The Bowdler Shakespeare (Cambridge Library Collection - Literary Studies) (Volume 3)

Cambridge Library CoLLeCtion Books of enduring scholarly value

Literary studies This series provides a high-quality selection of early printings of literary works, textual editions, anthologies and literary criticism which are of lasting scholarly interest. Ranging from Old English to Shakespeare to early twentieth-century work from around the world, these books offer a valuable resource for scholars in reception history, textual editing, and literary studies.

The Bowdler Shakespeare ‘The Family Shakspeare: in which nothing is added to the original text, but those words and expressions are omitted which cannot with propriety be read in family.’ These words on the title pages of this edition gave rise to the verb ‘to bowdlerise’ to remove or modify text which was considered vulgar or objectionable. Thomas Bowdler (1754-1825) was a man of independent means who studied medicine but, instead of practising as a doctor, devoted his time to prison reform, chess and the sanitising of Shakespeare. The first edition of the Family Shakespeare was published in 1818, and Bowdler’s work became enormously popular as the scandal-ridden Regency gave way to Victorian respectability. This volume, from the 1853 edition, contains Macbeth, King John, King Richard II, King Henry IV, Part 1, King Henry IV, Part 2, and King Henry V.

Cambridge University Press has long been a pioneer in the reissuing of out-ofprint titles from its own backlist, producing digital reprints of books that are still sought after by scholars and students but could not be reprinted economically using traditional technology. The Cambridge Library Collection extends this activity to a wider range of books which are still of importance to researchers and professionals, either for the source material they contain, or as landmarks in the history of their academic discipline. Drawing from the world-renowned collections in the Cambridge University Library, and guided by the advice of experts in each subject area, Cambridge University Press is using state-of-the-art scanning machines in its own Printing House to capture the content of each book selected for inclusion. The files are processed to give a consistently clear, crisp image, and the books finished to the high quality standard for which the Press is recognised around the world. The latest print-on-demand technology ensures that the books will remain available indefinitely, and that orders for single or multiple copies can quickly be supplied. The Cambridge Library Collection will bring back to life books of enduring scholarly value across a wide range of disciplines in the humanities and social sciences and in science and technology.

The Bowdler Shakespeare Volume 3 William Shakespeare E dited by Thomas B owdler

C a M B R I D g E U n I V E R SI T y P R E S S Cambridge new york Melbourne Madrid Cape Town Singapore São Paolo Delhi Published in the United States of america by Cambridge University Press, new york www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108001106 © in this compilation Cambridge University Press 2009 This edition first published 1853 This digitally printed version 2009 ISBn 978-1-108-00110-6 This book reproduces the text of the original edition. The content and language reflect the beliefs, practices and terminology of their time, and have not been updated.

THE

FAMILY SHAKSPEARE: IN WHICH NOTHING IS ADDED TO THE ORIGINAL TEXT, BUT THOSE WORDS AND EXPRESSIONS ARE OMITTED WHICH CANNOT WITH PROPRIETY BE READ IN A FAMILY.

BY

THOMAS BOWDLEK, ESQ., F.R.S. & S.A.

SIX VOLUMES.

VOL.

III.

EXEMIT LABEJtT, PURUMQUE RELIQUIT SENSUM, ATQUE AURA! SIMPLICIS IGNE1L VIRGIL.

LONDON: LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 1853.

CONTENTS.

MACBETH

]

KING JOHN

75

a

KING RICHARD THE SECOND

155

KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

{Part L)

KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

{Part IL)

HENRY THE F I F T H

.

241 .

o

.

.333 ,

41'.)

MACBETH.

VOL. HL

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

DUNCAN, King of Scotland. MALCOLM,

)

Generals of the King's Army. MACDUFF, LENOX,

ROSSE, MENTETH, ANGUS, CATHNESS,

" Noblemen of Scotland.

FLEANCE, Son to Banquo.

SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces. YOUNG SIWARD, his

Son.

SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth. SON TO MAC DUFF.

An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A Soldier. A Porter. An Old Man. LADY MACBETH. LADY 3IACDUFF.

GENTLEWOMAN, attending on Lady Macbeth. HECATE, and three Witches. Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and Messengers. The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Apparitions. SCENE—In the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland; and, chiefly, at Macbeth's Castle.

MACBETH.

ACT I. SCENE

L—An open Place.

Tliunder and lightning. Enter three WITCHES. 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 2 Witch. When the hnrlyburlyV done, When the battle's lost and won. 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 1 Witch. Where the place? 2 Witch Upon the heath: 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth, 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin! All. Paddock calk:—Anon.— Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. [WITCHES vanish. SCENE

Alarum

withm.

II.—A Gamp near FORES. Enter KING DUNCAN, MALCOLM, with ATTENDANTS, meeting a

DONALBAIN, LENOX, lleedmg SOLDIER.

Dwnccm. What bloody man is that? He can report. As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. Tumult.

4

MACBETH.

Malcolm. This is the sergeant, Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity:—Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, As thou didst leave it. Soldier. Doubtfully it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald (Worthy to be a rebel; for, to that, The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles Of Kernes and Gallowglasses was supplied f And fortune on him smil'd, but all too weak: JPor brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smok'd with bloody execution, Like valour's minion, Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseani'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. Duncan. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Soldier. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion, Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compeird these skipping Kemes to trust their heels; But the ISTorweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. Dwncan. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Soldier. Yes; As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the liom If I say sooth,3 I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks; So they 2

t. e. Supplied with light and heavy armed troops.

3

Truth.

MACBETH.

5

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell: But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Dwncan. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds j They smack of honour both:—Go, get him surgeons. [Exit SOLDIER, attended. Enter ROSSE. Who comes here? Malcolm. The worthy thane of Rosse. Lenox. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look, That seems to speak things strange. Rosse. God save the king! Duncan. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? Rosse. From Fife, great king, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: Till that Bellona's bridegroom,4 lapp'd in proof,5 Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, The victory fell on us; Duncan. Great happiness! Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disbursed, at St. Colme's inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. Dwnccm. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest:—Go, pronounce his death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. 4

Shakspeare means Mars.

5

Defended by armour of proof.

6

MACBETH.

Eosse. I'll see it done. Duncan. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. III.—A Heath Thunder. Enter the three WITCHES. 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 2 Witch. Killing swine. 3 Witch, Sister, where thou? 1 Witch A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:— Give ine, quoth I : Aroint theef witch! the rump-fed ronyon7 cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and 111 do. 2 Witch I'll give thee a wind. 1 Witch Thou art kind. 3 Witch And I another. 1 Witch I myself have all the other; And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card.8 I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall, neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid :9 Weary seven nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have. 2 Witch Show me, show me. 1 Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd, as homeward he did come, [Drum witMn. SCENE

6 b

A vaunt, begone. Compass,

7

A scurvy woman fed on offals. ° Accursed.

MACBETH.

7

3 Witch. A drum, drum; Macbeth doth come. AU. The weird sisters,1 hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine: Peace!—the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO. Macbeth. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Banquo. How far is't call'd to Fores—What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire; That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips:—You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Macbeth. Speak, if you can;—What are you ? 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter. Banquo. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair?—I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical,2 or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having,3 and of royal hope, That he seems rapt4 withal; to me you speak not: If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not; Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate. 1 3

Prophetic sisters. Estate.

2 4

Supernatural, spiritual. Abstracted.

8

MACBETH.

1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail! 3 Witch Hail! 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo! 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Macbeth. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis: But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and, to be king, Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor, Say, from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting?—Speak, I charge you. [WITCHES vanish. Banquo. The earth has bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them:—Whither are they vanish'd? Macbeth. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind.—'Would they had staid! Banquo. Were such things here, as we do speak about ? Or have we eaten of the insane root, That takes the reason prisoner? Macbeth. Your children shall be kings. Banquo. You shall be king. Macbeth. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Banquo. To the self-same tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSSE and ANGUS. Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day,

MACBETH.

9

He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale,5 Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. Angus. We are sent, To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. Bcmquo. What, can the devil speak true? Macbeth. The thane of Cawdor lives: Why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? Angus. Who was the thane, lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, Have overthrown him. Macbeth. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.—Thanks for your pains.— Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no less to them? Banquo. That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence.— Cousins, a word, I pray you. 5

As fast as they could be counted.

10

MACBETH,

Macbeth Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme,—I thank you, gentlemen.— This supernatural soliciting6 Cannot be ill; cannot be good:—If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise: and nothing is, But what is not. Banquo. Look, how our partner's rapt. Macbeth. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir, Banquo. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments, cleave7 not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macbeth. Come what come may; Time and the hour8 runs through the roughest day. Banquo. Worthy Macbeth we stay upon your leisure, Macbeth. Give me your favour :9—my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them.—Let us toward the king.— Think upon what hath chanc'd: and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. Banquo. Very gladly. Macbeth. Till then, enough.—Come, friends. [Ex&unL fi 8

Incitement. Time and opportunity.

7 9

i. e. Which cleave not. Pardon.

MACBETH.

SCENE IV,—FORES.

11

A Boom in the Palace.

Flourish. Enter

DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAI^, LENOX, and ATTENDANTS,

Duncan. Is execution done on Cawdor ? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? Malcolm. My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report, That very frankly he confess'd his treasons; Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him, like the leaving it j he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,1 As 'twere a careless trifle. Duncan. There's no art, To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.—O worthiest cousin! Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSSE, and ANGUS. The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me; Thou art so far before, That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd: That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. Macbeth. The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness5 part Is to receive our duties: and our duties Are to your throne and state, children, and servants; Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. Du/nccm. Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 1

Owned, possessed.

12

MACBETH.

To make thee full of growing.—Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me infold thee, And hold thee to my heart. Banquo. There if I grow, The harvest is your own. Dunccm. My plenteous j oy s, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow.—Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know, We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter, The prince of Cumberland: which honour must Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers.—From hence to Inverness, And bind us farther to you. Macbeth The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you: m be myself the harbinger, and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So, humbly take my leave. Duncan. My worthy Cawdor! Macbeth. The prince of Cumberland!—That is a step, [Aside* On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, For in my way it lies. Stars hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see, [Exit. Dunccm. True, worthy Banquo; he is fall so valiant ; 2 And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exewnt* 2

Full as valiant as described.

MACBETH. SCENE V.—INVERNESS.

Enter

A Room in

LADY MACBETH,

13 MACBETH'S Castle.

reading a letter.

Lady Macbeth. They met me in the day of success; and I ha/ve learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves—air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives3 from the king, who all hailed me, Thane of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be! This have I thougltf, good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to ihy heart, and farewell.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised:—Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way: Thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition; but without The illness should attend it. "What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou'dst have great Glamis, That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be wndone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round,4 Which fate and metaphysical5 aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.—What is your tidings ? Enter an ATTENDANT, Attendant. The king comes here to-night. Lady Macbeth. Thou'rt mad to say it: 2

Messengers.

4

Diadem.

5

Supernatural.

14

MACBETH,

Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Attendcmt. So please you, it is true; our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him; Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. Lady Macbeth Give him tending, He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, [Exit ATTENDANT. That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal6 thoughts, unsex me here; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse;7 That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief: Come, thick night, And pall8 thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, Hold, hold! Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor ! Enter MACBETH. Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. Macbeth. My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. Lady Macbeth. And when goes hence ? Macbeth. To-morrow,—as he purposes. Lady Macbeth. O, never Shall sun that morrow see! 6

Deadly, murderous.

7

Pity.

* Wrap as in a mantle.

MACBETH.

15

Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters:—To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my despatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom, Macbeth. We will speak further. Lady Macbeth. Only look up clear; To alter favour9 ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. SCENE

VI.—Before the Castle.

Hautboys. Servants of MACBETH attending. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENOX, MACDUFF, ROSSE, ANGUS, and ATTENDANTS.

