Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others


Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,


And breathe short-winded accents of new broils


No more the thirsty entrance of this soil


Shall daub her lips with her own childrens blood;


Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,


Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs


Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,


All of one nature, of one substance bred,


Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,


March all one way and be no more opposed


Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:


The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,


No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,


Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross


Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;


Whose arms were moulded in their mothers womb


To chase these pagans in those holy fields


Over whose acres walkd those blessed feet


Which fourteen hundred years ago were naild


But this our purpose now is twelve month old,


And bootless tis to tell you we will go:


Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear


My liege, this haste was hot in question,


But yesternight: when all athwart there came


A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;


Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,


Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight


Against the irregular and wild Glendower,


Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,


Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,


It seems then that the tidings of this broil


Brake off our business for the Holy Land.


This matchd with other did, my gracious lord;


Came from the north and thus it did import:


On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,


Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,


And shape of likelihood, the news was told;


For he that brought them, in the very heat


And pride of their contention did take horse,


Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,


Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.


Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;


And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.


Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,


Balkd in their own blood did Sir Walter see


On Holmedons plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took


Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son


To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,


It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.


Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin


A son who is the theme of honours tongue;


Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;


Who is sweet Fortunes minion and her pride:


Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,


Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved


That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged


In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,


Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.


But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,


Of this young Percys pride? the prisoners,


Which he in this adventure hath surprised,


To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,


I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.


This is his uncles teaching; this is Worcester,


Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up


The crest of youth against your dignity.


And for this cause awhile we must neglect


Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we


Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:


But come yourself with speed to us again;


SCENE II. London. An apartment of the Princes.


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


signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself


a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no


reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand


Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take


purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not


by Phoebus, he,that wandering knight so fair. And,


I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God


save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace


No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to


Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not


us that are squires of the nights body be called


thieves of the days beauty: let us be Dianas


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.


Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the


fortune of us that are the moons 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.


By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my


hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?


As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And


is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?


How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and


thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a


Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?


Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a


Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?


No; Ill give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.


Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;


and where it would not, I have used my credit.


Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent


that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, 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.


Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, Ill be a brave judge.


Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have


the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.


Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my


humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell


Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman


hath no lean wardrobe. Sblood, I am as melancholy


Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.


What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of


Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed


the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young


prince. But, Hal, I prithee, 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.


Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the


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, and I do not, I am a villain:


Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?


Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; Ill make one; an I


I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying


Why, Hal, tis my vocation, Hal; tis no sin for a


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


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


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.


Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.


Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.


But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four


oclock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going


to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders


riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards


for you all; you have horses for yourselves:


Gadshill lies to-night 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


Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not,


Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.


Theres neither honesty, manhood, nor good


fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood


royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.


Well then, once in my days Ill be a madcap.


Well, come what will, Ill tarry at home.


By the Lord, Ill be a traitor then, when thou art king.


Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone:


I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure


Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him


the ears 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.


Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!


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


How shall we part with them in setting forth?


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 well set upon them.


Yea, but tis like that they will know us by our


horses, by our habits and by every other


Tut! our horses they shall not see: Ill tie them


in the wood; our vizards we will change after we


leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram


for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.


Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.


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, Ill


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


Well, Ill go with thee: provide us all things


necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap;


Who doth permit the base contagious clouds


To smother up his beauty from the world,


That, when he please again to be himself,


Being wanted, he may be more wonderd at,


By breaking through the foul and ugly mists


Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.


To sport would be as tedious as to work;


But when they seldom come, they wishd for come,


And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.


So, when this loose behavior I throw off


And like bright metal on a sullen ground,


My reformation, glittering oer my fault,


Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes


Than that which hath no foil to set it off.


Redeeming time when men think least I will.


Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others


My blood hath been too cold and temperate,


I will from henceforth rather be myself,


Mighty and to be feard, than my condition;


Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,


And therefore lost that title of respect


Which the proud soul neer pays but to the proud.


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


O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,


You have good leave to leave us: when we need


Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.


Those prisoners in your highness name demanded,


Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,


Were, as he says, not with such strength denied


But I remember, when the fight was done,


When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,


Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,


Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dressd,


Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reapd


Showd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;


And twixt his finger and his thumb he held


Who therewith angry, when it next came there,


Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talkd,


And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,


He calld them untaught knaves, unmannerly,


He questiond me; amongst the rest, demanded


I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,


He should or he should not; for he made me mad


To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet


Of guns and drums and wounds,--God save the mark!--


And telling me the sovereignst thing on earth


This villanous salt-petre should be diggd


Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,


Which many a good tall fellow had destroyd


So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,


This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,


The circumstance considerd, good my lord,


At such a time, with all the rest retold,


That we at our own charge shall ransom straight


His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;


The lives of those that he did lead to fight


Against that great magician, damnd Glendower,


Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March


Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,


Shall we but treason? and indent with fears,


When they have lost and forfeited themselves?


No, on the barren mountains let him starve;


For I shall never hold that man my friend


Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost


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


He did confound the best part of an hour


In changing hardiment with great Glendower:


Three times they breathed and three times did


Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,


Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,


And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,


Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.


Colour her working with such deadly wounds;


Then let not him be slanderd with revolt.


Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;


He durst as well have met the devil alone


Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth


Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,


Or you shall hear in such a kind from me


As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,


We licence your departure with your son.


Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.


I will not send them: I will after straight


And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,


What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:


Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul


Yea, on his part Ill empty all these veins,


And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,


As high in the air as this unthankful king,


As this ingrate and cankerd Bolingbroke.


Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.


Who struck this heat up after I was gone?


