Liues so in hope: As in an early Spring,
We see th' appearing buds, which to proue fruite,
Hope giues not so much warrant, as Dispaire
That Frosts will bite them. When we meane to build,
We first suruey the Plot, then draw the Modell,
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the Erection,
Which if we finde out-weighes Ability,
What do we then, but draw a-new the Modell
In fewer offices? Or at least, desist
To builde at all? Much more, in this great worke,
(Which is (almost) to plucke a Kingdome downe,
And set another vp) should we suruey
The plot of Situation, and the Modell;
Consent vpon a sure Foundation:
Question Surueyors, know our owne estate,
How able such a Worke to vndergo,
To weigh against his Opposite? Or else,
We fortifie in Paper, and in Figures,
Vsing the Names of men, instead of men:
Like one, that drawes the Modell of a house
Beyond his power to builde it; who (halfe through)
Giues o're, and leaues his part-created Cost
A naked subiect to the Weeping Clouds,
And waste, for churlish Winters tyranny
Hast. Grant that our hopes (yet likely of faire byrth)
Should be still-borne: and that we now possest
The vtmost man of expectation:
I thinke we are a Body strong enough
(Euen as we are) to equall with the King
L.Bar. What is the King but fiue & twenty thousand?
Hast. To vs no more: nay not so much Lord Bardolf.
For0his diuisions (as the Times do braul)
Are in three Heads: one Power against the French,
And one against Glendower: Perforce a third
Must take vp vs: So is the vnfirme King
In three diuided: and his Coffers sound
With hollow Pouerty, and Emptinesse
Ar. That he should draw his seuerall strengths togither
And come against vs in full puissance
Need not be dreaded
Hast. If he should do so,
He leaues his backe vnarm'd, the French, and Welch
Baying him at the heeles: neuer feare that
L.Bar. Who is it like should lead his Forces hither?
Hast. The Duke of Lancaster, and Westmerland:
Against the Welsh himselfe, and Harrie Monmouth.
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I haue no certaine notice
Arch. Let vs on:
And publish the occasion of our Armes.
The Common-wealth is sicke of their owne Choice,
Their ouer-greedy loue hath surfetted:
An habitation giddy, and vnsure
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond Many, with what loud applause
Did'st thou beate heauen with blessing Bullingbrooke,
Before he was, what thou would'st haue him be?
And being now trimm'd in thine owne desires,
Thou (beastly Feeder) art so full of him,
That thou prouok'st thy selfe to cast him vp.
So, so, (thou common Dogge) did'st thou disgorge
Thy glutton-bosome of the Royall Richard,
And now thou would'st eate thy dead vomit vp,
And howl'st to finde it. What trust is in these Times?
They, that when Richard liu'd, would haue him dye,
Are now become enamour'd on his graue.
Thou that threw'st dust vpon his goodly head
When through proud London he came sighing on,
After th' admired heeles of Bullingbrooke,
Cri'st now, O Earth, yeeld vs that King againe,
And take thou this (O thoughts of men accurs'd)
``Past, and to Come, seemes best; things Present, worst
Mow. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
Hast. We are Times subiects, and Time bids, be gon.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Hostesse, with two Officers, Fang, and Snare.
Hostesse. Mr. Fang, haue you entred the Action?
Fang. It is enter'd
Hostesse. Wher's your Yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman?
Will he stand to it?
Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare?
