And, for because the world is populous, And these same thoughts people this little world; For no thought is contented. The better sort- As thus,-"Come, little ones;" and then again,— [Music Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince! The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! That horse that thou so often hast bestrid; That horce that I so carefully have dress'd! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall.) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude [assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear ;- SCENE VI.-WINDSOR. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Welcome, my lord: what is the news? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is,-I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: [Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter PERCY, with the BISHOP OF CARLISLE. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin. Thy burled fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. deed. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: ACT L SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. BARDOLPH. LADY PERCY, Wife to HOTSPUR, and Sister to MORTIMER. LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to GLENDOWER, and Wife to MORTIMER. MRS QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE,-ENGLAND. SCENE I.-LONDON. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious For more uneven and unwelcome news [lord; Came from the north, and thus it did import. Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. [me sin A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; Than out of anger can be uttered. West. I will, my liege. SCENE II.-The same. [Exeunt. Another Room in the Palace. Enter HENRY, Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the i signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta,-I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, "that wandering knight so fair." And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,) P. Hen. What, none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: and let men say, we be men of good government: being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing"lay by;" and spent with crying-"bring in:" now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? And is not P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-but, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fol. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,-sweet young prince; but, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, Sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not; and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee: from praying to purse-taking. Enter POINS, at a distance. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried "Stand!" to a true man. P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs-he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. Fal. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? P. Hen Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the bloodroyal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P. Hen. Well, then once in my days I'll be a madcap. Fal. Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. P. Hen. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Fal. Well, mayst thon have the spirit of persuasion and he the cars of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, Allhallown summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. Pons. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves, R Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see,-I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. P. Hen. But I doubt they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POINS. P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold Who doth permit the base contagious clouds But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and others. K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me; for accordingly, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves The scourge of greatness to be used on it; And that same greatness, too, which our own hands North. My lord, K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger And disobedience in thine eye: 0, Sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, You have good leave to leave us: when we need You were about to speak. North. Yea, my good lord. [TO NORTH. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, As is deliver'd to your majesty: Either envy, therefore, or misprision, Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held Betwixt the wind and his nobility. He question'd me; among the rest demanded I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not;-for he made me mad Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!) Come current for an accusation, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whatever Harry Percy then had said, To such a person, and in such a place, To do him wrong, or any way impeach K. Lien. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd Hot. Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war;-to prove that true, Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand, [drink, He did confound the best part of an hour Colour her working with such deadly wounds; K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie He durst as well have met the devil alone, Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth [him; [Exeunt KING HENRY, BLUNT, and train. Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them:-I will after straight, And tell him so; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and panse Here comes your uncle. Re-enter WORCESTER. Hot. Speak of Mortimer! 'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul [a while; Want mercy, if I do not join with him: Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone? Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood? North. He was; I heard the proclamation: From whence he intercepted did return To be deposed, and shortly murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide Live scandalised, and foully spoken of. [mouth Hot. But soft, I pray you; did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown? North. He did; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That you a world of curses undergo; The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? O, pardon me, that I descend so low, To shew the line, and the predicament, Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hot. If he fall in, good night:-or sink or swim: North. Imagination of some great exploit Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap. Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, Hot. I cry you merc. Wor. Those same no le Scots, That are your prisoners Hot. I'll keep them all; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them: No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: I'll keep them, by this hand. Wor. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes.- Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat:- I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Cousin; a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke. And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd to attend. North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood; Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! [rods, Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time,-what do you call the place? A plague upon 't!-it is in Glostershire;- Hot. You say true:- Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! O, the devil take such cozeners!-God forgive me!- We'll stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i' faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And make the Douglas' son your only mean For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assured, Will easily be granted.-You, my lord, Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, The archbishop. Hot. Of York, is 't not? Wor. True; who bears hard [TO NORTH. His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation, As what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; And only stays but to behold the face. Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st lip. Hot. Why, it cannot choos: but be a noble plot: And then the power of Scotland, and of York,— To join with Mortimer, ha? Wor. And so they shall. Hot. In aith, it is exceedingly well ain't. Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, To save our heads by raising of a head: For, bear ourselves as even as we can, The king will always think him in our debt, And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does; we'll be revenged on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell:-No further go in this, Than I by letters shall direct your course. When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) I'll steal to Glendower and lord Mort mer; Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arias, Which now we hold at much uncerti nty. North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. Hot. Uncle, adieu:-0, let the hours be short, Till flelds, and blows, and groans applaud our sport! [Exeunt. |