He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;


Of my wifes brother, then his cheek lookd pale,


And on my face he turnd an eye of death,


I cannot blame him: was not he proclaimd


By Richard that dead is the next of blood?


--Whose wrongs in us God pardon!--did set forth


And for whose death we in the worlds wide mouth


But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then


Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,


That wished him on the barren mountains starve.


But shall it be that you, that set the crown


The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?


Wherein you range under this subtle king;


Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,


As both of you--God pardon it!--have done,


To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,


An plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?


And shall it in more shame be further spoken,


That you are foold, discarded and shook off


By him for whom these shames ye underwent?


No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem


Your banishd honours and restore yourselves


Into the good thoughts of the world again,


Revenge the jeering and disdaind contempt


Of this proud king, who studies day and night


Even with the bloody payment of your deaths:


And to your quick-conceiving discontents


If he fall in, good night! or sink or swim:


Send danger from the east unto the west,


So honour cross it from the north to south,


And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs


Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.


By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,


To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,


Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,


And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;


So he that doth redeem her thence might wear


But out upon this half-faced fellowship!


But not the form of what he should attend.


Good cousin, give me audience for a while.


By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;


No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:


But I will find him when he lies asleep,


Ill have a starling shall be taught to speak


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 would have him poisond with a pot of ale.


Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool


Art thou to break into this womans mood,


Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!


Why, look you, I am whippd and scourged with rods,


Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear


In Richards time,--what do you call the place?--


A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire;


Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,


His uncle York; where I first bowd my knee


Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,--


When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.


This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!


Look,when his infant fortune came to age,


And gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin;


O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive me!


Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done.


Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.


Deliver them up without their ransom straight,


For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons


Which I shall send you written, be assured,


Your son in Scotland being thus employd,


Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,


His brothers death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.


As what I think might be, but what I know


Of that occasion that shall bring it on.


I smell it: upon my life, it will do well.


Before the game is afoot, thou still letst slip.


Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;


And then the power of Scotland and of York,


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:


To make us strangers to his looks of love.


He does, he does: well be revenged on him.


Than I by letters shall direct your course.


When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,


Ill steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;


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 arms,


Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.


Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!


Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand


Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, Ill be


hanged: Charles wain is over the new chimney, and


I prithee, Tom, beat Cuts saddle, put a few flocks


in the point; poor jade, is wrung in the withers out


Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that


is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this


house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.


Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of oats


I think this be the most villanous house in all


London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.


Like a tench! by the mass, there is neer a king


christen could be better bit than I have been since


Why, they will allow us neer a jordan, and then we


leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds


I have a gammon of bacon and two razors of ginger,


to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.


Gods body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite


starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou


never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An


twere not as good deed as drink, to break the pate


on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged!


I pray thee lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding


Nay, by God, soft; I know a trick worth two of that, i faith.


Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth


Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?


Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant


thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, well call up the


gentleman: they will along with company, for they


Thats even as fair as--at hand, quoth the


chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking


of purses than giving direction doth from labouring;


Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that


I told you yesternight: theres a franklin in the


wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with


him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his


company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one


that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what.


They are up already, and call for eggs and butter;


Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas


No, Ill none of it: I pray thee keep that for the


hangman; for I know thou worshippest St. Nicholas


What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang,


Ill make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old


Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no


starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou


dreamest not of, the which for sport sake are


content to do the profession some grace; that would,


if matters should be looked into, for their own


credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no


foot-land rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers,


none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms;


but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and


great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will


strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than


drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet, zounds,


I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the


commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey


on her, for they ride up and down on her and make


What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold


She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We


steal as in a castle, cocksure; we have the receipt


Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to


the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.


Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our


Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.


Go to; homo is a common name to all men. Bid the


ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell,


Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaffs


horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.


Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost


He is walked up to the top of the hill: Ill go seek him.


I am accursed to rob in that thiefs company: the


rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know


not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier


further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt


not but to die a fair death for all this, if I


scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have


forsworn his company hourly any time this two and


twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the


rogues company. If the rascal hath not given me


medicines to make me love him, Ill be hanged; it


could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins!


Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto!


Ill starve ere Ill rob a foot further. An twere


not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to


leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that


ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven


ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me;


and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough:


a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!


Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you


rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!


Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close


to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread


Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?


Sblood, Ill not bear mine own flesh so far afoot


again for all the coin in thy fathers exchequer.


Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.


I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,


Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent


garters! If I be taen, Ill peach for this. An I


have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy


tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest


is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.


O, tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,


Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there s


money of the kings coming down the hill; tis going


You lie, ye rogue; tis going to the kings tavern.


Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane;


Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they scape


from your encounter, then they light on us.


Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;


Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge:


when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him.


Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.


Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I:


Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our horses down


the hill; well walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs.


Strike; down with them; cut the villains throats:


ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they


hate us youth: down with them: fleece them.


O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!


Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye


fat chuffs: I would your store were here! On,


bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live.


You are Grand-jurors, are ye? well jure ye, faith.


Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt


The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou


and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it


would be argument for a week, laughter for a month


Come, my masters, let us share, and then to  horse


before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two


arrant cowards, theres no equity stirring: theres


no more valour in that Poins than in a wild-duck.


As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon  them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them


Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:


The thieves are all scatterd and possessd with fear


So strongly that they dare not meet each other;


Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death,


And lards the lean earth as he walks along:


Were t not for laughing, I should pity him.


