The First Part of King Henry the Fourth

    How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.  Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.    Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word    That Douglas and the English rebels met    The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.    A mighty and a fearful head they are,    If promises be kept oil every hand,    As ever off'red foul play in a state.  King. 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. Let's away.    Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. Exeunt.

Scene III. Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fall'n away vilely since this last action? Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown! I am withered like an old apple John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking. I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse. The inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it! Come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough: swore little, dic'd not above seven times a week, went to a bawdy house not above once in a quarter- of an hour, paid money that I borrowed- three or four times, lived well, and in good compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass- out of all reasonable compass, Sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop- but 'tis in the nose of thee. Thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn. I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's-head or a memento mori. I never see thy face but I think upon hellfire 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, that's God's angel.' But thou art altogether given over, and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire any time this two-and-thirty years. God reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.

Enter Hostess.

    How now, Dame Partlet the hen? Have you enquir'd yet whopick'd    my pocket?  Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you thinkI    keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquired,so    has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant.The    tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.  Fal. Ye lie, hostess. Bardolph was shav'd and lost many a hair,and    I'll be sworn my pocket was pick'd. Go to, you are a woman,go!  Host. Who, I? No; I defy thee! God's light, I was never call'dso    in mine own house before!  Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.  Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you,Sir    John. You owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrelto    beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to yourback.  Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas! I have given them away to bakers'    wives; they have made bolters of them.  Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings anell.    You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and    by-drinkings, and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound.  Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.  Host. He? Alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.  Fal. How? Poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Letthem    coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. I'll not pay adenier.    What, will you make a younker of me? Shall I not take mineease    in mine inn but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a    seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.  Host. O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not howoft,    that that ring was copper!  Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup. 'Sblood, an hewere    here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so.

Enter the Prince [and Poins], marching; and Falstaff meets

them, playing upon his truncheon like a fife.

    How now, lad? Is the wind in that door, i' faith? Must we all    march?  Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.  Host. My lord, I pray you hear me.  Prince. What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thyhusband?    I love him well; he is an honest man.  Host. Good my lord, hear me.  Fal. Prithee let her alone and list to me.  Prince. What say'st thou, Jack?  Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras andhad my    pocket pick'd. This house is turn'd bawdy house; they pick    pockets.  Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack?  Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four bonds of fortypound    apiece and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.  Prince. A trifle, some eightpenny matter.  Host. So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace sayso;    and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like afoul-mouth'd    man as he is, and said he would cudgel you.  Prince. What! he did not?  Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.  Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, norno    more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; and for woman-hood,Maid    Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you    thing, go!  Host. Say, what thing? what thing?  Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.  Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst knowit!    I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hoodaside,    thou art a knave to call me so.  Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say    otherwise.  Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?  Fal. What beast? Why, an otter.  Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?  Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not whereto    have her.  Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any manknows    where to have me, thou knave, thou!  Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most    grossly.  Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day youought    him a thousand pound.  Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?  Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth amillion;    thou owest me thy love.  Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel    you.  Fal. Did I, Bardolph?  Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.  Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper.  Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy wordnow?  Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; butas    thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of thelion's    whelp.  Prince. And why not as the lion?  Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thouthink    I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray Godmy    girdle break.  Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thyknees!    But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in    this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts andmidriff.    Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou    whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anythingin    thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdyhouses,    and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make theelong-winded-    if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries butthese, I    am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will notpocket    up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state ofinnocency    Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the daysof    villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and    therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd mypocket?  Prince. It appears so by the story.  Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy    husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt    find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I ampacified.    -Still? – Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, tothe    news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered?  Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.    The money is paid back again.  Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour.  Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.  Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it    with unwash'd hands too.  Bard. Do, my lord.  Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.  Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one thatcan    steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twentyor    thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thankedfor    these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them,I    praise them.  Prince. Bardolph!  Bard. My lord?  Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,    To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.[Exit Bardolph.]    Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I    Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.[Exit Poins.]    Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall    At two o'clock in the afternoon.    There shalt thou know thy charge. and there receive    Money and order for their furniture.    The land is burning; Percy stands on high;    And either they or we must lower lie. [Exit.]  Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come.    O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!

