Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal:
And so let me entreat you,leave the house!
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen,
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so, farewell!
Sher. Good night, my noble lord!

P. Hen. I think, it is good morrow; is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think, it be two o'clock.
[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier.
P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well, as Paul's.
Go, call him forth!
Poins. Falstaff! fast asleep behind the arras, and
snorting, like a horse.

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath! Search his pockets! [Poins searches.] What hast thou found? Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them!
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.

Item, Sauce, 4d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s,8d.

Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!-What there is else,keep close; we'll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day! I'll to the court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelvescore. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins!

Poins. Good morrow, good my lord!

АСТ

III.

Exeunt.

SCENE I. — Bangor. A room in the Archdeacon's

house.

Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.

Glend. Cousin, of many men

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living,- clipp'd in with the sea,
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,—
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
And hold me pace in deep experiments!

Hot. Ithink, there is no man, speaks better Welsh.
I will to dinner.

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy! you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come, when you do call for them?
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
The devil.

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil,
By telling truth. Tell truth, and shame the devil!--
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil!
Mort. Come, come,

No more of this unprofitable chat!

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head

Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLEN-And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him

DOWER.

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,

And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, –

Will you sit down?

And, uncle Worcester-A plague upon it!

I have forgot the map.

Glend. No, here it is.

Sit, cousin Percy! sit, good cousin Hotspur!

For by that name, as oft as Lancaster

Bootless home, and weather-beaten back.

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

Glend. Come, here's the map; shall we divide our
right,

According to our three-fold order ta'en?
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it

Into three limits, very equally:

England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east, is to my part assign'd:

Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and, at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.

Hot. Why, so it would have done
At the same season, if your mother's cat had
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Glend. Isay, the earth did shake, when I was born.
Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose, as: fearing you it shook.

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did
tremble.

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on
fire,

And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth

In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth

And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower: — and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Treut.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed interchangeably,
(A business, that this night may execute,)
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your father, and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.
Within that space, [To Glend.] you may have drawn
together

Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords,
And in my conduct shall your ladies come:
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave;
For there will be a world of water shed,
Upon the parting of your wives and
you.
Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here,

In quantity equals not one of yours.
See, how this river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:

It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it doth. · Mort. Yea,

But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up
With like advantage on the other side,
Gelding the opposed continent as much,

As on the other side it takes from you.

And wond'rous affable, and as bountiful,
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive,

Might so have tempted him, as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you!

Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame,
And since your coming hither have done enough
To put him quite beside his patience.

You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,)

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,

And on this north side win this cape of land;

And then he runs straight and even.

Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it.
Glend. I will not have it alter'd.

Hot. Will not you?

Glend. No, nor you shall not.

Hot. Who shall say me nay?

Glend. Why, that will I.

Hot. Let me not understand you then,

Speak it in Welsh!

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was train'd up in the English court:

Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty, lovely well,

And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;

A virtue, that was never seen in you!

my heart.

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all
I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew,
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers.
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree;

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
any well-deserving friend;

Το

But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,

I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night. I'll haste the writer, and, withal,

A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and aramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff,
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,
He held me but last night, at least nine hours,
In reckoning up the several devils' names,
That were his lackeys: I cried, humph,—and well,-
go to,-

But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious,
As is a tired horse, arailing wife;
Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live,
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
Exceedingly well read, and profited

In strange concealments, valiant as a lion,

Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain :
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

Beguiling them of commendation.

Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your
speed!

Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Re-enter GLENDOWER with the Ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,
My wife can speak no English, Ino Welsh.

Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with

[Lady M. speaks.

I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation :
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet, as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[Lady M. speaks again.
Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.
Glend. She bids you

Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song, that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep,
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing.
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so!

And those musicians, that shall play to you,
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
Yet straight they shall be here, sit, and attend!
Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:

Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,
thy lap.
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
K. Hen. God pardon thee!

And even as I was then, is Percy now.

Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state,
Than thou, the shadow of succession;
For, of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
And, being no more in debt to years, than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority,
And military title capital,

Through all the kingdoms, that acknowledge Christ?
Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes,
This infant warrior in his enterprizes,
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,

And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate against us, and are up.

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To show, how much degenerate thou art.

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ;
And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet.
For every honour sitting on his helm,

'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd, I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands,
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this.
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein.
Enter BLUNT.

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt. So hath the business, that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met,
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury.
A mighty and a fearful head they are,

If promises be kept on every hand,

As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old. -
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march.
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business; let's away!
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's head

tavern.

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me,like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it: come, sing me a bawdy song, make me merry! I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough, swore little, diced, not above seven times a week, went to a bawdyhouse, not above once in a quarter of an hour, paid money that I borrowed, three or four times, lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop,-but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it, as many a man doth of a death's-head, or a memento mori. Inever see thy face, but I think on hell-fire, and Dives, that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning,burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over, and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night, to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack, that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly. Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heartburned.

Enter Hostess.

How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet, who picked my pocket?

Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John? Do you think, I keep thieves in my house? I have Isearched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man

by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe
of a hair was never lost in my house before.
Fal. You lic, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost
many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked.
Go to, you are a woman, go!

Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound.

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay! Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face! What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks! I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a sealring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not, how oft, that that ring was copper. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him, like a dog, if he would say so.

Enter Prince HENRY and POINs, marching. FALSTAFF
meets the Prince,playing on his truncheon,like a fife.
Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith?
must we all march?

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion?
Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me!

P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest

man.

Host. Good my lord, hear me !

Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me!
P. Hen. What sayst thou, Jack?

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets.

P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack?

Fal. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man knows not, where to have her.

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou, or any man knows, where to have me, thou knave thou! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly.

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound.

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love
is worth a million; thou owest me thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said,
he would cudgel you.
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?

Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.
P. Hen. Isay, 'tis copper: darest thou be as good,
as thy word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man,
I dare; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear
the roaring of the lion's whelp.

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion? Fal. The king himself is to be feared, as the lion. Dost thou think, I'll fear thee, as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! P.Hen. O, ifit should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But,sirrah,there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ; it is filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whores on, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket, but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdyhouses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy, to make thee long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh,than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket? P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee! Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests! thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified.-Still?-Nay, pr'ythee, be gone! [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grand-news at court! for the robbery, lad,—how is that father's.

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter!
Host. So I told him, my lord; and 1 said, I heard
your grace say so. And, my lord, he speaks most vile-
ly of you,
like a foul-mouthed man, as he is, and

said, he would cudgel you.
P. Hen. What! he did not?

answered?

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.. The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood Fal.Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, in me else.

Fal. There's no more faith in thee, than in a stewed. prune, nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go! Host. Say, what thing? what thing?

and do it with unwashed hands too!
Bard. Do, my lord!

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I find one, that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none, but the virtuous; I laud

Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on.
Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou
should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife : and, set-them, I praise them.
ting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call

me so.

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast,
to say otherwise.

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou?
Fal. What beast? why, an otter.

P. Hen. An otter, sir John? why an otter?

P. Hen. Bardolph-
Bard. My lord?

P.Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster!
My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland.-
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse! for thou, and I
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.-
Jack,