Duncan. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Banquo. This guest of summer, The temple haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress, Nor coigne of vantage,1 but this bird hath made His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air Is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH. Duncan. See, see! our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, How you shall bid God yield2 us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. 9

Look, countenance.

l

Convenient corner.

2

Reward.

16

MACBETH.

Lady Macbeth. All our service In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business, to contend Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith Your majesty loads our house: For those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. Dwican. Where's the thane of Caw dor? We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us: Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. Your servants ever Lady Macbeth. Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs in compt,8 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. Duncan. Give me your hand. Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt VII.—A Room in the Castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, a SEWER,4 cmd divers SERVANTS with dishes and service. Then enter MACBETH. Macbeth. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,— We'd jump the life to come.—But, in these cases, We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return SCENE

3 4

Subject to accompt. An officer so called from his placing the dishes on the table.,

MACBETH.

17

To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, truinpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking off: And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers5 of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'er4eaps itself, And falls on the other,—How now, what news? Enter LADY MACBETH. Lady Macbeth. He has almost supp'd: Why have you left the chamber? Macbeth. Hath he ask'd for me? Lady Macbeth. Know you not, he has? Macbeth. We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour d me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Lady Macbeth. Was the hope drunk, Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time, Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thiiie own act and valour, As thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 5

VOL. IIL

Win4s; sightless is invisible. c

IS

MACBETH.

And live a coward in thine own esteem; Letting / dare not wait upon / would, like the poor cat i' the adage? Macbeth. Pr ythee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man— Who dares do more, is none. Lady Macbeth. What beast was it then That made you break this enterprise to me ? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, Did then adhere,6 and yet you would make both : They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from its boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as you Have done to this. Macbeth. If we should fail, Lady Macbeth. We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassel7 so convince,8 That memory, the warder9 of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: When in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan] what not put upon His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?1 Macbeth. Bring forth men-children only! For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received,2 fi fc

In the same sense as cohere. 9 Overpower. Sentinel.

7 l

Murder,

2

Intemperance. Supposed.

MACBETH.

19

When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, That they have done't ? Lady Macbeth. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death ? Macbeth. I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. [Exeunt. ACT II. I.—Court within MACBETH'S Castle. Enter BANQUO and FLEANCE, and a SERVANT with a torch before them. Banquo. How goes the night, boy? Fleance. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. Banquo. And she goes down at twelve. Fleance. I take't, 'tis later, sir. Bcmquo. Hold, take my sword:—There's husbandry3 in heaven, Their candles are all out.—Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: Merciful powers! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature Gives way to in repose!—Give me my sword:— SCENE

Enter MACBETH, amd a SERVANT with a torch. Who's there? Macbeth. A Mend. Banquo. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth giteat largess4 to your offices:5 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 8

Thrift.

4

Bounty.

5

The rooms appropriated to servants.

20

MACBETH.

By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 6 In measureless content. Macbeth. Being unprepar'd, Our will became the servant to defect j Which else should free have wrought. Banquo. All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. Macbeth. I think not of them: Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve, Would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BanquOi At your kind'st leisure. Macbeth. If you shall cleave to my consent,—when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. Banquo. So I lose none, In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, I .shall be counsell'd. Macbeth. Good repose, the while. Bomquc. Thanks, sir ; The like to you. [Exit BANQUO and FLEANCE. Macbeth. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. \Eodt SERVANT. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 6

Conclude.

MACBETH.

21

And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade, and dudgeon/ gouts8 of blood, Which was not so before.—There's no such thing: It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes.—Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of iny where-about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives; Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell rings.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites ma Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. SCENE

[Exit.

II.—The same.

Enter Lady MACBETH. Lady Macbeth. That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire:— Hark!—Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it : The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd thek possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. 7

Haft, handle.

8

Drops-

22

MACBETH,

Macbeth. [Within] Who's there?—what, ho! Lady Macbeth. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done:—the attempt, and not the deed, Confounds us:—Hark!—I laid their daggers ready, He could not miss them.—Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't.—My husband? Enter MACBETH. Macbeth. I have done the deed:—Didst thou not hear a noise ? Lady Macbeth. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. Did not you speak ? Macbeth. When ? Lady Macbeth. Now. Macbeth. As I descended] Lady Macbeth. Ay. Macbeth. Hark!— Who lies i' the second chamber? Lady Macbeth. Donalbain. Macbeth. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands. Lady Macbeth. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macbeth. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murder I That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. Lady Macbeth. There are two Iodg'd together. Macbeth. One cried, God bless us! and, Amen, the other; As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands Listening their fear. X could not say amen, When they did say, God bless us. Lady Macbeth. Consider it not so deeply. Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen? I had most need of blessing, and amen Stuck in my throat. Lady Macbeth. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

MACBETH.

23

Macbeth Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; Sleep>, that knits up the ravelVd slea/ve* of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great natures second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast;— Laby Macbeth. What do you mean ? Macbeth Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house: Glamis hath murder d sleep; and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! Lady Macbeth Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things:—Go, get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand.— Why did you bring these daggers from the place ; They must lie there; Go, carry them; and smear The sleepy groom with blood. Macbeth 111 go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again, I dare not. Lady Macbeth Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: The sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within. Macbeth Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here ? H a ! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? !No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnardine,1 Making the green—one red. 9 1

Sleave is unwrought silk. To incarnardiue is to stain of a flesh colour.

24

MACBETH.

Re-enter Lady MACBETH, Lady Macbeth. My hands are ofyour colour j but I shame To wear a heart so white. [Knocking. J I hear a knocking At the south entry:—retire we to our chamber: A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it then? Your constancy Hath left you unattended.— [Knocking^ Hark! more knocking: Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers:—Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. Macbeth. To know my deed,—'twere best not know myself. [Knocking. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! [Exewit. III.—The same. Enter a PORTER. [Knocking within. Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? Come in time. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Who's there? [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are you ? [Knocking.] Anon, anon ; I pray you remember the porter. SCENE

[Opens tJie gate.

Enter MACDUFF and LENOX. Macduff Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed That you do lie so late? Porter. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. Macduff. Is thy master stirring?— Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. Enter MACBETH. Lenox. Good-morrow, noble sir! Macbeth. Good-morrow, both! Macduff. Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

MACBETH.

25

Macbeth. Not yet. Macduff. He did command me to call timely on liim; I have almost slipp'd the hour. Macbeth. I'll bring you to him. Macduff. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. Macbeth. The labour we delight in physics2 pain. This is the door. Macduff. I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service.3 [Exit MACDUFF. Lenox. Goes the king From hence to-day] Macbeth. H e does:—he did appoint it so. Lenox. The night has been unruly: Where we lay, Our chimnies were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death; And prophesying, with accents terrible, Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous, and did shake. Macbeth. 'Twas a rough night, Lenox. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. He-enter MACDUFF. Macduff. 0 horror! horror! horror 1 Tongue, nor heart, Cannot conceive nor name thee! Macbeth. Lenox. What's the matter? Macduff. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building. Macbeth. What is't you say? the life? Lenox. Mean you his majesty? Macduff. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon:—Do not bid me speak; 2

i. e. Affords a cordial to it.

3

Appointed service.

26

MACBETH.

See, and then speak yourselves.—Awake! awake! [Exeunt MACBETH, and LENOX. Ring the alarum-bell:—Murder, and treason! Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! Up, up, and see The great doom's image! ^Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, To countenance this horror* [Bell rings. Enter LADY MACBETH. Lady Macbeth What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,— Macduff. O, gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. 0 Banquo! Banquo! Enter BANQUO. Our royal master's murder'd! Lady Macbeth. Woe, alas! What, in our house? Banquo. Too cruel, any where. Dear Duff, I pr'ythee contradict thyself, And say, it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENOX. Macbeth. Had I but died an hour before this chance* I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown, and grace is dead: The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM, and DONALBAIN. Donalbttin. What is amiss? Macbeth. You are, and do not know it:

MACBETH.

27

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. Macduff Your royal father's murder'd. Malcolm. O! by whom? Lenox. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't: Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found Upon their pillows: They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. Macbeth. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. Macduff. Wherefore did you so? Macbeth. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition of my violent love Out-ran the pauser reason.—Here lay Duncan, His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature, For ruin's wasteful entrance: there the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore:4 Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make his love known? Lady Macbeth. Help me hence, ho! Macduff. Look to the lady. Malcolm. Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? Donalbain. What should be spoken here, Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole, May rush and seize us? Let's away; our tears Are not yet brew'd, Malcolm. ]^"or our strong sorrow on The foot of motion. Banquo. Look to the lady:— [LADY MACBETH is carried out. And when we have our naked frailties hid, 4

Covered with blood to their hilts.

28

MACBETH.

That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence, Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. Macbeth And so do I. All. So all. Macbeth. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i5 the hall together. All, Well contented. [Exeunt all but MALCOLM and DONALBAIN, Malcolm. What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office Which the false man does easy: I'll to England. Donalbain. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody, Malcolm. This murderous shaft that's shot, Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft, Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. \Exewnt. SCENE

IV.— Without the Castle.

Enter ROSSE and an OLD MAN. Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. Rosse. Ah, good father, Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,

MACBETH.

29

That darkness does the face of earth intomo, When living light should kiss it? Old Man. 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain,) Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man. 'Tis said, they eat each other. Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff: Enter MACDUFF. How goes the world, sir, now? Macduff. Why, see you not? Rosse. Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? Macduff Those that Macbeth hath slain. Rosse. Alas, the day: What good could they pretend?6 Macduff They were suborn'd; Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. Rosse. 'Gainst nature still; Thriftless ambition, that wilt raven up Thine own life's means!—Then 'tis most like, The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. Macduff He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone, To be invested. Rosse. Where is Duncan's body? Macduff Carried to Colmes-kill; The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. 5

Intend to themselves.

30

MACBETH.

Rosse. Will you tp Scone? Macduff. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. Rosse. Well, I will thither. Macdvff. Well, may you see things well done there; —adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! Rosse. Father, farewell. Old Man. God's benison go with you: and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! [Exeunt, ACT IIL SCENE L—FORES.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter BANQUO. Banquo. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promis'd; and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said, I t should not stand in thy posterity; But that myself should be the root, and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them, (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But, hush; no more. sounded. Enter MACBETH, as K I N G ; LADY MACBETH, as, QUEEN; LENOX, ROSSE, LORDS, LADIES,, and ATTENDANTS. Macbeth. Here's our chief guest. If he had been forgotten, Lady Macbeth. It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all things unbecoming. Macbeth. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, And I'll request your presence. Banquo. Let your highness Command upon me; to the which, my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit.

MACBETH.

31

Macbeth. Ride you this afternoon? Banquo, Ay, my good lord. Macbeth. We should have else desir'd your good advice (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? Banquo. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night, For a dark hour or twain. Macbeth. Fail not our feast. Banquo. My lord, I will not. Macbeth. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England, and in Ireland; not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: But of that to-morrow; When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state, Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse; Adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? Ba/nquo. Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon us. Macbeth. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. [Exit BANQUO, Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night; to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you. [Exeunt LADY MACBETH, LORDS, LADIES, &C. Sirrah, a word: Attend those men our pleasure ? Attendant. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. Macbeth. Bring them before us.—[Exit ATTENDANT.] To be thus, is nothing; But to be safely thus:—Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty6 of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'Tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none, but he 6

Nobleness.

32

MACBETH.

Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters, When first they put the name of King upon me, And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, For Banquo's issue have I fil'd7 my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, Who's there?— And champion me to the utterance!8 Re-enter ATTENDANT, with Two MURDERERS. Now to the door, and stay there till we call. [Exit ATTENDANT. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? 1 Murderer. It was, so please your highness. Macbeth. Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, That it was he, in the times past, which held you So under fortune; which, you thought, had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference: pass'd in probation9 with you, How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the instruments ; Who wrought with them; and all things else, that might, To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, Say, Thus did Banquo. 1 Mwrderer. You made it known to us Macbeth. I did so; and went further, which is now T

For defiled.