Hostesse. I, I, good M[aster]. Snare
Snare. Heere, heere
Fang. Snare, we must Arrest Sir Iohn Falstaffe
Host. I good M[aster]. Snare, I haue enter'd him, and all
Sn. It may chance cost some of vs our liues: he wil stab
Hostesse. Alas the day: take heed of him: he stabd me
in mine owne house, and that most beastly: he cares not
what mischeefe he doth, if his weapon be out. Hee will
foyne like any diuell, he will spare neither man, woman,
Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust
Hostesse. No, nor I neither: Ile be at your elbow
Fang. If I but fist him once: if he come but within my
Host. I am vndone with his going: I warrant he is an
infinitiue thing vpon my score. Good M[aster]. Fang hold him
sure: good M[aster]. Snare let him not scape, he comes
to Py-Corner (sauing your manhoods) to buy a saddle,
and hee is indited to dinner to the Lubbars head in
Lombardstreet, to M[aster]. Smoothes the Silkman. I pra' ye, since
my Exion is enter'd, and my Case so openly known to the
world, let him be brought in to his answer: A 100. Marke
is a long one, for a poore lone woman to beare: & I haue
borne, and borne, and borne, and haue bin fub'd off, and
fub'd-off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to
be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing, vnles
a woman should be made an Asse and a Beast, to beare euery
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolfe.
Yonder he comes, and that arrant Malmesey-Nose Bardolfe
with him. Do your Offices, do your offices: M[aster]. Fang, &
Snare, do me, do me, do me your Offices
Fal. How now? whose Mare's dead? what's the matter?
Fang. Sir Iohn, I arrest you, at the suit of Mist. Quickly
Falst. Away Varlets, draw Bardolfe: Cut me off the
Villaines head: throw the Queane in the Channel
Host. Throw me in the channell? Ile throw thee there.
Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue. Murder, murder,
O thou Hony-suckle villaine, wilt thou kill Gods officers,
and the Kings? O thou hony-seed Rogue, thou art
a honyseed, a Man-queller, and a woman-queller
Falst. Keep them off, Bardolfe
Fang. A rescu, a rescu
Host. Good people bring a rescu. Thou wilt not? thou
wilt not? Do, do thou Rogue: Do thou Hempseed
Page. Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you Fustillirian:
Ile tucke your Catastrophe.
Enter Ch. Iustice.
Iust. What's the matter? Keepe the Peace here, hoa
Host. Good my Lord be good to mee. I beseech you
stand to me
Ch.Iust. How now sir Iohn? What are you brauling here?
Doth this become your place, your time, and businesse?
You should haue bene well on your way to Yorke.
Stand from him Fellow; wherefore hang'st vpon him?
Host. Oh my most worshipfull Lord, and't please your
Grace, I am a poore widdow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested
at my suit
Ch.Iust. For what summe?
Host. It is more then for some (my Lord) it is for all: all
I haue, he hath eaten me out of house and home; hee hath
put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will
haue some of it out againe, or I will ride thee o' Nights,
like the Mare
Falst. I thinke I am as like to ride the Mare, if I haue
any vantage of ground, to get vp
Ch.Iust. How comes this, Sir Iohn? Fy, what a man of
good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?
Are you not asham'd to inforce a poore Widdowe to so
rough a course, to come by her owne?
Falst. What is the grosse summe that I owe thee?
Host. Marry (if thou wer't an honest man) thy selfe, &
the mony too. Thou didst sweare to mee vpon a parcell
gilt Goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber at the round
table, by a sea-cole fire, on Wednesday in Whitson week,
when the Prince broke thy head for lik'ning him to a singing
man of Windsor; Thou didst sweare to me then (as I
was washing thy wound) to marry me, and make mee my
Lady thy wife. Canst y deny it? Did not goodwife Keech
the Butchers wife come in then, and cal me gossip Quickly?
comming in to borrow a messe of Vinegar: telling vs,
she had a good dish of Prawnes: whereby y didst desire to
eat some: whereby I told thee they were ill for a greene
wound? And didst not thou (when she was gone downe
staires) desire me to be no more familiar with such poore
people, saying, that ere long they should call me Madam?
And did'st y not kisse me, and bid mee fetch thee 30.s? I
put thee now to thy Book-oath, deny it if thou canst?