But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well


contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear


your house. He could be contented: why is he not,


then? In respect of the love he bears our house:


he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than


he loves our house. Let me see some more. The


purpose you undertake is dangerous;--why, thats


certain: tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to


drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this


nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. The


purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you


have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and


your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so


great an opposition. Say you so, say you so? I say


unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and


you lie.  What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord,


our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our


friends true and constant: a good plot, good


friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,


very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is


this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the


general course of action. Zounds, an I were now by


this rascal, I could brain him with his ladys fan.


Is there not my father, my uncle and myself? lord


Edmund Mortimer, My lord of York and Owen Glendower?


is there not besides the Douglas? have I not all


their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the


next month? and are they not some of them set


forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an


infidel! Ha! you shall see now in very sincerity


of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay


open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself


and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of


skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang him!


let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set


How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.


O, my good lord, why are you thus alone?


For what offence have I this fortnight been


Tell me, sweet lord, what ist that takes from thee


Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep?


Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,


And start so often when thou sitst alone?


Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;


And given my treasures and my rights of thee


To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?


In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watchd,


And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;


Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;


Cry Courage! to the field! And thou hast talkd


Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,


Of prisoners ransom and of soldiers slain,


Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war


And thus hath so bestirrd thee in thy sleep,


That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow


Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;


And in thy face strange motions have appeard,


Such as we see when men restrain their breath


On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?


Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,


And I must know it, else he loves me not.


Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?


One horse, my lord, he brought even now.


What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?


Well, I will back him straight: O esperance!


Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.


Ill know your business, Harry, that I will.


To line his enterprise: but if you go,--


In faith, Ill break thy little finger, Harry,


An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.


Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not,


I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world


To play with mammets and to tilt with lips:


We must have bloody noses and crackd crowns,


And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!


What sayst thou, Kate? what wouldst thou


Well, do not then; for since you love me not,


I will not love myself. Do you not love me?


Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.


And when I am on horseback, I will swear


I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;


I must not have you henceforth question me


Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,


This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.


I know you wise, but yet no farther wise


Than Harry Percys wife: constant you are,


Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;


And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.


Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:


SCENE IV. The Boars-Head Tavern, Eastcheap.


Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me


With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four


score hogsheads. I have sounded the very


base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother


to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by


their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis.


They take it already upon their salvation, that


though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am king


of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack,


like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a


good boy, by the Lord, so they call me, and when I


am king of England, I shall command all the good


lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing


scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they


cry  hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I


am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour,


that I can drink with any tinker in his own language


during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost


much honour, that thou wert not with me in this sweet


action. But, sweet Ned,--to sweeten which name of


Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped


even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that


never spake other English in his life than Eight


shillings and sixpence and You are welcome, with


this shrill addition, Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint


of bastard in the Half-Moon, or so. But, Ned, to


drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee,


do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my


puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; and do


thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale


to me may be nothing but Anon. Step aside, and


Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.


Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--


Five year! byr lady, a long lease for the clinking


of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant


as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it


O Lord, sir, Ill be sworn upon all the books in


Let me see--about Michaelmas next I shall be--


Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou


I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me


Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis;


or, Francis, o Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when


Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button,


not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,


Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink;


for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet


will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.


Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?


Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go


What, standest thou still, and hearest such a


My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are


Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.


Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at


As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what


cunning match have you made with this jest of the


I am now of all humours that have showed themselves


humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the


pupil age of this present twelve oclock at midnight.


That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a


parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is


upstairs and downstairs; his eloquence the parcel of


a reckoning. I am not yet of Percys mind, the


Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or


seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his


hands, and says to his wife Fie upon this quiet


life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she,


how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my roan


horse a drench, says he; and answers Some


fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I


prithee, call in Falstaff: Ill play Percy, and


that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his


wife. Rivo! says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.


Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO; FRANCIS following with wine


A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too!


marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I


lead this life long, Ill sew nether stocks and mend


them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!


Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant?


Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?


pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale


of the suns! if thou didst, then behold that compound.


You rogue, heres lime in this sack too: there is


nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man:


yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime


in it. A villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack;


die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be


not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a


shotten herring. There live not three good men


unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and


grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say.


I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any


thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.


A kings son! If I do not beat thee out of thy


kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy


subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese,


Ill never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!


Why, you whoreson round man, whats the matter?


Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?


Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the


I call thee coward! Ill see thee damned ere I call


thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I


could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight


enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your


back: call you that backing of your friends? A


plague upon such backing! give me them that will


face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I


O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou


Whats the matter! there be four of us here have


Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon


I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a


dozen of them two hours together. I have scaped by


miracle. I am eight times thrust through the


doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut


through and through; my sword hacked like a


hand-saw--ecce signum! I never dealt better since


I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all


cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or


less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.


You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I


As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us--


And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.


All! I know not what you call all; but if I fought


not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if


there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old


Pray God you have not murdered some of them.


Nay, thats past praying for: I have peppered two


of them; two I am sure I have paid, two rogues


in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell


thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou


knowest my old ward; here I lay and thus I bore my


point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me--


What, four? thou saidst but two even now.


These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at


me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven


Seven? why, there were but four even now.


Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.


Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.


Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine


Began to give me ground: but I followed me close,


came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of


O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!


But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten


knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let drive


at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst


These lies are like their father that begets them;


gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou


clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou


whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,--


What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth


Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal


green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy


hand? come, tell us your reason: what sayest thou to this?


What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the


strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would


not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on


compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as


blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon


Ill be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine


coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker,


Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried


neats tongue, you bulls pizzle, you stock-fish! O


for breath to utter what is like thee! you


tailors-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile


Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and


when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons,


We two saw you four set on four and bound them, and


were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how a plain


tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you


four; and, with a word, out-faced you from your


prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in


the house: and, Falstaff, you carried your guts


away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared


for mercy and still run and roared, as ever I heard


bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword


as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight!