8

Challenge me to extremities.

9

Proved.

MACBETH.

S3

Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature. That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, To pray for that good man, and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, And beggar'd yours for ever? 1 Murderer. We are men, my liege. Macbeth. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs,1 water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped2 All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The house-keeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive Particular addition,3 from the bill That writes them all alike: And so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off; Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. 2 Murderer. I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incens'd that I am reckless4 what I do, to spite the world. 1 Mwrderer. And I another, So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. Macbeth. Both of you Know, Banquo was your enemy. 2 Murderer. True, my lord. Macbeth. So is he mine: and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being tjirusts Wolf-dogs. Title, description. VOL, III. 3

2 4

Called. Careless. D

34

MACBETH.

Against my near'st of life: And though I could With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not, For 5 certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love; Masking the business from the common eye, For sundry weighty reasons. We shall, my lord, 2 Murderer. Perform what you command us. Though our lives 1 Murderer. Macbeth Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant yourselves, Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for 't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought, That I require a clearness: And with him, (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; I'll come to you anon. 2 Murderer. We are resolv'd, my lord. Macbeth. Ill call upon you straight; abide within. It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. \Exeumt. SCENE II.—Another Room. Enter LADY MACBETH, and a SERVANT.

Lady Macbeth. Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. Lady Macbeth. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. 5

Because of.

MACBETH.

35

Servant. Madam, I will. \Eodt. Lady Macbeth. Nought's had, all's spent^ Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH. How now, my lord? why do you keep alone, Of sorriest6 fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without remedy, Should be without regard: what's done, is done. Macbeth. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly: Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.7 Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestick, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further f Lady Macbeth. Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. Macbeth. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo j Present him eminence,8 both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams; And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. n 8

7 Most melancholy. Agony. Do him the highest honours.

36

MACBETH.

Lady Macbeth. You must leave this. Macbeth. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. Lady Macbeth. But in them nature's copy's not eterne.9 Macbeth. There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons, The shard-borne beetle/ with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady Macbeth. What's to be done? Macbeth. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling2 night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond Which keeps me pale!—Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill: So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Eoceunt III.—^A Park or Lawn, with a Gate, leading to the Palace. Enter Three MURDERERS. 1 Murderer. But who did bid thee join with us? 3 Murderer. Macbeth. 2 Murderer. He needs not our mistrust: since he delivers Our offices, and what we have to do, To the direction just* 1 Murderer. Then stand with us.

SCENE

9 1 2

?. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives, is not eternal. The beetle borne in the air by its shards or scaly wings. Blinding,

MACBETH.

37

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace, To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch* 3 Murderer. Hark! I hear horses. Banquo. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho! 2 Murderer. Then it is he; the rest That are within the note of expectation, Already are i' the court. 1 Murderer. His horses go about. 3 Murderer. Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Enter BANQUO and FLEANCE, a SERVANT with a torch preceding them. 2 Murderer. A light! a light! 3 Murderer. 'Tis he. 1 Murderer. Stand to't. Banquo. I t will be rain to-night. 1 Murderer. Let it come down. [Assaults BANQUO. Banquo. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly; Thou mayst revenge. O slave! [Dies. FLEANCE and SERVANT escape. 3 Murderer. Who did strike out the light? 1 Mwrderer. Was't not the way? 3 Murderer. There's but one down; the son has fled. 2 Murderer. We have lost best half of our affair. 1 Mwrderer. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. [Exev/nL SCENE

IV.—A Room of State in the Palace.

A Banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, EOSSE, LENOX, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS.

Macbeth. You know your own degrees, sit down: at first And last, the hearty welcome.

38

MACBETH.

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. Macbeth. Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state; 3 but, in best time, We will require her welcome. Lady Macbeth. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks, they are welcome. Enter First MURDERER, to the door. Macbeth. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks: Both sides are even: Here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure The table round.—There's blood upon thy face. Murderer. 'Tis Banquo's then. Macbeth. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. Is he despatch'd? Murderer. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him, Macbeth. Thou art the best o? the cut-throats: Yet he's good, That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. Murderer. Most royal sir, Meance is 'scap'd. Macbeth. Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect; "Whole as the marble, founded as the rock; As broad, and general, as the casing air: But now, I am cabin'd, cribVd, confin'd, bound in, To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? Murderer. Ay, my good lord, safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. Macbeth. Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm, that's fled, Hath nature that in time will venom breed 3

Her chair of state.

MACBETH.

39

No teeth for the present.—Get thee gone; to-morrow We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit MURDERER. Lady Macbeth. My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold, That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, Tis given with welcome: To feed, were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. Macbeth. Sweet remembrancer!— Now good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! Lenox. May it please your highness sit? \T1ie GHOST of BANQUO rises, and sits in MACBETH'S place. Macbeth. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mischance! Rosse. His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness, To grace us with your royal company? Macbeth. The table's full. Lenox. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. Macbeth. Where? Lenox. Here my lord. What is't that moves your highness. Macbeth. Which of you have done this ? Lords. What, my good lord? Macbeth. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. Lady Macbeth. Sit, worthy friends:—my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: 'pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: If much you note him, You shall offend him, and extend his passion; Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man?

40

MACBETH.

Macbeth. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. 0 proper stuff! Lady Macbeth. This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws,4 and starts, (Impostors to true fear,) would well become A woman's story, at a winter's fire, Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. Macbeth. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.— If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury, back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. [GHOST disappears. What! quite unmann'd in folly ? Lady Macbeth. Macbeth. If I stand here, I.saw him. Fye, for shame! Lady Macbeth. Macbeth. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end: but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. Lady Macbeth. My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. Macbeth. I do forget:— Do not muse5 at me, my most worthy friends; I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down: Give me some wine, fill full: I drink to the general joy of the whole table, 4

Sudden gusts.

5

Wonder.

MACBETH.

41

rises. And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss: Would he were here! to all, and hira, we thirst, And all to all.6 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. Macbeth. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! Lady Macbeth. Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. Macbeth. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, Take- any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhibit 7 thee, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! [GHOST disappears* Unreal mockery, hence!—Why so;—being gone, I am a man again.—Pray you, sit still. Lady Macbeth. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. Macbeth. Can such things be, 8 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe,9 When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine are blanch'd with fear. Eosse. What sights, my lord ? Lady Macbeth. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse: GHOST

6

i. e. All good wishes to all.

7

Forbid.

8

Pass over.

9

Possess,

42

MACBETH.

Question enrages him: at once, good night:— Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once, Lenox. Good night, and better health Attend his majesty! Lady Macbeth. A kind good night to all! [Exeunt LOUDS and ATTENDANTS. Macbeth. I t will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies,1 and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood.—What is the night ? Lady Macbeth. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. Macbeth. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies hi& person, At our great bidding? Lady Macbeth. Did you send to him, sir? Macbeth. I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good, All causes shall give way; I am in blood Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er; Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.2 Lady Macbeth. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. Macbeth. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and selfabuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use:— We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt 1

Magpies.

2

Examined nicely.

MACBETH. SCENE

43

Y.—The Heath.

Thunder. Enter HECATE, meeting tlie Three WITCHES. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly. Hecate. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth, In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron, Meet me I the morning; thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels, and your spells, provide, Your charms, and every thing beside: I am for the air: this night 111 spend Unto a dismal-fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere noon; Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound:3 Til catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic slights, Shall raise such artificial sprights, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear: And you all know, security Is mortal's chiefest enemy. SONG, 2

t Within.] Gome away, come away, &'c.

i. e. A drop that has deep or hidden qualities.

44

MACBETH,

Hark, I am call'd: my little spirit see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again, [Exeunt. A Room in the Palace. Enter LEPTOX and another LORD. Lenox. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, "Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne: The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:— And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight, In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep ? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive, To hear the men deny it. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think, That, had he Duncan's sons under his key, (As, ant please heaven, he shall not,) they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace!—for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord. The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd Of most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff SCENE VI.—FOKES.

MACBETH.

45

Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these, (with Him above To ratify the work,) we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights; Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; Do faithful homage, and receive free honours.4 All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king, that he Prepares for some attempt of war. Lenox. Sent he to Macduff? Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, not I, The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer. Lenox. And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England, and unfold His message ere he come: That a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accurs'd! Lord. My prayers with him! [Eoceunt.

ACT IV. I.—A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron boiling. Thunder. Enter the Three WITCHES. 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 3 Witch. Harper cries:—'Tis time, 'tis time. 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under coldest stone, Days and nights hast thirty-one SCENE

4

Honours freely bestowed.

46

MACBETH,

Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot! All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake: Eye of newt, and toe of frog, "Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. All. Double, double toil and trouble? Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,6 Of the ravin'd6 salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock, digg'd i' the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew, Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe, Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab : Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE. Hecate. O, well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. 5

The throat.

« Ravenous.

47 ^f

MACBETH.

SONG.

Black spirits and white, Blue spirits and grey; Mingle, mingle, mingle, You that mingle may. 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes: Open locks, whoever knocks. Enter MACBETH. Macbeth. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is't you do? All. A deed without a name. Macbeth. I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd,7 and trees blown down; Though castles topple8 on their warders' heads; Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germins9 tumble altogether, Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you. 1 Witch. Speak. 2 Witch. Demand. 3 Witch. We'll answer. 1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters'? Macbeth. Call them, let me see them. 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease, that's sweaten 7 9

Laid flat by wind or rain. Seeds which have begun to sprout,

8

Tumble.

48

MACBETH.

From the murderer's gibbet, throw Into the flame. All. Come, high or low Thyself; and office, deftly1 show. Thunder. An APPARITION of an armed Head rises. Macbeth. Tell me, thou unknown power, 1 Witch. He knows thy thought; Hear his speech, but say thou nought. Apparition. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife.—Dismiss me:—Enough. [Descends.

Macbeth. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks; Thou hast harp'd2 my fear aright: — But one word more.— 1 Witch. He will not be commanded : Here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. An APPARITION of a bloody Child rises. Apparition. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!— Macbeth. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. Apparition. Be bloody, bold, Ajid resolute: laugh to scorn the power of man, For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. [Descends,

Macbeth Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, A.nd take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder.—What is this, Thunder.

of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises. That rises like the issue of a king; 1

Adroitly.

An

2

APPARITION

Touched on a passion as a harper touches a string.

MACBETH.

49

And wears upon his baby brow the round And top of sovereignty? All. Listen, but speak not. Apparition. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. [Descends. Macbeth. That will never be: Who can impress the forest; bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root ? sweet bodements! good! Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time, and mortal custom,—Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your art Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? All. Seek to know no more. Macbeth. I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know:— Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? [Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart. Eight KINGS appear, and pass over the Stage in order; the last with a glass in his hand; BANQUO fottoiving. Macbeth. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:—And thy hair, TJiou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:— A third is like the former:—Filthy hags! Why do you show nxe this?—A fourth?—Start, eyes! What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ? Another yet ?—A seventh ?—I'll see no more:— And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, Which shows me many more; and some I see, VOL. I1L

E

50

MACBETH.

That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry; Horrible sight!—Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd3 Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his.—What, is this so? 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so:—But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?— Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, And show the best of our delights; I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antique round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. [Musick The WITCHES dance, and vanish Macbeth Where are they? gone?—Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar!— Come in, without there! Enter

LENOX.

Lenox. What's your grace's will? Macbeth Saw you the weird sisters? Lenox. No, my lord. Macbeth Came they not by you? Lenox. No, indeed, my lord. Macbeth Infected be the air whereon they ride; And daxnn'd all those that trust them!—I did hear The galloping of horse: Who wast came by? Lenox. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word, Macduff is fled to England. Macbeth Fled to England? Lenox. Ay, my good lord. Macbeth Time, thou anticipat'st4 my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now g 4

Besmeared witn "blood. Freventest, by taking away the opportunity.