Fal. My Lord, this is a poore mad soule: and she sayes
vp & downe the town, that her eldest son is like you. She
hath bin in good case, & the truth is, pouerty hath distracted
her: but for these foolish Officers, I beseech you, I
may haue redresse against them
Iust. Sir Iohn, sir Iohn, I am well acquainted with your
maner of wrenching the true cause, the false way. It is not
a confident brow, nor the throng of wordes, that come
with such (more then impudent) sawcines from you, can
thrust me from a leuell consideration, I know you ha' practis'd
vpon the easie-yeelding spirit of this woman
Host. Yes in troth my Lord
Iust. Prethee peace: pay her the debt you owe her, and
vnpay the villany you haue done her: the one you may do
with sterling mony, & the other with currant repentance
Fal. My Lord, I will not vndergo this sneape without
reply. You call honorable Boldnes, impudent Sawcinesse:
If a man wil curt'sie, and say nothing, he is vertuous: No,
my Lord (your humble duty reme[m]bred) I will not be your
sutor. I say to you, I desire deliu'rance from these Officers
being vpon hasty employment in the Kings Affaires
Iust. You speake, as hauing power to do wrong: But
answer in the effect of your Reputation, and satisfie the
Falst. Come hither Hostesse.
Enter M[aster]. Gower]
Ch.Iust. Now Master Gower; What newes?
Gow. The King (my Lord) and Henrie Prince of Wales
Are neere at hand: The rest the Paper telles
Falst. As I am a Gentleman
Host. Nay, you said so before
Fal. As I am a Gentleman. Come, no more words of it
Host. By this Heauenly ground I tread on, I must be
faine to pawne both my Plate, and the Tapistry of my dyning
Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the onely drinking: and for
thy walles a pretty slight Drollery, or the Storie of the
Prodigall, or the Germane hunting in Waterworke, is
worth a thousand of these Bed-hangings, and these Flybitten
Tapistries. Let it be tenne pound (if thou canst.)
Come, if it were not for thy humors, there is not a better
Wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw thy
Action: Come, thou must not bee in this humour with
me, come, I know thou was't set on to this
Host. Prethee (Sir Iohn) let it be but twenty Nobles,
I loath to pawne my Plate, in good earnest la
Fal. Let it alone, Ile make other shift: you'l be a fool
Host. Well, you shall haue it although I pawne my
Gowne. I hope you'l come to Supper: You'l pay me altogether?
Fal. Will I liue? Go with her, with her: hooke-on,
Host. Will you haue Doll Teare-sheet meet you at supper?
Fal. No more words. Let's haue her
Ch.Iust. I haue heard bitter newes
Fal. What's the newes (my good Lord?)
Ch.Iu. Where lay the King last night?
Mes. At Basingstoke my Lord
Fal. I hope (my Lord) all's well. What is the newes
Ch.Iust. Come all his Forces backe?
Mes. No: Fifteene hundred Foot, fiue hundred Horse
Are march'd vp to my Lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland, and the Archbishop
Fal. Comes the King backe from Wales, my noble L[ord]?
Ch.Iust. You shall haue Letters of me presently.
Come, go along with me, good M[aster]. Gowre
Fal. My Lord
Ch.Iust. What's the matter?
Fal. Master Gowre, shall I entreate you with mee to
Gow. I must waite vpon my good Lord heere.
I thanke you, good Sir Iohn
Ch.Iust. Sir Iohn, you loyter heere too long being you
are to take Souldiers vp, in Countries as you go
Fal. Will you sup with me, Master Gowre?
Ch.Iust. What foolish Master taught you these manners,
Fal. Master Gower, if they become mee not, hee was a
Foole that taught them mee. This is the right Fencing
grace (my Lord) tap for tap, and so part faire
Ch.Iust. Now the Lord lighten thee, thou art a great
Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe, and Page.
Prin. Trust me, I am exceeding weary
Poin. Is it come to that? I had thought wearines durst
not haue attach'd one of so high blood
Prin. It doth me: though it discolours the complexion
of my Greatnesse to acknowledge it. Doth it not shew
vildely in me, to desire small Beere?