What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst


thou now find out to hide thee from this open and


Come, lets hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?


By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye.


Why, hear you, my masters: was it for me to kill the


heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true prince?


why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but


beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true


prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was now a


coward on instinct. I shall think the better of


myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant


lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord,


lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap


to the doors: watch to-night, pray to-morrow.


Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles


of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be


Content; and the argument shall be thy running away.


Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!


How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest thou to


Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at


door would speak with you: he says he comes from


Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and


What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall


Now, sirs: byr lady, you fought fair; so did you,


Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, you


ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true


Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaffs


Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would


swear truth out of England but he would make you


believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.


Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to


make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments


with it and swear it was the blood of true men. I


did that I did not this seven year before, I blushed


O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years


ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since


thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and


sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away: what


My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold


Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone.


How long ist ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?


My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was


not an eagles talon in the waist; I could have


crept into any aldermans thumb-ring: a plague of


sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a


bladder. Theres villanous news abroad: here was


Sir John Bracy from your father; you must to the


court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the


north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the


bastinado and made Lucifer cuckold and swore the


devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh


Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer,


and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of


Scots, Douglas, that runs o horseback up a hill


He that rides at high speed and with his pistol


Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.


Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so


O horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.


I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too,


and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more:


Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy fathers


beard is turned white with the news: you may buy


Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and


this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads


By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we


shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal,


art not thou horrible afeard? thou being


heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three


such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that


spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou


not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at


Not a whit, i faith; I lack some of thy instinct.


Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou


comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.


Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the


Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state,


this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.


Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden


sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich


Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee,


now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to


make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have


wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it


And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.


O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith!


Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain.


O, the father, how he holds his countenance!


For Gods sake, lords, convey my tristful queen;


For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.


O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry


Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.


Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy


time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though


the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster


it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the


sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have


partly thy mothers word, partly my own opinion,


but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a


foolish-hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant


me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point;


why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall


the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat


blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall


the sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a


question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry,


which thou hast often heard of and it is known to


many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch,


as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth


the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not


speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in


pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in


woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I


have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.


What manner of man, an it like your majesty?


A goodly portly man, i faith, and a corpulent; of a


cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble


carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or,


byr lady, inclining to three score; and now I


remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man


should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry,


I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be


known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then,


peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that


Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell


me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast


Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me,


Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so


majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by


the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulters hare.


The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.


Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, Ill tickle


Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth neer look


on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace:


there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an


old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why


dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that


bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel


of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed


cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with


the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that


grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in


years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and


drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a


capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft?


wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous,


but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?


I would your grace would take me with you: whom


That villanous abominable misleader of youth,


But to say I know more harm in him than in myself,


were to say more than I know. That he is old, the


more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but


that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster,


that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault,


God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a


sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if


to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaohs lean kine


are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto,


banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack


Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,


valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,


being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him


thy Harrys company, banish not him thy Harrys


company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.


O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most


Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to


Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick:


The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they


are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?


Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of


gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad,


And thou a natural coward, without instinct.


I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff,


so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart


as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up!


I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.


Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up


above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good


Both which I have had: but their date is out, and


Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?


First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry


Hath followd certain men unto this house.


One of them is well known, my gracious lord,


For I myself at this time have employd him.


And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee


For any thing he shall be charged withal:


And so let me entreat you leave the house.


I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen


Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.


It may be so: if he have robbd these men,


He shall be answerable; and so farewell.


Indeed, my lord, I think it be two oclock.


This oily rascal is known as well as Pauls. Go,


Falstaff!--Fast asleep behind the arras, and


Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.


He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers


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


O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to


this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else,


keep close; well read it at more advantage: there


let him sleep till day. Ill to the court in the


morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place


shall be honourable. Ill procure this fat rogue a


charge of foot; and I know his death will be a


march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid


back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in


Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLENDOWER


These promises are fair, the parties sure,


And our induction full of prosperous hope.


Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,


Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with


And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.


The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,


The frame and huge foundation of the earth


Why, so it would have done at the same season, if


your mothers cat had but kittened, though yourself


I say the earth did shake when I was born.


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


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


In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth


Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,


Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down


Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth


Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,


I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave


The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds


Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.


These signs have markd me extraordinary;


Where is he living, clippd 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 womans son


I think theres no man speaks better Welsh.


Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.


But will they come when you do call for them?


Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command


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 Ill be sworn I have power to shame him hence.


O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!


Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.


Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head


Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye


And sandy-bottomd Severn have I sent him


Home without boots, and in foul weather too!


How scapes he agues, in the devils name?


Come, heres the map: shall we divide our right


England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,


By south and east is to my part assignd:


All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,


And all the fertile land within that bound,


To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you


The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.


And our indentures tripartite are drawn;


And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth


To meet your father and the Scottish power,


Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.


Within that space you may have drawn together


Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.


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,


Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,


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.


Ill have the current in this place dammd up;


And here the smug and silver Trent shall run


It shall not wind with such a deep indent,


Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.


Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up


Yea, but a little charge will trench him here


And on this north side win this cape of land;


Ill have it so: a little charge will do it.


Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.


I can speak English, lord, as well as you;


For I was traind up in the English court;


Where, being but young, I framed to the harp


Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;


I had rather hear a brazen canstick turnd,


And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,


Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.


I do not care: Ill give thrice so much land


Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?


The moon shines fair; you may away by night:


Break with your wives of your departure hence:


Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!