MACBETH.

51

To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: But no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. SCEISTE I I . — F I F E .

A Room in MACDUFF'S Castle.

Enter LADY MACDUFF, her SON, and KOSSE. Lady Macduff. What had he done, to make him fly the land? Rosse. You must have patience, madam. Lady Macduff. He had none: His flight was madness: When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse. You know not, Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. Lady Macduff. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion, and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear, and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. Rosse. My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further: But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear; But float upon a wild and violent sea, Each way, and move.—I take my leave of you:

52

MACBETH.

Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before.—My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! Lady Macduff. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort : I take my leave at once. [Exit ROSSE. Lady Macduff. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son. As birds do, mother. Lady Macduff. What, with worms and flies? Son. "With what I get, I mean; and so do they. Lady Macduff. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, nor lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin. Son. Why should I, mother ? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. Lady Macduff Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? Lady Macduff. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. Lady Macduff. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? Lady Macduff. Ay, that he was. Son. What is a traitor? Lady Macduff. Why, one that swears and lies. Son. And be all traitors that do so? Lady Macduff Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie? Lady Macduff. Every one. Son. Who must hang them?

MACBETH.

53

Lady Macduff. Why, the honest men. Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them. Lady Macduff. ]STow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. Lady Macduff. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st. Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect.5 I doubt, some clanger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. [Exit MESSENGER. Lady Macduff. Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm, Is often laudable: to do good, sometime, Accounted dangerous folly: Why, then, alas! Do I put up that womanly defence, To say, I have done no harm! What are these faces? Enter MURDERERS. Mu/rderer. Where is your husband? Lady Macduff. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, Where such as thou mayst find him. Murderer. He's a traitor. Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. Murderer. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery? 5

I am perfectly acquainted with your rank.

54

MACBETH.

Son. He has killed me; mother; Run away, I pray you. [Dies. [Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying Murder, and pursued by the MURDERERS. A Room in the KING'S Palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF. Malcolm. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. Macduff. Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men, Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn, New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yelTd out Like syllable of dolour. Malcolm. "What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and, what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend,6 I will. What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well; He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom To offer up a weak^ poor, innocent lamb, To appease an angry god. Macduff. I am not treacherous. Malcolm. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, In an imperial charge.7 But crave your pardon; That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell: SCENE III.—ENGLAND.

6

Befriend. i. e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission. 7

MACBETH.

55

Though, all things foul would bear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. Macduff. I have lost my hopes. Malcolm. Perchance, even there, where I didfindmy doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, (Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,) Without leave-taking?—I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties:—You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. Macduff. Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs, Thy title is affeer'd!8—Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. Be not offended: Malcolm. I speak not as in an absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think, withal, There would he hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England, have I offer Of goodly thousands: But, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. Macduff What should he be? Malcolm. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted, That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 8

Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication.

56

MACBETH.

With my confineless harms.—I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricioiis, false, deceitful, Sudden,9 malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness; and my desire All continent impediments would o'er-bear, That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth Than such a one to reign. Macduff. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. Malcolm. With this, there grows, In my most ill-compos'd affection, such A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands; Desire his jewels, and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Macduff. This avarice Grows with pernicious root; and it hath been. The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear; Scotland hath foysons1 to fill up your will, Of your mere own: AH these are portable,2 With other graces weigh'd. Malcolm. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them; but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 9

Passionate.

l

Plenty.

2

May be endured.

MACBETH.

Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macduff. O Scotland! Scotland! Malcolm. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken. Macduff. Fit to govern! No, not to live.—O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again! Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?—Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, Oftner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well! These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, Have banish'd me from Scotland.—0, my breast, Thy hope ends here! Malcolm. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste: 3 But God above Deal between thee and me! for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction: here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; At no time broke my faith; would not betray The devil to his fellow; and delight No less in truth than life: my first false speaking Was this upon myself: What I am truly, Is thine, and my poor country's, to command: Whither, indeed^ before thy here-approach, 3

Over hasty credulity.

57

58

MACBETH.

Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, All ready at a point, was setting forth: Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness, Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Macduff. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a DOCTOR. Malcolm. Well; more anon.—Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doctor. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces4 The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. Malcolm. I thank you, doctor. [Exit DOCTOR. Macduff. What's the disease he means? Malcolm. 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king ; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows; but strangely visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures; Hanging a golden stamp6 about their necks, Put on with holy prayer: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy; And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace. Enter

ROSSE.

Macduff. See, who comes here? Malcolm. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Macduff. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 4 5

Overpowers, subdues. The coin called an angel.

MACBETH.

59

Malcolm. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers! Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macduff. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! I t cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the aii3 Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy; 6 the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. Macduff. 0, relation, Too nice, and yet too true! Malcolm. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macduff How does my wife? Rosse. Why, well. Macduff And all my children? Rosse. Well, too. Macduff. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. Macduff Be not. a niggard of your speech; How goes it? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out: Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff7 their dire distresses. Malcolm.. Be it their comfort, 6

Common distress of mind.

7

Put off.

60

MACBETH.

We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men; An older, and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out. Rosse. Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch 8 them. Macduff. What concern they ? The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief,9 Due to some single breast? Rosse. No mind that's honest, But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Macduff If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. Macduff. Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes, Savagely slaughter'd! to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry1 of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you. Malcolm. Merciful heaven!— What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. Macduff. My children too ? Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. Macduff. And I must be from thence! My wifekill'd too? Rosse. I have said. Malcolm. Be comforted: Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. 8 1

9 Catch. A grief that has a single owner. The game after it is killed.

MACBETH.

61

Macduff. He has no children.—All my pretty ones? Did you say, all?—0, hell-kite!—All? What ; all my pretty chickens, and their dam, At one fell swoop? Malcolm. Dispute it like a man. Macduff. I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now! Malcolm. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macduff. 0, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heaven. Cut short all intermission; front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too! Malcolm. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.—DUNSINANE.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter a DOCTOR ofPhysick, and a waiting GENTLEWOMAN.

Doctor. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

62

MACBETH.

Gentlewoman. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed: yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doctor. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching.—In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? Gentlewoman. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doctor. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. Gentleivoman. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter LADY MACBETH, with a Taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise: and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. Doctor. How came she by that light? Gentlewoman. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. Doctor. You see, her eyes are open. Gentlewoman. Ay, but their sense is shut. Doctor. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands. Gentlewoman. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Lady Macbeth. Yet here's a spot. Doctor. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. Lady Macbeth Out, damned spot! out, I say!—One; two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky !2 —Fye, my lord, fye! a soldier, and afear'd? What need we feaj1 who knows it, when none can call our power to 2

Dark.

MACBETH.

63

account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? Doctor. Do you mark that? Lady Macbeth. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? —No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting. Doctor. Go to, go t o ; you have known what you should not. Gentlewoman. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady Macbeth. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doctor. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gentlewoman. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doctor. Well, well, well,— Gentlewoman. T r a y God, it be, sir. Doctor. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands, put on your nightr gown; look not so pale: I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doctor. Even so? Lady Macbeth. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand: What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit LADY MACBETH. Doctor. Will she go now to bed? Gentlewoman. Directly. Doctor. Foul whisperings are abroad; Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician.— God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance,

64

MACBETH.

And still keep eyes upon her:—So, good night: My mind she has mated,3 and amaz'd my sight : I think, but dare not speak. Gentlewoman. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt, II.—The country near DUNSINANE. Enter, with Drwm and Colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS, SCENE

ANGUS, LENOX, and SOLDIERS.

Menteth. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm, Excite the mortified man.4 Angus. Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. Cathness. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? Lenox. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son, 4.nd many unrough5 youths, that even now Protest their first of manhood. Menteth. What does the tyrant? Cathness. Great Dunsinane, he strongly fortifies: Some say he's mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, He cannot buckle his disteinper'd cause Within the belt of rule. Angus. Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands, move only in command, Nothing in love: now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief. Menteth. Who then shall blame 3

Confounded.

4

A religious; an ascetic.

5

Unbearded,

MACBETH.

65

His pester'd senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself, for being there? Cathness. Well, march we on, To give obedience where *tis truly ow'd: Meet we the medecin.6 of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us, Lenox. Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE III.—DUNSINANE.

A Boom in the Castle.

Enter MACBETH, DOCTOK, and ATTENDANTS. Macbeth. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all; Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm! Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus: Fecvr not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall eer have poiver on thee. Then fly, false thanes, And mingle with the English epicures: The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagg7 with doubt, nor shake with fear. Enter a SERVANT. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon !8 Where gott'st thou that goose look? Servant. There is ten thousand Macbeth. Geese, villain? Servant. Soldiers, sir Macbeth. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-livqr d boy. What soldiers, patch? 9 Death of thy soul 1 those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? 6

7

8

9

The physician. Base fellow, VOL. III.

Sink. An appellation of contempt. v

66

MACBETH.

Servant. The English force, so please you; Macbeth. Take thy face hence.—Seyton!—I am sick at heart, When I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have liv'd long enough: my May of life Is fall'n into the sear,1 the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. Seyton! Enter SEYTON. Seyton. What is your gracious pleasure? Macbeth. What news more? Seyton. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. Macbeth. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour. Seyton. 'Tis not needed yet. Macbeth I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirr2 the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.—Give me mine armour.— How does your patient, doctor? Doctor. Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. Macbeth. Cure her of that : Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stufFd bosom of that perilous stufij Which weighs upon the heart ? Doctor. Therein the patient Must minister to himself. 1

2

Scour#

MACBETH.

67

Macbeth. Throw physick to the dogs, I'll none of it.— Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:— Seyton, send out.—Doctor, the thanes fly from me: Come, sir, despatch:—If thou could'st, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.—Pull't off, I say.— "What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, "Would scour these English hence!—Hearest thou of them? Doctor. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. Macbeth. Bring it after me. I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane, [JExit. Doctor. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. SCENE IV.—Country

near DUNSINANTE. A Wood in view. JErtier, with Drum and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD and his SON, MACDUFF, MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS LENOX, KOSSE, and SOLDIERS, inarching.

Malcolm. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. Menteth. We doubt it nothing. Siward. What wood is this before us? Menteth. The wood of Birnam. Malcohn. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery Err in report of us. Soldiers. I t shall be done. Siwa/rd. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't. Malcolm. 'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given,

68

MACBETH. 3

Both more and less have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too. Macduff. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership. Siward. The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate; But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching. Within the Castle. Enter, with Drvms and Colours, MACBETH, SEYTON, SCENE V.—DUNSINAXE.

and SOLDIERS.

Macbeth. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, They co?ne: Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie, Till famine, and the ague, eat them up: Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise? [A cry within of women. Seyton. It is the cry of women, my good lord. Macbeth. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell4 of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't: I have supp'd fall with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.—Wherefore was that cry? Seyton. The queen, my lord, is dead. Macbeth. She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word.— To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 3

*. e. Greater and less.

* Skin.

MACBETH.

69

To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle; Life's but a walking shadow: a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, fall of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. Enter a

MESSENGER.

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Messenger. Gracious my lord, I shall report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. Macbeth. Well, say, sir. Messenger. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move. Macbeth. Liar, and slave! [Striking him. Messenger. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove. Macbeth. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling5 thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.— I pull in resolution; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsindne;—and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out.— If this which he avouches, does appear, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate of the world were now undone.— Ring the alarum bell:—Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt 5

Shrivel.

70

MACBETH.

SCENE

VI.—A Plain before the Castle.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF, &C, and their Army, with Boughs. Malcolm. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are:—You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle; worthy Macduff, and we, Shall take upon us what else remains to do, According to our order. Siward. Fare you well.— Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. Macduff. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Eoceunt. Alarums continued. SCENE

VII.—Anotlier Part of the Plain.