Poin. Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied,
as to remember so weake a Composition
Prince. Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely
got: for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Creature,
Small Beere. But indeede these humble considerations
make me out of loue with my Greatnesse. What a
disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know
thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire of
Silk stockings y hast? (Viz. these, and those that were thy
peach-colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thy
shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other, for vse. But
that the Tennis-Court-keeper knowes better then I, for
it is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'st
not Racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, because
the rest of thy Low Countries, haue made a shift to
eate vp thy Holland
Poin. How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd so
hard, you should talke so idlely? Tell me how many good
yong Princes would do so, their Fathers lying so sicke, as
Prin. Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz?
Poin. Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing
Prin. It shall serue among wittes of no higher breeding
Poin. Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, that
Prin. Why, I tell thee, it is not meet, that I should be
sad now my Father is sicke: 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
Poin. Very hardly, vpon such a subiect
Prin. Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as
thou, and Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let the
end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly,
that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild company
as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all ostentation
Poin. The reason?
Prin. What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep?
Poin. I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite
Prin. It would be euery mans thought: and thou art
a blessed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a
mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way better
then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite indeede.
And what accites your most worshipful thought
to thinke so?
Poin. Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and so
much ingraffed to Falstaffe
Prin. And to thee
Pointz. Nay, I am well spoken of, I can heare it with
mine owne eares: the worst that they can say of me is, that
I am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of
my hands: and those two things I confesse I canot helpe.
Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe
Prince. And the Boy that I gaue Falstaffe, he had him
from me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not transform'd
Bar. Saue your Grace
Prin. And yours, most Noble Bardolfe
Poin. Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole,
must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? what
a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such a
matter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head?
Page. He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a red
Lattice, and I could discerne no part of his face from the
window: at last I spy'd his eyes, and me thought he had
made two holes in the Ale-wiues new Petticoat, & peeped
Prin. Hath not the boy profited?
Bar. Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away
Page. Away, you rascally Altheas dreame, away
Prin. Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy?
Page. Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, she was deliuer'd
of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream
Prince. A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation:
There it is, Boy
Poin. O that this good Blossome could bee kept from
Cankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee
Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you,
the gallowes shall be wrong'd
Prince. And how doth thy Master, Bardolph?
Bar. Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces
comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you
Poin. Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth the
Martlemas, your Master?
Bard. In bodily health Sir
Poin. Marry, the immortall part needes a Physitian:
but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyes
Prince. I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with
me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you
Iohn Falstaffe Knight: (Euery man must
know that, as oft as hee hath occasion to name himselfe:)
Euen like those that are kinne to the King, for they neuer
pricke their finger, but they say, there is som of the kings
blood spilt. How comes that (sayes he) that takes vpon
him not to conceiue? the answer is as ready as a borrowed
cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir
Prince. Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch
it from Iaphet. But to the Letter: - Sir Iohn Falstaffe,
Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, Harrie
Prince of Wales, greeting
Poin. Why this is a Certificate
I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie
Poin. Sure he meanes breuity in breath: short-winded.
I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leaue thee. Bee
not too familiar with Pointz, for hee misuses thy Fauours so
much, that he sweares thou art to marrie his Sister Nell. Repent
at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thou
vsest him. Iacke Falstaffe with my Familiars:
Iohn with my Brothers and Sister: & Sir
Iohn, with all Europe.
My Lord, I will steepe this Letter in Sack, and make him
Prin. That's to make him eate twenty of his Words.
But do you vse me thus Ned? Must I marry your Sister?
Poin. May the Wench haue no worse Fortune. But I
neuer said so
Prin. Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time, &
the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is
your Master heere in London?
Bard. Yes my Lord
Prin. Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in
the old Franke?
Bard. At the old place my Lord, in East-cheape
Prin. What Company?
Page. Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church
Prin. Sup any women with him?
Page. None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly, and M[istris].
Prin. What Pagan may that be?
Page. A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman
of my Masters
Prin. Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the
Shall we steale vpon them (Ned) at Supper?
Poin. I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you
Prin. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your
Master that I am yet in Towne.