With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant,


Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,


A clip-wingd griffin and a moulten raven,


And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff


As puts me from my faith. I tell you what;


He held me last night at least nine hours


In reckoning up the several devils names


That were his lackeys: I cried hum, and well, go to,


But markd him not a word. O, he is as tedious


Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live


With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,


Than feed on cates and have him talk to me


In strange concealments, valiant as a lion


And as wondrous affable and as bountiful


As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?


And curbs himself even of his natural scope


When you come cross his humour; faith, he does:


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.


In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;


And since your coming hither have done enough


You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:


Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,--


And thats the dearest grace it renders you,--


Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,


Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:


Loseth mens hearts and leaves behind a stain


Well, I am schoold: good manners be your speed!


Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.


This is the deadly spite that angers me;


My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.


My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;


Shell be a soldier too, shell to the wars.


Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy


Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same


She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry,


one that no persuasion can do good upon.


I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh


Which thou pourst down from these swelling heavens


I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,


Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue


Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly pennd,


Sung by a fair queen in a summers bower,


Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.


She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down


And she will sing the song that pleaseth you


And on your eyelids 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-harnessd team


With all my heart Ill sit and hear her sing:


By that time will our book, I think, be drawn


And those musicians that shall play to you


Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,


And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.


Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come,


quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.


Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;


Then should you be nothing but musical for you are


altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief,


I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.


Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a


comfit-makers wife. Not you, in good sooth, and


as true as I live, and as God shall mend me, and


And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,


As if thou never walkst further than Finsbury.


Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,


A good mouth-filling oath, and leave in sooth,


Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast


teacher. An the indentures be drawn, Ill away


within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.


Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow


By this our book is drawn; well but seal,


Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others


Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I


Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,


For we shall presently have need of you.


For some displeasing service I have done,


That, in his secret doom, out of my blood


Hell breed revengement and a scourge for me;


Make me believe that thou art only markd


For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven


To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,


Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,


As thou art matchd withal and grafted to,


And hold their level with thy princely heart?


which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,


By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,


I may, for some things true, wherein my youth


God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,


Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.


Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost.


Which by thy younger brother is supplied,


Of all the court and princes of my blood:


That men would tell their children This is he;


Others would say Where, which is Bolingbroke?


And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,


That I did pluck allegiance from mens hearts,


Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,


Even in the presence of the crowned king.


Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;


Neer seen but wonderd at: and so my state,


Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast


The skipping king, he ambled up and down


With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,


Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,


Mingled his royalty with capering fools,


Had his great name profaned with their scorns


And gave his countenance, against his name,


To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push


That, being daily swallowd by mens eyes,


To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little


Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes


But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,


Slept in his face and renderd such aspect


Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.


And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;


For thou has lost thy princely privilege


Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;


Which now doth that I would not have it do,


Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.


I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,


As thou art to this hour was Richard then


When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,


He hath more worthy interest to the state


For of no right, nor colour like to right,


He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,


Turns head against the lions armed jaws,


And, being no more in debt to years than thou,


Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on


Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,


Whose hot incursions and great name in arms


Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ:


Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,


Discomfited great Douglas, taen him once,


And shake the peace and safety of our throne.


And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,


The Archbishops grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,


But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?


Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,


Base inclination and the start of spleen


To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,


Do not think so; you shall not find it so:


And God forgive them that so much have swayd


Your majestys good thoughts away from me!


Which, washd away, shall scour my shame with it:


And that shall be the day, wheneer 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.


Would they were multitudes, and on my head


My shames redoubled! for the time will come,


That I shall make this northern youth exchange


To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;


And I will call him to so strict account,


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 pleased I shall perform,


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.


Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.


How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.


So hath the business that I come to speak of.


Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word


The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury


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 Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march


Through Gloucestershire; by which account,


Our business valued, some twelve days hence


Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.


Our hands are full of business: lets away;


Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.


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 like an old ladys loose


gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well,


Ill 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 peppercorn, a brewers horse: the inside of a


church! Company, villanous company, hath been the


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


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 bawdy-house once


in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I


borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in


good compass: and now I live out of all order, out


Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs


be out of all compass, out of all reasonable


Do thou amend thy face, and Ill amend my life:


thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in


the poop, but tis in the nose of thee; thou art the


Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.


No, Ill be sworn; I make as good use of it as many


a man doth of a Deaths-head or a memento mori: I


never see thy face but I think upon 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, thats Gods angel: but


thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but


for the light in thy face, the son of utter


darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the


night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou


hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire,


theres 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 chandlers in Europe. I have


maintained that salamander of yours with fire any


time this two and thirty years; God reward me for


Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!


God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.


How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired


Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you


think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched,


I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy


by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair


Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many


a hair; and Ill be sworn my pocket was picked. Go


Who, I? no; I defy thee: Gods light, I was never


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


Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to


bakers wives, and they have made bolters of them.


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


How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich?


let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks:


Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker


of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I


shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a


seal-ring of my grandfathers worth forty mark.


O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not


How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: sblood, an


he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he


Enter PRINCE HENRY and PETO, marching, and FALSTAFF meets them playing on his truncheon like a life


How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i faith?


What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy


husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.


The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras


and had my pocket picked: this house is turned


Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of


forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my


So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your


grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely


of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said


Theres neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.


Theres 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


deputys wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing,


What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.


I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou


shouldst know it; I am an honest mans wife: and,


setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to


Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say


Why, shes neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not


Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any


man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou!


Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.


So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you


A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth


Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would


I say tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?


Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare:


but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the


The king is to be feared as the lion: dost thou


think Ill fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an


O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy


knees! But, sirrah, theres no room for faith,


truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it is all


filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest


woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson,


impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in


thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of


bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth 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 if; you will


not pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed?


Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the state of


innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack


Falstaff do in the days of villany? Thou seest I


have more flesh than another man, and therefore more


frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?


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,


Now Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery,


O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to


O, I do not like that paying back; tis a double labour.


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


Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and


I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.


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


Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my


brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.


Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I have


thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.


Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two


There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive


The land is burning; Percy stands on high;


Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!


O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!


SCENE I. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.


Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth


In this fine age were not thought flattery,


Such attribution should the Douglas have,


Should go so general current through the world.


The tongues of soothers; but a braver place


In my hearts love hath no man than yourself:


Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.


No man so potent breathes upon the ground


What letters hast thou there?--I can but thank you.


Letters from him! why comes he not himself?


He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.


Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick


In such a rustling time? Who leads his power?


His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.


I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?


He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth;


I would the state of time had first been whole


His health was never better worth than now.


Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect


He writes me here, that inward sickness--


And that his friends by deputation could not


So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet


That with our small conjunction we should on,


For, as he writes, there is no quailing now.


Of all our purposes. What say you to it?


And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want


Seems more than we shall find it: were it good


To set the exact wealth of all our states


On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?


It were not good; for therein should we read


We may boldly spend upon the hope of what


If that the devil and mischance look big


But yet I would your father had been here.


Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence:


And breed a kind of question in our cause;


For well you know we of the offering side


Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,


And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence


This absence of your fathers draws a curtain,


It lends a lustre and more great opinion,


Than if the earl were here; for men must think,


To push against a kingdom, with his help


Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.


As heart can think: there is not such a word


Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.


Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.


The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,


Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.


The king himself in person is set forth,


He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,


The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,


And his comrades, that daffd the world aside,


All plumed like estridges that with the wind


Baited like eagles having lately bathed;


Glittering in golden coats, like images;


Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.


His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly armd


Rise from the ground like featherd Mercury,


And vaulted with such ease into his seat,


As if an angel droppd down from the clouds,


And witch the world with noble horsemanship.


No more, no more: worse than the sun in March,


This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come:


They come like sacrifices in their trim,


All hot and bleeding will we offer them:


And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,


Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales:


Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,


Meet and neer part till one drop down a corse.


He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.


Thats the worst tidings that I hear of yet.


Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.


What may the kings whole battle reach unto?


My father and Glendower being both away,


The powers of us may serve so great a day


Of death or deaths hand for this one-half year.


Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a


bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through;


An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make


twenty, take them all; Ill answer the coinage. Bid


my lieutenant Peto meet me at towns end.


If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused


gurnet. I have misused the kings press damnably.


I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty


soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me


none but good house-holders, yeomans sons; inquire


me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked


twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves,


as had as lieve hear the devil as a drum; such as


fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck


fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such


toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no


bigger than pins heads, and they have bought out


their services; and now my whole charge consists of


ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of


companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the


painted cloth, where the gluttons dogs licked his


sores; and such as indeed were never soldiers, but


discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to


younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers


trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a


long peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged than


an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up


the rooms of them that have bought out their


services, that you would think that I had a hundred


and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from


swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad


fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded


all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye


hath seen such scarecrows. Ill not march through


Coventry with them, thats flat: nay, and the


villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had


gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of


prison. Theres but a shirt and a half in all my


company; and the half shirt is two napkins tacked


together and thrown over the shoulders like an


heralds coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say


the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Albans, or


the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But thats all


one; theyll find linen enough on every hedge.


What, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a devil dost thou


in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I


cry you mercy: I thought your honour had already been


Faith, Sir John,tis more than time that I were


there, and you too; but my powers are there already.


The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must


Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to


I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath


already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose


Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food


for powder; theyll fill a pit as well as better:


Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor


Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had


that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never


No Ill be sworn; unless you call three fingers on


the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste: Percy is


He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.


To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast


SCENE III. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.


Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON


Why say you so? looks he not for supply?


Good cousin, be advised; stir not tonight.


You speak it out of fear and cold heart.


And I dare well maintain it with my life,


As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:


Come, come it nay not be. I wonder much,


Being men of such great leading as you are,


Of my cousin Vernons are not yet come up:


Your uncle Worcesters horse came but today;


And now their pride and mettle is asleep,


Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,


That not a horse is half the half of himself.


In general, journey-bated and brought low:


The better part of ours are full of rest.


For Gods sake. cousin, stay till all come in.


I come with gracious offers from the king,


if you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.


Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God


Some of us love you well; and even those some


Envy your great deservings and good name,


And God defend but still I should stand so,


But to my charge. The king hath sent to know


The nature of your griefs, and whereupon


You conjure from the breast of civil peace


Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land


He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed


You shall have your desires with interest


And pardon absolute for yourself and these


The king is kind; and well we know the king


Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.


Did give him that same royalty he wears;


And when he was not six and twenty strong,


Sick in the worlds regard, wretched and low,


My father gave him welcome to the shore;


And when he heard him swear and vow to God


With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,


My father, in kind heart and pity moved,


Swore him assistance and performd it too.