Enter MACBETH. Macbeth. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course.—What's he, That was not born of woman? such a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter young SIWARD. Young Siward. "What is thy name ? Macbeth. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Young Siioard. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.' Macbeth. My name's Macbeth. Young Siward. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macbeth. No, nor more fearful.

MACBETH.

71

Young Siward. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [They fight, and young SIWARD is slain. Macbeth. Thou wast born of woman.— But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. Enter MACDUFF. Macduff. That way the noise is:—Tyrant, show thy face: If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kernes,6 whose arms Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited:7 Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not. [Exit Alarum. Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD. Siward. This way, my lord;—the castle's gently render'd: The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; The noble thanes do bravely in the war; The day almost itself professes yours, And little is to do. Malcolm. We have met with foes That strike beside us. Siward. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. Re-enter MACBETH. Macbeth. "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. 6

Foot-soldiers.

7

Reported with clamour.

72

MACBETH.

Re-enter MACDUFF. Macduff. Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macbeth. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already. Macduff. I have no words, My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! [Theyfigfa. Macbeth. Thou losest labour: As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 8 With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born. Macduff. Despair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. Macbeth. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, That palter9 with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope.—I'll not fight with thee. Macduff. Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time. Well have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole; and underwrit, Here may you see the tyrant. Macbeth. I'll not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last: Before my body I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.

\JExeunt fighting. 8

The air which cannot be cut.

9

Shuffle.

MACBETH.

Retreat. Flourish.

73

Re-enter with Drum and Colours,

MALCOLM, old SIWARD, ROSSE, LENOX, CATHNESS, MENTETH, and SOLDIERS.

ANGUS,

Malcolm. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Siward. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. Malcolm. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. Siward. Then he is dead? Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siivard. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. Ay, on the front. Siward. Why then, God's soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his knell is knoll'd. Malcolm. He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him. Siwa/rd. He's worth no more; They say he parted well, and paid his score: So God be with him.—Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH'S Head on a Pole. Macduff. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,— Hail, king of Scotland!

74

MACBETH.

All King of Scotland, hail! [Flourish. Malcolm. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time,— As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen; Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life:—This, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place : So thanks to all at once, and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. [Flourish. Exeunt

KING JOHN.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING JOHN.

PRINCE HENRY, his Son; afterwards King Henry III. ARTHUR, Dake of Bretagne, Son of Geffrey, late Duke ofBreiagm, the elder Brother of King John. W I L L I A M MARESHALL, Earl of Pembroke.

GEFFREY FITZ-PETER, Earl of Essex, Chief Justiciary of England. W I L L I A M LONGSWORD, Earl of Salisbury. ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk. HUBERT DE BURGH, CJiamberlain to the King. ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, Son of Sir Robert Faulconbridge.

P H I L I P FAULCONBRIDGE, his Half-Brother, Bastard Son to King Richard I. JAMES GURNEY, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. P E T E R OF POMFRET, a Prophet.

P H I L I P , King of France. LEWIS, tlie Dauphin. ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA.

CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's Legate.

MELUN, a French Lord. CHATILLON, Ambassador from France to King John. ELINOR, the Widow of King Henry II., and Mother of King John. CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur. BLANCH, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and Niece to King John. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, Mother to the Bastard, and Robert Faulconbridge. Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Slieriff. Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE—Sometimes in EDgland, and sometimes in France.

KING JOHN. ACT I. A Room of State in the Palace.

SCENE I.—NORTHAMPTON.

Enter K I N G JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON. King John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? Chatillon. Thug, after greeting, speaks the king of France, In my behaviour,1 to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty of England here. Elinor. A strange beginning;—borrow'd majesty! King John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. Chatillon. Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island, and the territories; To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: Desiring thee to lay aside the sword, Which sways usurpingly these several titles; And put the same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. King John. What follows, if we disallow of this ? Chatillon. The proud control offierceand bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. King John. Here have we war for war; and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. 1

In the manner I now do.

78

KING JOHN.

Chatillon. Then take my king's defiancefrommy mouth, The furthest limit of my embassy. King John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, And sullen presage of your own decay.— An honourable conduct let him have:— Pembroke, look to't: Farewell, Chatillon. [Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE. Elinor. What now, my son ? have I not ever said, How that ambitious Constance would not cease, Till she had kindled France, and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented, and made whole, With very easy arguments of love; Which now the manage2 of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. King John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us, Elinor. Your strong possession, much more than your right; Or else it must go wrong with you, and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear; Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. Enter the

SHEKIFF

of NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, who %ohispers ESSEX.

Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, Come from the country to be judg'd by you, That e'er I heard: Shall I produce the men ? King John. Let them approach,— [Exit SHERIFF. Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay He-enter

SHERIFF, with ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, PHILIP, his bastard BROTHER.

This expedition's charge.—What men are you? Bastard. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 2

Conduct, administration.

and

KING JOHN.

79

Born in Northamptonshire; and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge; A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. King John. What art thou? Robert The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. King John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir ? You came not of one mother then, it seems. Bastard. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother; Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. Elinor. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother, And wound her honour with this diffidence. Bastard. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land! King John. A good blunt fellow:—Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? Bastard. I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy; But whe'r I be as true begot, or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head; But, that I am as well begot, my liege, Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both, And were our father, and this son like him;—• 0 old sir Robert, father, on my knee, 1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. King John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! Elinor. He hath a trick 3 of Coeur-de-lion's face, The accent of his tongue affecteth him: 3

Trace, outline.

80

KING JOHK

Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man ? King John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, And finds them perfect Pdchard. Sirrah, speak, "What doth move you to claim your brother's land? Bastard. Because he hath a half-face, like my father: "With that half-face would he have all my land : A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! Robert. My gracious liege, when that my father liv;d, Your brother did employ my father much; And once despatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there, with the emperor, To treat of high affairs touching that time: The advantage of his absence took the king, And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak; But truth is truth; large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, (As I have heard my father speak himself,) When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me; and took it, on his death, That this my mother's son, was none of his; And, if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine My father's land, as was my father's will. King John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him: And, if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept him; In sooth, he might: then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: This concludes,— Your father's heir must have your father's land. Robert. Shall then my father's will be of no force, To dispossess that child which is not his'*

KINO JOHN.

81

Bastard. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. Elinor. Whether hadst thou rather,—be a Faulconbridge, And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land; Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence, and no land beside? Bastard. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert his, like him: And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff d; my face so thin, That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings goes! And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 'Would I might never stir from off this place, I'd give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case, Elinor. I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? I am a soldier, and now bound to France. Bastard. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance: Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year; Yet sell your face for five pence, and, 'tis dear,— Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. Elinor. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. Bastard. Our country manners give our betters way. King John. What is thy name? Bastard. Philip, my liege; so is my name begun Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. King John. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great: Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Bastard. Brother, by my mother's side, give me your hand; My father gave me honour, yours gave land.— Elinor. The very spirit of Pkntagenet!— I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so. Bastard. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: What though? G VOL. ILL

82

KING JOHN.

King John. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire, A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire.— Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed For France, for France; for it is more than need. Bastard. Brother, adieu; good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. [Exeunt all but the BASTARD. A foot of honour better than I was; But many a foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady: Good den* sir Richard,—God-a-mercy, fellow;— And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter: For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 5 Tis too respective, and too sociable, For your conversion. Now your traveller,— He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess; And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries :5 My dear sir, (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,) I shall beseech you—That is question now; And then comes answer like an ABC-book:— 0 sir, says answer, at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir: No, sir, says question, /, sweet sir, at yours: And so, ere answer knows what question would, (Saving in dialogue of compliment; And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) I t draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society, And fits the mounting spirit, like myself: And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement; But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 41

Good evening.

6

My travelled fop.

KING JOHN.

83

Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.— But who comes in such haste, in riding robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband, That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter Lady

FAULCONBRIDGE

and

JAMES GUKNEY.

0 me! it is my mother:—How now, good lady? What brings you here to court so hastily? Lady Faulconbridge. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he? That holds in chase mine honour up and down? Bastard. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so ? Lady Faulconbridge. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: Yfhy scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son; and so art thou. Bastard. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while? Gurney. Good leave, good Philip. Bastard. Philip ?—sparrow!—James? There's toys6 abroad; anon I'll tell thee more. \Eodt GURNEY. Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son. Lady Faulconbridge. East thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain should'st defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? Bastard. Knight, knight, good mother,-—Basiliscolike: 7 What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; 1 have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land; Legitimation, name, and all is gone; 6 7

Idle reports. , A character in an old drama called Soliman and Pcrseda.

84

KING JOHN.

Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope; Who was it, mother? Lady Faulconbridge. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? Bastard. As faithfully as I deny the devil. Lady Faulconbridge. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father; By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my great offence, Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. Bastard. Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,— Subjected tribute to commanding love,— Against whose fury and unmatched force The awless lion could not wage the fight, ]STor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. [Exeunt

ACT I I . Before the Walls of ANGIERS.

SCENE I.—FRANCE.

Enter, on one side, the Archduke of AUSTRIA, and Forces; on the other, PHILIP, King of FRANCE, and Forces; LEWIS, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and ATTENDANTS.

Lewis. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.— Arthur, that great fore-runner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And, for amends to his posterity, At our importance,8 hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 8

Importunity.

KING JOHN.

85

And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. Arihwr. Heaven will forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death, The rather, that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: "Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. Levns. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? Austria. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love; That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, The water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. Constance. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength, To make a more requital to your love. A ustria. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. King Philip. Well then, to work; our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages :l— We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. Constance. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 1

Best stations to over-awe the town.

86

KING JOHN.

Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood: My lord Chatillon may from England bring That right in peace, which here we urge in war; And then we shall repent each drop of blood, That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON. King Philip. A wonder, lady!—lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.— What England says, say briefly, gentle lord, We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. Ghatillon. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as 1: His marches are expedient2 to this town, His forces strong, hia soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate,3 stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king deceas'd: And all the unsettled humours of the land,— Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,— Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here. In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, Did never float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath4 in Christendom. The interruption of their churlish drums [Drums beat. Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare. King Philip. How much unlook'dfor is this expedition! 2 4

Immediate, expeditious. Mischief.

3

The Goddess of Revenge.

KING JOHN.

87

Austria. By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence; For courage mounted with occasion: Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter

KING JOHN, ELINOK, BLANCH, PEMBROKE, and Forces.

the BASTAKD,

King John. Peace be to France; if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own! If not j bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven. Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. King Philip. Peace be to England: if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace! England we love: and, for that England's sake, With burden of our armour here we sweat: This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, Cut off the sequence of posterity, Outfac'd infant state, and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;— These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large, Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time Shall draw this brief5 into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right, And this is Geffrey's: In the name of God, How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe6 the crown that thou o'ermasterest ? King John. From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? 6

A short writing.

6

Own.

88

KING JOHN.

King Philip. From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right. That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong; And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. King John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. King Philip. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. Elinor. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France? Constance. Let me make answer; thy usurping son. Elinor. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king; That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world! Constance. My bed was ever to thy son as true, As thine was to thy husband: and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, Than thou and John in manners; and, I think, His father never was so true begot; It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. Elinor. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. Constance. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. Austria. Peace! Bastard. Hear the crier. Austria. What the devil art thou? Bastard. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right : Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. Blanch. 0, well did he become that lion's robe, That did disrobe the lion of that robe! Bastard. It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass:— But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back ; Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack.

KING JOHN.