There's for your silence
Bar. I haue no tongue, sir
Page. And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it
Prin. Fare ye well: go.
This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode
Poin. I warrant you, as common as the way betweene
S[aint]. Albans, and London
Prin. How might we see Falstaffe bestow himselfe to
night, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene?
Poin. Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and
waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers
Prin. From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: It
was Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low transformation,
that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpose
must weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned.
Enter Northumberland, his Ladie, and Harrie Percies Ladie.
North. I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter,
Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires:
Put not you on the visage of the Times,
And be like them to Percie, troublesome
Wife. I haue giuen ouer, I will speak no more,
Do what you will: your Wisedome, be your guide
North. Alas (sweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne,
And but my going, nothing can redeeme it
La. Oh yet, for heauens sake, go not to these Warrs;
The Time was (Father) when you broke your word,
When you were more endeer'd to it, then now,
When your owne Percy, when my heart-deereHarry,
Threw many a Northward looke, to see his Father
Bring vp his Powres: but he did long in vaine.
Who then perswaded you to stay at home?
There were two Honors lost; Yours, and your Sonnes.
For Yours, may heauenly glory brighten it:
For His, it stucke vpon him, as the Sunne
In the gray vault of Heauen: and by his Light
Did all the Cheualrie of England moue
To do braue Acts. He was (indeed) the Glasse
Wherein the Noble-Youth did dresse themselues.
He had no Legges, that practic'd not his Gate:
And speaking thicke (which Nature made his blemish)
Became the Accents of the Valiant.
For those that could speake low, and tardily,
Would turne their owne Perfection, to Abuse,
To seeme like him. So that in Speech, in Gate,
In Diet, in Affections of delight,
In Militarie Rules, Humors of Blood,
He was the Marke, and Glasse, Coppy, and Booke,
That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous! him,
O Miracle of Men! Him did you leaue
(Second to none) vn-seconded by you,
To looke vpon the hideous God of Warre,
In dis-aduantage, to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspurs Name
Did seeme defensible: so you left him.
Neuer, O neuer doe his Ghost the wrong,
To hold your Honor more precise and nice
With others, then with him. Let them alone:
The Marshall and the Arch-bishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but halfe their Numbers,
To day might I (hanging on Hotspurs Necke)
Haue talk'd of Monmouth's Graue
North. Beshrew your heart,
(Faire Daughter) you doe draw my Spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient Ouer-sights.
But I must goe, and meet with Danger there,
Or it will seeke me in another place,
And finde me worse prouided
Wife. O flye to Scotland,
Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons,
Haue of their Puissance made a little taste
Lady. If they get ground, and vantage of the King,
Then ioyne you with them, like a Ribbe of Steele,
To make Strength stronger. But, for all our loues,
First let them trye themselues. So did your Sonne,
He was so suffer'd; so came I a Widow:
And neuer shall haue length of Life enough,
To raine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes,
That it may grow, and sprowt, as high as Heauen,
For Recordation to my Noble Husband
North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my Minde
As with the Tyde, swell'd vp vnto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neyther way.
Faine would I goe to meet the Arch-bishop,
But many thousand Reasons hold me backe.
I will resolue for Scotland: there am I,
Till Time and Vantage craue my company.
Enter two Drawers.
1.Drawer. What hast thou brought there? Apple-Iohns?
Thou know'st Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn
2.Draw. Thou say'st true: the Prince once set a Dish
of Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiue
more Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, said, I will now
take my leaue of these sixe drie, round, old-wither'd
Knights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath forgot
1.Draw. Why then couer, and set them downe: and
see if thou canst finde out Sneakes Noyse; Mistris Teare-sheet
would faine haue some Musique
2.Draw. Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Master
Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins,
and Aprons, and Sir Iohn must not know of it: Bardolph
hath brought word
1.Draw. Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an excellent
2.Draw. Ile see if I can finde out Sneake.
Enter Hostesse, and Dol.