Exit.

ACT IV. Scene I. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury

Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.

  Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth    In this fine age were not thought flattery,    Such attribution should the Douglas have    As not a soldier of this season's stamp    Should go so general current through the world.    By God, I cannot flatter, I defy    The tongues of soothers! but a braver place    In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.    Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.  Doug. Thou art the king of honour.    No man so potent breathes upon the ground    But I will beard him.

Enter one with letters.

  Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. -    What letters hast thou there? – I can but thank you.  Messenger. These letters come from your father.  Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?  Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.  Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick    In such a justling time? Who leads his power?    Under whose government come they along?  Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.  Wor. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed?  Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth,    And at the time of my departure thence    He was much fear'd by his physicians.  Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole    Ere he by sickness had been visited.    His health was never better worth than now.  Hot. Sick now? droop now? This sickness doth infect    The very lifeblood of our enterprise.    'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.    He writes me here that inward sickness-    And that his friends by deputation could not    So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet    To lay so dangerous and dear a trust    On any soul remov'd but on his own.    Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,    That with our small conjunction we should on,    To see how fortune is dispos'd to us;    For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,    Because the King is certainly possess'd    Of all our purposes. What say you to it?  Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.  Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.    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    All at one cast? to set so rich a man    On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?    It were not good; for therein should we read    The very bottom and the soul of hope,    The very list, the very utmost bound    Of all our fortunes.  Doug. Faith, and so we should;    Where now remains a sweet reversion.    We may boldly spend upon the hope of what    Is to come in.    A comfort of retirement lives in this.  Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,    If that the devil and mischance look big    Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.  Wor. But yet I would your father had been here.    The quality and hair of our attempt    Brooks no division. It will be thought    By some that know not why he is away,    That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike    Of our proceedings kept the Earl from hence.    And think how such an apprehension    May turn the tide of fearful faction    And breed a kind of question in our cause.    For well you know we of the off'ring side    Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,    And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence    The eye of reason may pry in upon us.    This absence of your father's draws a curtain    That shows the ignorant a kind of fear    Before not dreamt of.  Hot. You strain too far.    I rather of his absence make this use:    It lends a lustre and more great opinion,    A larger dare to our great enterprise,    Than if the Earl were here; for men must think,    If we, without his help, can make a head    To push against a kingdom, with his help    We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.    Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.  Doug. As heart can think. There is not such a word    Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

  Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.  Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.    The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,    Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.  Hot. No harm. What more?  Ver. And further, I have learn'd    The King himself in person is set forth,    Or hitherwards intended speedily,    With strong and mighty preparation.  Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,    The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,    And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside    And bid it pass?  Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms;    All plum'd like estridges that with the wind    Bated like eagles having lately bath'd;    Glittering in golden coats like images;    As full of spirit as the month of May    And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;    Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.    I saw young Harry with his beaver on    His cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,    Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,    And vaulted with such ease into his seat    As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds    To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus    And witch the world with noble horsemanship.  Hot. 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,    And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war    All hot and bleeding Will we offer them.    The mailed Mars Shall on his altar sit    Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire    To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,    And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,    Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt    Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.    Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,    Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.    that Glendower were come!  Ver. There is more news.    I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,    He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.  Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.  Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.  Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto?  Ver. To thirty thousand.  Hot. Forty let it be.    My father and Glendower being both away,    The powers of us may serve so great a day.    Come, let us take a muster speedily.    Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.  Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear    Of death or death's hand for this one half-year.Exeunt

Scene II. A public road near Coventry

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

  Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of    sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We'll to SuttonCo'fil'    to-night.  Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?  Fal. Lay out, lay out.  Bald. This bottle makes an angel.  Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,    take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenantPeto    meet me at town's end.  Bard. I Will, Captain. Farewell. Exit.  Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet.I    have misused the King's press damnably. I have got inexchange of    a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I    press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquireme    out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the    banes- such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lieve hearthe    devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worsethan    a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such    toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no biggerthan    pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and nowmy    whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants,    gentlemen of companies- slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the    painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores; and    such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded unjust    serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revoltedtapsters,    and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and along    peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old fac'd    ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them thathave    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 metme    on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and    press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows.I'll    not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, andthe    villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyveson;    for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's buta    shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two    napkins tack'd together and thrown over the shoulders like a    herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say thetruth,    stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-noseinnkeeper    of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on    every hedge.

Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.

  Prince. How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt?  Fal. 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 at Shrewsbury.  West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there,and    you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I cantell    you, looks for us all. We must away all, to-night.  Fal. Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to stealcream.  Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hathalready    made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are thesethat    come after?  Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.  Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals.  Fal. Tut, tut! good enough to toss; food for powder, food for    powder. They'll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man,mortal    men, mortal men.  West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor andbare-    too beggarly.  Fal. Faith, for their poverty, I know, not where they had that;and    for their bareness, I am surd they never learn'd that of me.  Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the    ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the    field.

Exit.

  Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?  West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.[Exit.]  Fal. Well,    To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast    Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. Exit.

Scene III. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon.

  Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.  Wor. It may not be.  Doug. You give him then advantage.  Ver. Not a whit.  Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply?  Ver. So do we.  Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful.  Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.  Ver. Do not, my lord.  Doug. You do not counsel well.    You speak it out of fear and cold heart.  Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas. By my life-    And I dare well maintain it with my life-    If well-respected honour bid me on    I hold as little counsel with weak fear    As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives.    Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle    Which of us fears.  Doug. Yea, or to-night.  Ver. Content.  Hot. To-night, say I.    Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much,    Being men of such great leading as you are,    That you foresee not what impediments    Drag back our expedition. Certain horse    Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up.    Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day;    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.  Hot. So are the horses of the enemy,    In general journey-bated and brought low.    The better part of ours are full of rest.  Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours.    For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.The trumpet sounds a parley.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,    If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.  Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God    You were of our determination!    Some of us love you well; and even those some    Envy your great deservings and good name,    Because you are not of our quality,    But stand against us like an enemy.  Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so,    So long as out of limit and true rule    You stand against anointed majesty!    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    Audacious cruelty. If that the King    Have any way your good deserts forgot,    Which he confesseth to be manifold,    He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed    You shall have your desires with interest,    And pardon absolute for yourself and these    Herein misled by your suggestion.  Hot. The King is kind; and well we know the King    Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.    My father and my uncle and myself    Did give him that same royalty he wears;    And when he was not six-and-twenty strong,    Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,    A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,    My father gave him welcome to the shore;    And when he heard him swear and vow to God    He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,    To sue his livery and beg his peace,    With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,    My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,    Swore him assistance, and performed it too.    Now, when the lords and barons of the realm    Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,    The more and less came in with cap and knee;    Met him on boroughs, cities, villages,    Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,    Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,    Give him their heirs as pages, followed him    Even at the heels in golden multitudes.    He presently, as greatness knows itself,    Steps me a little higher than his vow    Made to my father, while his blood was poor,    Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;    And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform    Some certain edicts and some strait decrees    That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;    Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep    Over his country's wrongs; and by this face,    This seeming brow of justice, did he win    The hearts of all that he did angle for;    Proceeded further- cut me off the heads    Of all the favourites that the absent King    In deputation left behind him here    When he was personal in the Irish war.    But. Tut! I came not to hear this.  Hot. Then to the point.    In short time after lie depos'd the King;    Soon after that depriv'd him of his life;    And in the neck of that task'd the whole state;    To make that worse, suff'red his kinsman March    (Who is, if every owner were well placid,    Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales,    There without ransom to lie forfeited;    Disgrac'd me in my happy victories,    Sought to entrap me by intelligence;    Rated mine uncle from the Council board;    In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;    Broke an oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong;    And in conclusion drove us to seek out    This head of safety, and withal to pry    Into his title, the which we find    Too indirect for long continuance.  Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?  Hot. Not so, Sir Walter. We'll withdraw awhile.    Go to the King; and let there be impawn'd    Some surety for a safe return again,    And In the morning early shall mine uncle    Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.  Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love.  Hot. And may be so we shall.  Blunt. Pray God you do.Exeunt