89

Austria. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? King Philip. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. Leans. Women and fools, break off your conference— King John, this is the very sum of all,— England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? King John. My life as soon:—I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. Elinor. Come to thy grandam, child. Constance. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child; Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. Arthur. Good my mother, peace! I would, that I were low laid in my grave; I am not worth this coil7 that's made for me. Elinor. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. Constance. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you. Elinor. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! Constance. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call me not slanderer; thou, and thine, usurp The dominations, royalties, and rights, Of this oppressed boy: This is thy eldest son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee; Thy sins are visited in this poor child, 7

Bustle,

90

KING JOHN.

Elinor. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. Constance. Ay, who doubts that % a will! a wicked will; A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! King Philip. Peace, lady; pause, or be more temperate. It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim8 To these ill-tuned repetitions.— Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak, Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpets sound. Enter CITIZENS upon the walls. 1 Citizen. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? King Philip. 'Tis France, for England. England, for itself: King John. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,— King Philip. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.9 King John. For our advantage;—Therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath; And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege, And merciless proceeding by these French, Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates; And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, That as a waist do girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordnance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havock made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,— Who painfully with much expedient march, 8

To encourage.

» Conference.

KING JOHN.

91

Have brought a countercheck before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle: And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears : Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied1 in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. King Philip. When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet; Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town; Being no further enemy to you, Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, In the relief of this oppressed child, Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty, which you truly owe, To him that owes8 i t ; namely, this young prince: And then our arms, like to a lr.uzzled bear, Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, We will bear home that lusty blood again, Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives, and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 5 Tis not the roundure 3 of your old-fac'd walls Can hide you from our messengers of war: 1

Worn out.

2

Owns.

3

Circle.

92

KING JOHN.

Though all these English, and their discipline, Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage, And stalk in blood to our possession? 1 Citizen. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects; For him, and in his right, we hold this town. King John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. 1 Citizen. That can we not: but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal; till that time, Have we ramin'd up our gates against the world. King John. Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,— Bastard. Bastards, and else. King John. To verify our title with their lives. King Philip. As many, and as well-born bloods as those, Bastard. Some bastards too. King Philip. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 1 Citizen. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. King John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls, That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! King Philip. Amen! Amen!—Mount, chevaliers, to arms! Bastard. St. George,—that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since, Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence!—Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, [To AUSTRIA,] with your lioness, I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you.

KING JOHN.

93

Austria. Peace; no more. Bastard. 0, tremble; for you hear the lion roar. King John. Up higher to the plain; where well set forth, In best appointment, all our regiments. Bastcwd. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. King Philip. I t shall be so;—[To LEWIS,] and at the other hill Command the rest to stand.—God, and our right! [Exeunt* SCENE

II.—The same.

Ala/rums and Excursions; then a Retreat. Enter a FKENCH HERALD, with Trumpets, to the Gates. French Herald. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground : Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. Enter an ENGLISH HERALD, with Trumpets. English Herald. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells, King John, your king and England's, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day! Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest, That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands,

94

KING JOHN.

That did display them when we first march'd forth; Ana, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our histy English, all with purpled hands, Died in. the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates, and give the victors way. Citizen. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured:4 Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither; yet for both. Enter, at one side, KING JOHN, with his power; ELINOR, BLANCH, and the BASTARD ; at the other, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, AUSTRIA, and Forces. King John. Erance, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on ? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. King Philip. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more: And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks,— Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead; Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 4

Judged, determined.

KING JOHN.

95

Bastard. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now Jie feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, In undetermin'd differences of kings.— Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, havock, kings! back to the stained field, You equal potents, 5 fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death! King John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? King Philip. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? 1 Citizen. The king of England, when we know the ki

King Philip. Know him in us, that here hold up his right King John. In us that are our own great deputy, And bear possession of our person here; Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 1 Citizen. A greater power than we, denies all this; And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates: King'd of our fears; until our fears resolv'd, Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. Bastard. By heaven these scroyles6 of Angiers flout you, kings; And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me; Do like the mutines 7 of Jerusalem ; Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east aiid west let France and England mount Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down 5

Potentates.

6

Scabby fellows.

7

Mutineers.

96

KING JOHX.

The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'd play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion; To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? King John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well;—France, shall we knit our powers, And lay this Angiers even with the ground; Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? Bastard. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,-— Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town,— Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls: And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other; and pell-mell, Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. King Philip. Let it be so:—Say, where will you assault ? King John. We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. Austria. I from the north. King Philip. Our thunder from the south, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bastard. O prudent discipline! From north to south; Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: [Aside.

I'll stir them to it:—Come, away, away! 1 Citizen. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league;

KING JOHN.

97

Win you this city without stroke, or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. King John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent to hear. 1 Citizen. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, Is near to England: Look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid: If youthful love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous8 love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete, O say, he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not, that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 0, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in: And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can, To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match, With swifter spleen9 than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance; but without this niatch, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks freefrommotion; no, not death himself 8

Pious. VOL. I l l ,

9

Speed. H

98

KING JOHN".

In mortal fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. Bastard. Here's a stay, That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas; And talks familiarly of roaring lions, He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue; Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his, But buffets better than a fist of France: Why! I was never so bethump'd with words, Since I first call'd my brother s father, dad. Elinor. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while their souls Are capable of this ambition: Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. 1 Citizen. Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town ? King Philip. Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: What say you? King John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read, I love, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And ail that we upon this side the sea (Except this city now by us besieg'd) Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich In titles, honours, and promotions,

KING JOHN.

99

As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. King Philip. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. Lewis. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wonderous miracle, The shadow of myself forui'd in her eye; Which, being but the shadow of your son. Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow: I do protest, I never lov'd myself Till now infixed I beheld myself, Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. [Whispers with BLANCH. Bastard. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!— Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!— And quarter'd in her heart!—he doth espy Himself love's traitor: This is pity now, That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be, In such a love, so vile a lout as he. Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you, that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter j^ou, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this—that nothing do I see in you, (Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your l

J g )

That I can find should merit any hate. King John. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece? Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. King John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? Lewis. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly.

100

KING JOHN.

King John. Then I do give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, "With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.— Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. King Philip. It likes us well;—Young princes, close your hands. Austria. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd, That I did so, when I was first assur'd.1 King Philip. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel, presently, The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.— Is not the lady Constance in this troop?— I know, she is not; for this match, made up, Her presence would have interrupted much:— Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. Lewis. She is sad and passionate2 at your highness' tent. King Philip. And, by my faith, this league, that we have made, Will give her sadness very little dure.— Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady ? In her right we came: Which we, Heaven knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. We will heal up all; King John. For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, And earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of.—Call the lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity:—I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so, That we shall stop her exclamation. 1

A danced.

2

Mournful.

KING JOHN.

10 i

Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp. [Exeunt all but the BASTARD.—The CITIZENS retwefrom the walls. Bastard. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition'. John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part: And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, As God's own soldier,) rounded 3 in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil; That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith; That daily break-vow; he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids;— Commodity, the bias of the world; The world, who of itself is peised4 well, Made to run even, upon even ground; Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, This sway of motion, this commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this commodity, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, From a resolv'd and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace.— And why rail I on this commodity ? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch 5 my hand, When his fair angels6 would salute my palm: But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say,—there is no sin, but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be, To say,—there is no vice but beggary : Since tings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord! for I will worship thee! [Hceit. 3

Conspired.

4

Poised, balanced.

5

Clasp.

° Coin.

102

KING JOHN.

ACT I I I . SCENE

I.—The

FKENCH KING'S

Tent

Enter CONSTANCE, AKTHUK, and SALISBURY. Constance. Gone to be married J gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces] I t is not so; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard; Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so: I trust, I may not trust thee; for thy word Is but the vain breath of a common man: Believe me, I do not believe thee, man; I have a king's oath to the contrary. Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, For I am sick, and capable7 of fears; Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally born to fears; And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce, But they will quake and tremble all this day. What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? What means that hand upon that breast of thine ? Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Like a proud river peering8 o'er his bounds? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? Then speak again; not all thy former tale, But this one word; whether thy tale be true. Salisbury. As true, as, I believe, you think them false That give you cause to prove my saying true. Constance. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die And let belief and life encounter so, As doth the fury of two desperate men, 7

Susceptible.

8

Appearing.

KING JOHK.

103

Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die.— Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou? France friend with England! what becomes of me? Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight; This news hath made thee a most ugly man. Salisbury. What other harm have I, good lady, done, But spoke the harm that is by others done? Constance. Which harm within itself so heinous is, As it makes harmful all that speak of it* Arthur. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Constance. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless9 stains, Lame, foolish, crooked, swarth, prodigious,1 Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content; For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy! Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great: Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, 0 ! She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee; She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John; And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? Envenom him with words; or get thee gone, And leave those woes alone, which I alone Am bound to under-bear. Salisbury. Pardon me, madam, I may not go without you to the kings. Constance. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee: I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. To me, and to the state,2 of my great grief, 9

Unsightly.

l

Monstrous.

2

Dignity.

104

KING JOHN.

Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great, That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. [She throws herself on the ground. Enter

KING JOHN, KING PHILTP, LEWIS, BLANCH, ELINOR, BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and ATTENDANTS.

King Philip. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day, Ever in France shall be kept festival: To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: The yearly course, that brings this day about, Shall never see it but a holyday. Constance. A wicked day, and not a holyday! [Rising. What hath this day deserv'd; what hath it done; That it in golden letters should be set, Among the high tides, in the kalenclar? Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week; This day of shame, oppression, perjury: Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck, No bargains break, that are not this day made: This day, all things begun come to ill end; Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! King Philip. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause To curse the fair proceedings of this day: Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? Constance. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried, Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:

KING JOHN.

105

The grappling vigour and rough frown of war, Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league:— Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Set arm'd discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings! Hear me, 0, hear me! Austria. Lady Constance, peace. Constance. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. 0 Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward; Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too, And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and swear, Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave, Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it 3 for shame, And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. Austria. O, that a man should speak those words to me! Bastard. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. Austria. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. Bastard. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. King John. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. Enter PANDULPH. King Philip. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pandulph. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!— 3

Put it off.

106

KItfG JOHN*

To thee, king John, my holy errand is. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, And from pope Innocent the legate here, Do, in his name, religiously demand, Why thou against the church, our holy mother, So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce, Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? This in our 'foresaid holy father's name, Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. King John. What earthly name to interrogatories Can task the free breath of a sacred king? Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, Add thus much more,—That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions: But as we under heaven are supreme head, So, under him, that great supremacy, Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, Without the assistance of a mortal hand: So tell the pope; all reverence set apart, To him, and his usurp'd authority. King Philip. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. King John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Dreading the curse that money may buy out And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. Pandulph. Then, by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate:

KING JOHN.

107

And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt From his allegiance to an heretick ; And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, That takes away by any secret course Thy hateful life. Constance. O, lawful let it be, That I have room with Rome to curse a while! Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, To my keen curses; for, without my wrong, There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. Pandulph. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. Constance. And for mine too; when law can do no right, Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong: Law cannot give my child his kingdom here; For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law: Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? Pandulph. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Let go the hand of that arch-heretick; And raise the power of France upon his head, Unless he do submit himself to Rome. Elinor. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand. Constance. Look to that, devil! lest that France repent. Austria. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. Bastard. And hang a calf's skin on his recreant limbs. King John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal? Constance. What should he say, but as the cardinal? Lewis. Bethink you, father: for the difference Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, Or the light loss of England for a friend : Forego the easier. Blanch. That's the curse of Rome. Constance. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee here, In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.

108

KING JOHN.

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her faith, But from her need. Constance. O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principle, That faith would live again by death of need; O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts u p ; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. King John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Constance. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Austria. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt. Bastard. Hang nothing but a calf's skin, most sweet lout. King Philip. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pandulph. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more, If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? King Philip. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. This royal hand and mine are newly knit; And the conjunction of onr inward souls Married in league, coupled and link'd together With all religious strength of sacred vows; The latest breath that gave the sound of words, Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves; And even before this truce, but new before,— No longer than we well could wash our hands, To clap this royal bargain up of peace, Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint The fearful difference of incensed kings: And shall these hands so lately purg'd of blood, So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet? 4 Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 4

Exchange of salutation.