Host. Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent
good temperalitie: your Pulsidge beates as extraordinarily,
as heart would desire; and your Colour
(I warrant you) is as red as any Rose: But you haue
drunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous searching
Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can say
what's this. How doe you now?
Dol. Better then I was: Hem
Host. Why that was well said: A good heart's worth
Gold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn.
Falst. When Arthur first in Court - (emptie the Iordan)
and was a worthy King: How now Mistris Dol?
Host. Sick of a Calme: yea, good-sooth
Falst. So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme,
they are sick
Dol. You muddie Rascall, is that all the comfort you
Falst. You make fat Rascalls, Mistris Dol
Dol. I make them? Gluttonie and Diseases make
them, I make them not
Falst. If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe to
make the Diseases (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catch
of you: Grant that, my poore Vertue, grant that
Dol. I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels
Falst. Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For to
serue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to come
off the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surgerie
brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambers
Host. Why this is the olde fashion: you two neuer
meete, but you fall to some discord: you are both (in
good troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Tostes, you cannot
one beare with anothers Confirmities. What the
good-yere? One must beare, and that must bee you:
you are the weaker Vessell; as they say, the emptier
Dol. Can a weake emptie Vessell beare such a huge
full Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Venture
of Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not seene a Hulke
better stufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee
Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether I
shall euer see thee againe, or no, there is no body
Drawer. Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and would
speake with you
Dol. Hang him, swaggering Rascall, let him not
come hither: it is the foule-mouth'dst Rogue in England
Host. If hee swagger, let him not come here: I must
liue amongst my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I am
in good name, and fame, with the very best: shut the
doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue not
liu'd all this while, to haue swaggering now: shut the
doore, I pray you
Falst. Do'st thou heare, Hostesse?
Host. 'Pray you pacifie your selfe (Sir Iohn) there comes
no Swaggerers heere
Falst. Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient
Host. Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient
Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master
Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me,
it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour
Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was by
then: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those that
are Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now
hee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you are
an honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore take
heede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) no
swaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You
would blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile no
Falst. Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater,
hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Greyhound:
hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, if
her feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Call
him vp (Drawer.)
Host. Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honest
man my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swaggering;
I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: Feele
Masters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you
Dol. So you doe, Hostesse
Host. Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an Aspen
Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, and Bardolph and his Boy.
Pist. 'Saue you, Sir Iohn
Falst. Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I charge
you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mine
Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two
Falst. She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly offend
Host. Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I
will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans
Pist. Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will charge
Dol. Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion)
what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate:
away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for
Pist. I know you, Mistris Dorothie
Dol. Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung,
away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldie
Chappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Away
you Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you.
Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on
your shoulder? much
Pist. I will murther your Ruffe, for this
Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete
Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater,
art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines
were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking
their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them.
You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore
Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang
him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, and
dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make
the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had
neede looke to it
Bard. 'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient
Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol
Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I
could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her
Page. 'Pray thee goe downe
Pist. Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake,
to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde
also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe
Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?
Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late:
I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler
Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall PackHorses,
and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which cannot
goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Cęsar, and
with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne
them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall
wee fall foule for Toyes?
Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter
Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a
Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes:
Haue we not Hiren here?
Host. On my word (Captaine) there's none such here.
What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?
I pray be quiet
Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come,
giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente.
Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire:
Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there:
Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's nothing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet
Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue
seene the seuen Starres
Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such
a Fustian Rascall
Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway
Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat
shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee
shall be nothing here
Bard. Come, get you downe stayres
Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew?
then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull
dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds,
vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say
Host. Here's good stuffe toward
Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy
Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw
Fal. Get you downe stayres
Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping
house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther
I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons,
put vp your naked Weapons
Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah,
you whorson little valiant Villaine, you
Host. Are you not hurt i'th' Groyne? me thought hee
made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly
Fal. Haue you turn'd him out of doores?
Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurt
him (Sir) in the shoulder
Fal. A Rascall to braue me
Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape,
how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come
on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou
art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon,
and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah
Fal. A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blanket
Dol. Doe, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou doo'st,
Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes.