Now when the lords and barons of the realm


Perceived Northumberland did lean to him,


The more and less came in with cap and knee;


Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,


Laid gifts before him, profferd him their oaths,


Gave him their heirs, as pages followd him


He presently, as greatness knows itself,


Made to my father, while his blood was poor,


And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform


Some certain edicts and some strait decrees


Over his countrys wrongs; and by this face,


This seeming brow of justice, did he win


The hearts of all that he did angle for;


Of all the favourites that the absent king


In short time after, he deposed the king;


Soon after that, deprived him of his life;


And in the neck of that, taskd the whole state:


To make that worse, sufferd his kinsman March,


Who is, if every owner were well placed,


Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales,


Rated mine uncle from the council-board;


In rage dismissd my father from the court;


Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong,


Not so, Sir Walter: well withdraw awhile.


Go to the king; and let there be impawnd


Bring him our purposes: and so farewell.


I would you would accept of grace and love.


Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK and SIR MICHAEL


Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief


This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest


How much they do to import, you would make haste.


Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,


The king with mighty and quick-raised power


Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,


What with the sickness of Northumberland,


Whose power was in the first proportion,


And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence,


And comes not in, oer-ruled by prophecies,


But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,


And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head


And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn


The special head of all the land together:


The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,


The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt;


Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.


I hope no less, yet needful tis to fear;


And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed:


For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king


Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,


And tis but wisdom to make strong against him:


Therefore make haste. I must go write again


To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.


SCENE I. KING HENRY IVs camp near Shrewsbury.


Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, Lord John of  LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and FALSTAFF


Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale


And by his hollow whistling in the leaves


Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.


For nothing can seem foul to those that win.


How now, my Lord of Worcester! tis not well


That you and I should meet upon such terms


As now we meet. You have deceived our trust,


And made us doff our easy robes of peace,


To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:


This is not well, my lord, this is not well.


What say you to it? will you again unknit


Where you did give a fair and natural light,


Of broached mischief to the unborn times?


For mine own part, I could be well content


I have not sought the day of this dislike.


You have not sought it! how comes it, then?


Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.


It pleased your majesty to turn your looks


Of favour from myself and all our house;


We were the first and dearest of your friends.


In Richards time; and posted day and night


to meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,


When yet you were in place and in account


That brought you home and boldly did outdare


The dangers of the time. You swore to us,


And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,


That you did nothing purpose gainst the state;


Nor claim no further than your new-falln right,


The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:


To this we swore our aid. But in short space


It raind down fortune showering on your head;


And such a flood of greatness fell on you,


What with our help, what with the absent king,


What with the injuries of a wanton time,


The seeming sufferances that you had borne,


And the contrarious winds that held the king


That all in England did repute him dead:


To gripe the general sway into your hand;


As that ungentle hull, the cuckoos bird,


Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest;


That even our love durst not come near your sight


For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing


We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly


Out of sight and raise this present head;


As you yourself have forged against yourself


These things indeed you have articulate,


Proclaimd at market-crosses, read in churches,


With some fine colour that may please the eye


Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,


Which gape and rub the elbow at the news


Such water-colours to impaint his cause;


In both your armies there is many a soul


Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,


If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,


The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world


This present enterprise set off his head,


More active-valiant or more valiant-young,


To grace this latter age with noble deeds.


For my part, I may speak it to my shame,


I am content that he shall take the odds


And will, to save the blood on either side,


And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,


Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no,


We love our people well; even those we love


And, will they take the offer of our grace,


Shall be my friend again and Ill be his:


What he will do: but if he will not yield,


And they shall do their office. So, be gone;


The Douglas and the Hotspur both together


Are confident against the world in arms.


Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;


For, on their answer, will we set on them:


And God befriend us, as our cause is just!


Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF


Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride


Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.


I  would twere bed-time, Hal, and all well.


Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before


his day. What need I be so forward with him that


calls not on me? Well, tis no matter; honour pricks


me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I


come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or


an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no.


Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is


honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what


is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it?


he that died o Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no.


Doth he hear it? no. Tis insensible, then. Yea,


to the dead. But will it not live with the living?


no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore


Ill none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so


O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,


The king should keep his word in loving us;


He will suspect us still and find a time


Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes;


For treason is but trusted like the fox,


Who, neer so tame, so cherishd and lockd up,


Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.


The better cherishd, still the nearer death.


it hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood,


A hair-braind Hotspur, governd by a spleen:


And on his fathers; we did train him on,


We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.


Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,


Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,


He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge


With haughty arms this hateful name in us.


Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown


And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it;


Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.


The Prince of Wales steppd forth before the king,


And, nephew, challenged you to single fight.


O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads,


And that no man might draw short breath today


But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,


How showd his tasking? seemd it in contempt?


Did hear a challenge urged more modestly,


Trimmd up your praises with a princely tongue,


Spoke to your deservings like a chronicle,


By still dispraising praise valued in you;


And, which became him like a prince indeed,


And chid his truant youth with such a grace


There did he pause: but let me tell the world,


But be he as he will, yet once ere night


Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends,


Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,


To spend that shortness basely were too long,


An if we live, we live to tread on kings;


If die, brave death, when princes die with us!


Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair,


When the intent of bearing them is just.


My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.


I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,


Let each man do his best: and here draw I


With the best blood that I can meet withal


For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall


The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt


KING HENRY enters with his power. Alarum to the battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and SIR WALTER BLUNT


What is thy name, that in the battle thus


Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek


Because some tell me that thou art a king.


The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought


Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry,


This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,


I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;


And thou shalt find a king that will revenge


They fight. DOUGLAS kills SIR WALTER BLUNT. Enter HOTSPUR


O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,


Alls done, alls won; here breathless lies the king.


This, Douglas? no: I know this face full well:


A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;


Semblably furnishd like the king himself.


A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!


A borrowd title hast thou bought too dear:


Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?


The king hath many marching in his coats.


Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;


Ill murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,


Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.


Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear


the shot here; heres no scoring but upon the pate.


Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: theres honour


for you! heres no vanity! I am as hot as moulten


lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I


need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have


led my ragamuffins where they are peppered: theres


not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and


they are for the towns end, to beg during life.


What, standst thou idle here? lend me thy sword:


Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I prithee,


O Hal, I prithee, give me leave to breathe awhile.


Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have


done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.


He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I prithee,


Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou getst


not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.


Ay, Hal; tis hot, tis hot; theres that will sack a city.


PRINCE HENRY draws it out, and finds it to be a bottle of sack


What, is it a time to jest and dally now?


Well, if Percy be alive, Ill pierce him. If he do


come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his


willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like


not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me


life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes


Alarum. Excursions. Enter PRINCE HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, and EARL OF WESTMORELAND


Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedst too much.


Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.


Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.


My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.


Come, my lord, Ill lead you to your tent.


Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help:


And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive


The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,


We breathe too long: come, cousin Westmoreland,


Our duty this way lies; for Gods sake come.


By God, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster;


I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:


Before, I loved thee as a brother, John;


With lustier maintenance than I did look for


Another king! they grow like Hydras heads:


That wear those colours on them: what art thou,


That counterfeitst the person of a king?


The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart


But, seeing thou fallst on me so luckily,


And yet, in faith, thou bearst thee like a king:


But mine I am sure thou art, whoeer thou be,


They fight. KING HENRY being in danger, PRINCE HENRY enters


Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like


Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms:


It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee;


Who never promiseth but he means to pay.


Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent,


And so hath Clifton: Ill to Clifton straight.


And showd thou makest some tender of my life,


In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.


That ever said I hearkend for your death.


Which would have been as speedy in your end


As all the poisonous potions in the world


And saved the treacherous labour of your son.


Make up to Clifton: Ill to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.


If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.


Thou speakst as if I would deny my name.


I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,


Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;


Nor can one England brook a double reign,


Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come


Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!


Ill make it greater ere I part from thee;


And all the budding honours on thy crest


Ill crop, to make a garland for my head.


Well said, Hal! to it Hal! Nay, you shall find no


Re-enter DOUGLAS; he fights with FALSTAFF,  who falls down as if he were dead, and exit DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls


O, Harry, thou hast robbd me of my youth!


Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;


They wound my thoughts worse than sword my flesh:


But thoughts the slave of life, and life times fool;


And time, that takes survey of all the world,


But that the earthy and cold hand of death


Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust


For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, great heart!


Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!


When that this body did contain a spirit,


Is room enough: this earth that bears thee dead


I should not make so dear a show of zeal:


But let my favours hide thy mangled face;


And, even in thy behalf, Ill thank myself


For doing these fair rites of tenderness.


Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!


Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,


What, old acquaintance! could not all this flesh


Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!


I could have better spared a better man:


Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,


Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.


[Rising up]  Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day,


Ill give you leave to powder me and eat me too


to-morrow. Sblood,twas time to counterfeit, or


that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too.


Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit: to die,


is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the


counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man:


but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby


liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and


perfect image of life indeed. The better part of


valour is discretion; in the which better part I


have saved my life.Zounds, I am afraid of this


gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: how, if he


should counterfeit too and rise? by my faith, I am


afraid he would prove the better counterfeit.


Therefore Ill make him sure; yea, and Ill swear I


killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I?


Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me.


with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me.


Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER


Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou fleshd


Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?


Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art


Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight?


I prithee, speak; we will not trust our eyes


Without our ears: thou art not what thou seemst.


No, thats certain; I am not a double man: but if I


be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy:


if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let


him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either


Why, Percy I killed myself and saw thee dead.


Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to


lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath;


and so was he: but we rose both at an instant and


fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be


believed, so; if not, let them that should reward


valour bear the sin upon their own heads. Ill take


it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the


thigh: if the man were alive and would deny it,


zounds, I would make him eat a piece of my sword.


This is the strangest tale that ever I heard.


This is the strangest fellow, brother John.


Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:


For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,


Ill gild it with the happiest terms I have.


The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.


Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field,


To see what friends are living, who are dead.


Ill follow, as they say, for reward. He that


rewards me, God reward him! If I do grow great,


Ill grow less; for Ill purge, and leave sack, and


The trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE  HENRY, LORD JOHN LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, with WORCESTER and VERNON prisoners


Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace,


And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?


Three knights upon our party slain to-day,


If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne


Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon too:


The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw


The fortune of the day quite turnd from him,


Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;


And falling from a hill, he was so bruised


The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace


Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free:


Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds


I thank your grace for this high courtesy,


Then this remains, that we divide our power.


You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland


Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed,


To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,


Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales,


To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.


Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,


And since this business so fair is done,


Let us not leave till all our own be won.


Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the  Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of  France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds,  and c


Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!


Comets, importing change of times and states,


Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,


And with them scourge the bad revolting stars


King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!


England neer lost a king of so much worth.


His brandishd sword did blind men with his beams:


His arms spread wider than a dragons wings;


His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,


Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.


What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:


We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?


Like captives bound to a triumphant car.


What! shall we curse the planets of mishap


Or shall we think the subtle-witted French


Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him


He was a king blessd of the King of kings.


Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day


So dreadful will not be as was his sight.


The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:


The churchs prayers made him so prosperous.


The church! where is it? Had not churchmen prayd,


His thread of life had not so soon decayd:


None do you like but an effeminate prince,


Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.


Gloucester, whateer we like, thou art protector


And lookest to command the prince and realm.


Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,


More than God or religious churchmen may.


Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,