KING JOHN.

109

As now again to snatch our palm from palm; Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity? O holy sir, My reverend father, let it not be so: Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd To do your pleasure, and continue friends. Pandulph. All form is formless, order orderless, Save what is opposite to England's love. Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church! Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, A mother's curse, on her revolting son. France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, A cased lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. King Philip. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. Pandulph. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath, Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd; That is, to be the champion of our church! "What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself, And may not be perform'd by thyself: For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Is not amiss when it is truly done; And being not done, where doing tends to ill, The truth is then most done not doing it: The better act of purposes mistook Is, to mistake again; though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood, falsehood cures; as fire cools fire, Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. It is religion, that doth make vows kept; But thou hast sworn against religion; By what thou swear'st, against the thing thon swear'st; And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth

110

KING JOHN.

Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure To swear, swear only not to be forsworn : Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first, Is in thyself rebellion to thyself: And better conquest never canst thou make, Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against those giddy loose suggestions: Upon which better part our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them: but, if not, then know, The peril of our curses light on thee; So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, But, in despair, die under their black weight. Austria. Rebellion, flat rebellion! Bastard. Will't not be? "Will not a call's skin stop that mouth of thine ? Lewis. Father, to arms! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? Against the blood that thou hast married? "What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,— Clamours of hell,—be measures5 to our pomp ? O, husband, hear me! ah, alack, how new Is husband in my mouth!—even for that name, Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle. Constance. O, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom Fore-thought by heaven. Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Constance. That which upholdeth liim that thee tipholds, His honour; 0, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! 5

Musick for dancing.

KING JOHN.

HI

Lewis. I muse,6 your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. Pandulph. I will denounce a curse upon his head. King Philip. Thou shalt not need:—England, I'll fall from thee. Constance. O fair return of banish'd majesty! Elinor, O foul revolt of French inconstancy! King John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. Bastard. Old time, the clock-setter, that bald sexton time, Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood; Fair day, adieu! Which is the side that I must go withal? I am with both: each army hath a hand; And, in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl asunder, and dismember me. Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; Grandaru, I will not wish thy wishes thrive: Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; Assured loss, before the match be play'd. Lewis. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. King John. Cousin, go draw our puissance7 together.— [Exit BASTABD, France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. King Philip. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and then shalt turn To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire: Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. King John, No more than he that threats.—To arms let's hie! \Exewnt. 6

Wonder.

7

Force.

112

KING JOHN.

II.—Plains near ANGIERS. Alarums; Excursions. Enter the BASTARD, with AUSTRIA'S head. Bastard. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; Some airy devil hovers in the sky, And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, While Philip breathes. SCENE

Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT. King John. Hubert, keep this boy:—Philip, make up: ^ My mother is. assailed in our tent, And ta'en, I fear. Bastard. My lord. I rescu'd her; Her highness is in safety, fear you not: But on, my liege: for very little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. III.—The same. Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter SCENE

KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS.

King John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind, [To ELINOR. So strongly guarded.—Cousin, look not sad: [To ARTHUR.

Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. Arthur. O, this will make my mother die with grief. King John. Cousin, [To the BASTARD,] away for England ; haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots; angels8 imprisonVI Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon: Use our commission in its utmost force. 6

Gold coin.

11 9

KING JOHN.

Basto/rd. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness:—Grandam, I will pray (If ever I remember to be holy,) For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. Elinor. Farewell, my gentle cousin. King John. Coz, farewell. [Exit BASTARD. Elinor. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [She takes ARTHUR aside.

King John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,— But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty. King John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say,—But let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,9 To give me audience:—If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 9

YOL. in.

Showy ornaments.

I

114

KING JOHN.

Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes;) Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit1 alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts; But, ah, I will not:—Yet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct2 to my act, By heaven, I'd do't. King John. Do not I know thou would'st? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy: 111 tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way; And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: Dost thou understand me? Thou art his keeper. Hubert. And I will keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty. King John. Death. Hubert My lord ?

King John.

A grave.

Hubert. He shall not live. King John. Enough. I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee; Remember. Madam, fare you well: I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. Elinor. My blessing go with thee! King John. For England, cousin: Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.—On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt. 1

Conception.

2 joined.

KING JOHN.

SCENE

IV.—The same.

Enter

The FEENCH

115

KING'S

KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, ATTENDANTS.

Tent.

and

King Philip. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado3 of convicted4 sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pandulph. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. Kvng Philip. What can go well, when we have run so ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred action like to this? King Philip. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame. Enter CONSTANCE. Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul; Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, In the vile prison of afflicted breath:— I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Constance. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! King Philip. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance! Constance. No, I defy5 all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death:—O amiable lovely death! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy detestable bones; 3

Fleet of war.

4

Overcome.

5

Eefuse.

116

KING JOHN.

And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me. King Philip. O fair affliction, peace. Constance. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry :— O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, "Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern6 invocation. Pandulph. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow* Constance. Thou art not holy to belie me so; I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!— Preach some philosophy, to make me mad, And thou shalt be cauoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son; Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he i I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. King Philip. Bind up those tresses: 0, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 6

Common.

KING JOHN.

117

Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Constance. To England, if you will. Xing Philip. Bind up your hairs. Constance. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it ? I tore them from their bonds: and cried aloud, 0 that these hands could so redeem my son, As they have given these hairs their liberty ! But now I envy at their liberty, And will again commit them to their bonds, Because my poor child is a prisoner. And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven; If that be true, I shall see my boy again: For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire,7 There was not such a gracious8 creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 1 shall not know him: therefore never, never Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pandulph. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Constance. He talks to me that never had a son. King Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Constcmce. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.— I will not keep this form upon my head, [Tearing off her head-dress. 7

Breathe.

8

Graceful.

118

KING JOHN.

When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son i My life, my joy, my food, my all the world 1 My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure. [Eodt King Philip. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'cl the sweet world's taste, That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. Pandulph. Before the curing of a strong disease. Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, On their dej)arture most of all show evil: "What have you lost, by losing of this day ? Lewis. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pandulph. If you had won it, certainly you had. *No, no: when fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange to think, how much king John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won: Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? Lewis. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. Pandulph. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Now hear me speak with a prophetick spirit; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be, That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand, Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd: And he that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up;

KING JOHN.

119

That Join may stand, then Arthur needs must fall; So be it, for it cannot be but so. Lewis. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall ? Pomdulph You, in the right of lady Blanch, your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did. Lewis. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pandulph. How green are you, and fresh in this old world! John lays you plots; the times conspire with you: For he that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal; That none so small advantage shall step forth, To check his reign, but they will cherish it: No natural exhalation in the sky, No scape of nature, no distempered day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Lewis. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Pandulph. 0, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he dies: and then the heart Of all his people shall revolt from him, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot; And, O, what better matter breeds for you, Than I have nam'd !—The bastard Faulconbridge Is now in England, ransacking the church, Offending charity: If but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side;

120

KING JOHN.

Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, Go with me to the king: Tis wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent: Now that their souls are topful of offence, For England go; I will whet on the king. Lewis. Strong reasons make strong actions; Let us go; If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exewit.

ACT IV. A Boo?n in the Castle. Enter HUBERT and two ATTENDANTS. Hubert. Heat me these irons hot: and look thou stand Within the arras: 9 when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth: And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hubert. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to't.— [Exeunt ATTENDANTS. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. SCENE I.—NORTHAMPTON.

Enter ARTHUR. Arthwr. Good-morrow, Hubert. Hubert. Good-morrow, little prince. Arthur. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may be.—You are sad. Hubert. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arthur. Mercy on me! Methinks, no body should be sad but I ; Yet I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 9

Tapestry.

KING JOHN.

121

Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me, and I of him: Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? ]STo, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert, Hubert If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead: Therefore, I will be sudden and despatch. [Aside. Arthur. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant I love you more than you do me. Hubert. His words do take possession of my bosom. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper,,] How now, foolish rheum: [Aside. Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Arthur. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hubert Young boy, I must. Arthur. And will you ? Hubert. And I will. Arthur. Have you the heart? When your head did but ake, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Qr, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still,

122

KING JOHN.

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning; Do, an if you will: If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, Why, then you must.—Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hubert I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arthur. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. Hubert Come forth. [Stamps. Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with Cord, Irons,
KING JOHN.

123

1 Attendant. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt ATTENDANTS. Arthur. Alas! I then have chid away my friend • He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:— Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hubert. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arthur. Is there no remedy? Hubert. None, but to lose your eyes, Arthur. O heaven!—that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hubert. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue, Arthur. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; Though to no use, but still to look on you! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hubert. I can heat it, boy. Arthur. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief. Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd extremes:l See else, yourself, There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. Hubert But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arthur. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre 2 him onAll things, that you should use to do me wrong, 1

In cruelty I have not deserved.

2

Set him on-

124

KING JOHN.

Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hubert. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:3 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arthur. 0, now you look like Hubert! all this while You \^ere disguised. Hubert. Peace: no more. Adieu; Your uncle must not know but you are dead: I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Arthur. O heaven!—I thank you, Hubert. Hubert. Silence; no mjore: Go closely4 in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. II.—A Room of State in the Palace. Enter KING JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS. The KING takes his State. King John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pembroke. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, Was once superfluous: you were crownM before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt } Fresh expectation troubled not the land, With any long'd-for change, or better state. Salisbury. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard 5 a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light SCENE

3

Owns.

4

Secretly.

5

Lace.

KING JOHN.

125

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,6 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. Pembroke. But that your royal pleasure must be done, This act is as an ancient tale new told ; And, in the last repeating, troublesome, Being urged at a time unseasonable. Salisbury. In this the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured: And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, I t makes the course of thoughts to fetch about: Startles and frights consideration; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Pembroke. When workmen strive to do better than well, They do confound their skill in covetousness;7 And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Salisbury. To this effect before you were new crown'd, We breathYl our counsel: but it pleas'd your highness To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd; Since all and every part of what we would, Doth make a stand at what your highness wilL King John. Some reasons of this double coronation I have possess'd you with, and think them strong; And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) I shall indue you with: Mean time, but ask What you would have reform'd that is not well; And well shall you perceive, how willingly I will both hear and grant you your requests. Pembroke. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these To sound8 the purposes of all their hearts,) Both for myself and them, (but chief of all, Your safety, for the which myself and them Bend their best studies,) heartily request 6

Decorate.

7

Desire of excelling.

8

Publish.

] 26

KING JOHN.

The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent To break into this dangerous argument,— If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, "Why then your fears, (which as they say, attend The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich advantage of good exercise? That the time's enemies may not have this To grace occasions, let it be our suit, That you have bid us ask his liberty; Which for our goods we do no further ask, Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. King John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth Enter

HUBERT

To your direction.—Hubert, what news with you? Pembroke. This is the man should do the bloody deed; He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine: The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast; And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Salisbury. The colour of the king doth come and go. Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. Pembroke. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. King John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:— Good lords, although my will to give is living, The suit which you demand is gone and dead: He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. Salisbury. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure.

KING JOHN.

127

Pembroke. Indeed we heard how near his death he was, Before the child himself felt he was sick: This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. King John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? Think you, I bear the shears of destiny? Have I commandment on the pulse of life? Salisbury. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame, That greatness should so grossly offer it: So thrive it in your game! and so farewell. Pembroke. Stay yet; lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee, And find the inheritance of this poor child, This little kingdom of a forced grave. That blood, which ow'd9 the breadth of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold: Bad world the while! This must not be thus borne: this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. [Exeunt LORDS.