Page. The Musique is come, Sir
Fal. Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol.
A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me like
Dol. And thou followd'st him like a Church: thou
whorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wilt
thou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, and
begin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?
Enter the Prince and Poines disguis'd.
Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deathshead:
doe not bid me remember mine end
Dol. Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?
Fal. A good shallow young fellow: hee would haue
made a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Bread
Dol. They say Poines hath a good Wit
Fal. Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit is
as thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more conceit
in him, then is in a Mallet
Dol. Why doth the Prince loue him so then?
Fal. Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: and
hee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell,
and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and rides
the wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'dstooles,
and sweares with a good grace, and weares his
Boot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; and
breedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and such
other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weake
Minde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admits
him; for the Prince himselfe is such another: the
weight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their
Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue his
Eares cut off?
Poin. Let vs beat him before his Whore
Prince. Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Poll
claw'd like a Parrot
Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so many
yeeres out-liue performance?
Fal. Kisse me Dol
Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?
What sayes the Almanack to that?
Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,
be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,
Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses
Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constant
Fal. I am olde, I am olde
Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie young
Boy of them all
Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shall
receiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappe
to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late,
wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am
Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so:
proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne:
well, hearken the end
Fal. Some Sack, Francis
Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir
Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art not
thou Poines, his Brother?
Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, what
a life do'st thou lead?
Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art
Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out
by the Eares
Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome
to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Face
of thine: what, are you come from Wales?
Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: by
this light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome
Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you
Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge,
and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the
Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildly
did you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous,
Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by
Fal. Didst thou heare me?
Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when you
ranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,
and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience
Fal. No, no, no: not so: I did not thinke, thou wast
Prince. I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfull
abuse, and then I know how to handle you
Fal. No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse
Prince. Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, and
Bread-chopper, and I know not what?
Fal. No abuse (Hal.)
Poin. No abuse?
Fal. No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none.
I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wicked
might not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I haue
done the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, and
thy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:)
none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none
Prince. See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardise,
doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman,
to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thine
Hostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the
Wicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in his
Nose) of the Wicked?
Poin. Answere thou dead Elme, answere
Fal. The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecouerable,
and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where hee
doth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy,
there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids
Prince. For the Women?
Fal. For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, and
burnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money;
and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I know
Host. No, I warrant you
Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit
for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee,
for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to
the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle
Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt of
Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent?
Prince. You, Gentlewoman
Dol. What sayes your Grace?
Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells
Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the
doore there, Francis?
Prince. Peto, how now? what newes?
Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,
And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,
Come from the North: and as I came along,
I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,
And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe
Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,
So idly to prophane the precious time,
When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,
Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.
Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:
Falstaffe, good night.
Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the
night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More
knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter?
Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently,
A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you
Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse,
farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of
Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when
the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches:
if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I
Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie
to burst- Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy
Falst. Farewell, farewell.
Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee
these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an
honester, and truer-hearted man- Well, fare thee
Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet
Host. What's the matter?
Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master
Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter the King, with a Page.
King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick:
But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters,
And well consider of them: make good speed.
How many thousand of my poorest Subiects
Are at this howre asleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe,
Natures soft Nurse, how haue I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe,
And steepe my Sences in Forgetfulnesse?
Why rather (Sleepe) lyest thou in smoakie Cribs,
Vpon vneasie Pallads stretching thee,
And huisht with bussing Night, flyes to thy slumber,
Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great?
Vnder the Canopies of costly State,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest Melodie?
O thou dull God, why lyest thou with the vilde,
In loathsome Beds, and leau'st the Kingly Couch,
A Watch-case, or a common Larum-Bell?
Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Mast,
Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines,
In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,
And in the visitation of the Windes,
Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaff'ning Clamors in the slipp'ry Clouds,
That with the hurley, Death it selfe awakes?
Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy Repose
To the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre so rude:
And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,
With all appliances, and meanes to boote,
Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,
Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne.
Enter Warwicke and Surrey.
War. Many good-morrowes to your Maiestie
King. Is it good-morrow, Lords?
War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past
King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:)
Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?
War. We haue (my Liege.)
King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,
How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,
And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?
War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
With good aduice, and little Medicine:
My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd
King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,
And see the reuolution of the Times
Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent
(Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfe
Into the Sea: and other Times, to see
The beachie Girdle of the Ocean
Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks
And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration
With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,
Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,
This Percie was the man, neerest my Soule,
Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires,
And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot:
Yea, for my sake, euen to the eyes of Richard
Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by
(You Cousin Neuil, as I may remember)
When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares,
(Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland)
Did speake these words (now prou'd a Prophecie:)
Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which
My Cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne:
(Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no such intent,
But that necessitie so bow'd the State,
That I and Greatnesse were compell'd to kisse:)
The Time shall come (thus did hee follow it)
The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head,
Shall breake into Corruption: so went on,
Fore-telling this same Times Condition,
And the diuision of our Amitie
War. There is a Historie in all mens Liues,
Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd:
The which obseru'd, a man may prophecie
With a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things,
As yet not come to Life, which in their Seedes
And weake beginnings lye entreasured:
Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time;
And by the necessarie forme of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guesse,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falsenesse,
Which should not finde a ground to roote vpon,
Vnlesse on you
King. Are these things then Necessities?
Then let vs meete them like Necessities;
And that same word, euen now cryes out on vs:
They say, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fiftie thousand strong
War. It cannot be (my Lord:)
Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,
The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
To goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord)
The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue sent forth,
Shall bring this Prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd
A certaine instance, that Glendour is dead.
Your Maiestie hath beene this fort-night ill,
And these vnseason'd howres perforce must adde
Vnto your Sicknesse
King. I will take your counsaile:
And were these inward Warres once out of hand,
Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land.
Enter Shallow and Silence: with Mouldie, Shadow, Wart, Feeble,
Shal. Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee your
Hand, Sir; giue mee your Hand, Sir: an early stirrer, by
the Rood. And how doth my good Cousin Silence?
Sil. Good-morrow, good Cousin Shallow
Shal. And how doth my Cousin, your Bed-fellow?
and your fairest Daughter, and mine, my God-Daughter
Sil. Alas, a blacke Ouzell (Cousin Shallow.)
Shal. By yea and nay, Sir. I dare say my Cousin William
is become a good Scholler? hee is at Oxford still, is hee
Sil. Indeede Sir, to my cost
Shal. Hee must then to the Innes of Court shortly: I
was once of Clements Inne; where (I thinke) they will
talke of mad Shallow yet
Sil. You were call'd lustie Shallow then (Cousin.)
Shal. I was call'd any thing: and I would haue done
any thing indeede too, and roundly too. There was I, and
little Iohn Doit of Staffordshire, and blacke George Bare,
and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squele a Cotsal-man, you
had not foure such Swindge-bucklers in all the Innes of
Court againe: And I may say to you, wee knew where
the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at
commandement. Then was Iacke Falstaffe (now Sir Iohn)
a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolke
Sil. This Sir Iohn (Cousin) that comes hither anon about
Shal. The same Sir Iohn, the very same: I saw him
breake Scoggan's Head at the Court-Gate, when hee was
a Crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fight
with one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inne.
Oh the mad dayes that I haue spent! and to see
how many of mine olde Acquaintance are dead?
Sil. Wee shall all follow (Cousin.)
Shal. Certaine: 'tis certaine: very sure, very sure:
Death is certaine to all, all shall dye. How a good Yoke
of Bullocks at Stamford Fayre?
Sil. Truly Cousin, I was not there
Shal. Death is certaine. Is old Double of your Towne
Sil. Dead, Sir
Shal. Dead? See, see: hee drew a good Bow: and
dead? hee shot a fine shoote. Iohn of Gaunt loued
him well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead?
hee would haue clapt in the Clowt at Twelue-score, and
carryed you a fore-hand Shaft at foureteene, and foureteene
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