King John. They burn in indignation; I repent; There is no sure foundation set on blood; No certain life achiev'd by others' death. Enter a MESSENGER. A fearful eye thou hast: Where is that blood, That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? So foul a sky clears not without a storm: Pour down thy weather:—How goes all in France ? Messenger. From France to England.—Never such a power For any foreign preparation, Was levied in the body of a land! The copy of your speed is learn'd by them; For, when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. King John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk? Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care? 9

Owned.

128

KING JOHN.

That such an army could be drawn in France, And she not hear of it ? Messenger. My liege, her ear Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died Your noble mother: And, as I hear, my lord, The lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. King John. "Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion; O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd My discontented peers!—What! mother dead ? How wildly then walks my estate in France!— Under whose conduct came those powers of France, That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ? Messenger. Under the Dauphin. Enter the BASTARD and PETER O/POMFRET. King John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings.—Now, what says the world To your proceedings'? do not seek to stuff My head with more ill news, for it is full. Bastard. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst, Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. King John. Bear with me, cousin; for I was amaz'd Under the tide; but now I breathe again Aloft the flood; and can give audience To any tongue, speak it of what it will. Bastard. How I have sped among the clergymen, The sums I have collected shall express. But, as I travelled hither through the land, I find the people strangely fantasied; Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams; Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear: And here's a prophet, that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found With many hundreds treading on his heels; To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, Your highness should deliver up your crown.

G JOHN.

129

King John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. King John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd : Deliver him to safety,1 and return, For I must use thee.—O my gentle cousin, [Exit HUBERT, with PETER. Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? Bastard. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it: Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) And others more, going to seek the grave Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night On your suggestion. King John. Gentle kinsman, go, And thrust thyself into their companies: I have a way to win their loves again; Bring them before me. Bastard. I will seek them out. King John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before. O, let me have no subject enemies, When adverse foreigners affright my towns With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!— Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels; And fly, like thought, from them to me again. Bastard. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. [Exit. King John. Spoke like a spiteful noble gentleman.— Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; And be thou he. Messenger. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. King John. My mother dead! 1

VOL. III.

Safe custody, K

130

KING JOHN,

Re-enter HUBERT.

Hubert My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night: Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wond'rous motion. King John. Five moons? Hubert Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophecy upon it dangerously: Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear; And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist; "Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action, "With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, "With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embattled and rank'd in .Kent: Another lean unwash'd artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. King John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears? Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hubert Had none, my lord! why, did you not provoke me? King John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humonrs for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life; And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning

KING JOHN.

131

Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect.2 Hubert Here is your hand and seal for what I did. King John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted,3 and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind: But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hubert. My lord, King John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, As bid me tell my tale in express words; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin: Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name,—• Out of my sight, and never see me more! My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: Nay in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 2

Deliberate consideration.

3

Noted, observed.

132

KING JOHN.

Hubert Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood, "Within this bosom never enter'd yet The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, And you have slander'd nature in my form; Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind Than to be butcher of an innocent child. King John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste: I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt III,—Before the Castle. Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls. Arthur. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down: Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!— There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away: As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps down. O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:— Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies. SCENE

KING JOHN".

133

Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. Salisbury. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund s Bury; I t is our safety, and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time. Pembroke. Who brought that letter from the cardinal % Salisbury. The count Melun, a noble lord of France; Whose private with me/ of the Dauphin's love, Is much more general than these lines import. Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Salisbury. Or, rather then set forward: for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. Enter the

BASTARD.

Bastard. Once more to-day well met, distemperM5 lords! The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Salisbury. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honours, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks: Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. Bastard. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Salisbury. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bastard. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners now. Pembroke. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bastard. ?Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. Salisbwry. This is the prison: What is he lies here? [Seeing ARTHUR. Pembroke. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Salisbwry. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 4

Private account.

5

Out of humour.

134

KING JOHX.

Bigot. Or when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Salisbury. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, Or have you read, or heard? or could you think? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see? could thought, without this object, Form such another? This is the very top, The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke, That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the tears of soft remorse.6 Pembroke. All murders past do stand excus'd in this: And this, so sole, and so immatchable, Shall give a holiness, a purity, To the yet-unbegotten sin of time; And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Bastard. It is a damned and a bloody work; The graceless action of a heavy hand, If that it be the work of any hand. Salisbury. If that it be the work of any hand?— We had a kind of light, what would ensue: It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; The practice, and the purpose, of the king:— From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vow, a holy vow; Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight, Nor conversant with ease and idleness, Till I have set a glory to this hand, By giving it the worship of revenge. Pembroke. Bigot. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 6

Pity.

KING JOHN.

135

Enter HUBERT. Hubert. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. Salisbury. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death:— Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! Hubert. I am no villain. Salisbury. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword. Bastard. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. Salisbury. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Hubert. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours: I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, Nor tempt the danger of my true 7 defence; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. Bigot. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman? Hubert. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend My innocent life against an emperor. Salisbury. Thou art a murderer. Hubert. Do not prove me so;8 Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. Pembroke. Cut him to pieces. Bastard. Keep the peace, I say. Salisbury. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Bastard. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime. Bigot. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Second a villain, and a murderer? Hubert. Lord Bigot, I am none. Bigot. Who kill'd this prince? Hubert 'Tis not an hour since I left him well: I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 7

Honest.

8

By compelling me to kill you.

136

KING JOHN.

Salisbury. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villainy is not without such rheum;9 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse1 and innocency. Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house, For I am stifled with this smell of sin. Bigot. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there* Pembroke. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. [Exeunt LORDS. Bastard. Here's a good world!—Knew you of this fair work? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Art thou damn'd, Hubert. Hubert Do but hear me, sir. Bastard. Ha! I'll tell thee what; There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. Hubert. Upon my soul, Bastard. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou wantest a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee: a rush will be A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up. I do suspect thee very grievously. Hubert. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay Let hell want pains enough to torture me! I left him well. Bastard. Go bear him in thine arms. I am amaz'd, methinks; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world. 9

Moisture.

1 Pity.

KING JOHN.

137

How easy dost thou take all England up! From forth this morsel of dead royalty, The life, the right, and truth of all this realm Is fled to heaven; and England now is left To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth The unowed2 interest of proud swelling state. Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty, Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: Now powers from home, and discontents at home, Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture 3 can Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,. And follow me with speed; I'll to the king: A thousand businesses are brief in hand, And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE

Enter

I.—A Room in the Palace.

KING JOHN, PANDULPH with ATTENDANTS.

the Crown, and

King John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Pamdulph. Take again [Giving JOHN the Crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority. King John. Now keep your holy word: go meet the French; And from his holiness use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt; Our people quarrel with obedience; 2

Unowned.

3

Girdle.

138

KIFG JOHH.

Swearing allegiance, and tlie love of soul, To stranger Mood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of distemper'd humour Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not; for the present time's so sick, That present medicine must be minister'd, Or overthrow incurable ensues. Pandulph It was my breath that blew this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope: But, since you are a gentle convertite,4 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blustering land, On this Ascension-day, remember well, Upon your oath of service to the pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [ExiL King John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, My crown I should give off? Even so I have: I did suppose, it should be on constraint; But heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. Enter the BASTARD. Bastard. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out, But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd, Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers: Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends. King John. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive? Bastard. They found him dead, and cast into the streets; An empty casket, where the jewel of life By some curst hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 4

Convert.

KING JOHN.

]39

King John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Bastard. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? Be great in act, as you have been in thought; Let not the world sec fear, and sad distrust, Govern the motion of a kingly eye: Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviours from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away; and glister like the god of war, When he intendeth to become the field: Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there? and make him tremble there? O, let it not be said!—Forage, and run To meet displeasure further from the doors; And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh. King John, The legate of the pope hath been with me, And I have made a happy peace with him; And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers Led by the Dauphin. Bastard, O inglorious league! Shall we, upon the footing of our land, Send fair-play orders, and make compromise., Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy, A cocker'd5 silken wanton brave our fields, And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, Mocking the air with colours idly spread, And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms: Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; Or if he do, let it at least be said, They saw we had a purpose of defence. King John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. 5

Fondled.

140

KING JOHN.

Bastard. Away then, with good courage; yet, I know, Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. SCENE

II.—A Plain near

ST. EDMUND'S BURY.

Enter, in arms, LEWIS,

SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and SOLDIERS.

Lewis. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, And keep it safe for our remembrance; Return the precedent to these lords again; That, having our fair order written down, Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, May know wherefore we took the sacrament. And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. Salisbury. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith, To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince, I am not glad that such a sore of time Should seek a plaster by contemned revolt, And heal the inveterate canker of one wound, By making many; O, it grieves my soul, That I must draw this metal from my side To be a widow-maker; O, and there, "Where honourable rescue, and defence, Cries out upon the name of Salisbury : But such is the infection of the time, That, for the health and physick of our right, We cannot deal but with the very hand Of stern injustice and confused wrong.— And is't not pity, O my grieved friends! That we, the sons and children of this isle, Were born to see so sad an hour as this \ Wherein we step after a stranger march Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) To grace the gentry of a land remote, And follow unacquainted colours here?

KING JOHN.

141

What here?—O nation, that thou couldst remove! That Neptune's arms, who clippeth6 thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; Where these two Christian armies might combine The blood of malice in a vein of league, And not to spend it so unneighbourly! Lewis. A noble temper dost thou show in this; And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility. 0, what a noble combat hast thou fought, Between compulsion and a brave respect!7 Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks: My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation; But this effusion of such manly drops, This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, And with a great heart heave away this storm: Commend these waters to those baby eyes, That never saw the giant world enrag'd; Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep Into the purse of rich prosperity, As Lewis himself:—so, nobles, shall you all, That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. Enter PANDULPH, attended. And even there, methinks an angel spake: Look, where the holy legate comes apace, To give us warrant from the hand of heaven; And on our actions set the name of right, With holy breath. 6

Embraceth*

7

Love of country.

142

KING JOHtf.

Pandulph. Hail, noble prince of France! The next is this,—king John hath reconcil'd Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy church, The great metropolis and see of Rome: Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war;. That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace, And be no further harmful than in show. Lewis. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back j I am too high-born to be propertied,8 To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man, and instrument, To any sovereign state throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars, Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself, And brought in matter that should feed this fire; And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it. You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart; And come you now to tell me, John hath made His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ? I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; And, now it is half-conquer'd must I back, Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, "What men provided, what munition sent, To underprop this action? is't not I, That undergo this charge? who else but I, And such as to my claim are liable, Sweat iu this business, and maintain this war? Have 1 not heard these islanders shout out, Vive le roy ! as I have bank'd their towns? Have I not here the best cards for the game, 8

Appropriated.

KING JOIIN.

143

To win this easy match play'd for a crown? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? No, on my soul, it never shall be said. Pa/ndulph. You look but on the outside of this work. Lewis. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook9 conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death.— \Trvmpeb sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Enter the BASTARD, attended. Basto/rd. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:— My holy lord of Milan, from the king I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And, as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue. Pandulph. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. Bastard. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well:—Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories. That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; 1 To dive like buckets, in concealed wells; To crouch in litter of your stable planks; 9

Face down.

l

Leap over the hatch.

144

KING JOHN.

To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks; To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake, Even at the crying of your nation's crow,2 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No: Know the gallant monarch is in arms; And like an eagle o'er his aiery3 towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame: For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their neelds4 to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. Lewis. There end thy brave,5 and turn thy face in peace; We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; "We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler. Pcmdulph. Give me leave to speak. Bastard. No, I will speak. Lewis. We will attend to neither:— Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest, and our being here. Bastard. Indeed, your drums being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's6 ear, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand 2 5

The crowing of a cock. Boast.

3 6

Nest. Sky.

4

Needles.

KING JOHN.

145

(Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Lewis. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. Bastard. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt. SCENE

III.—A Field of Battle.

Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT. King John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. Hubert Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? King John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick! Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field; And send him word by me, which way you go. King John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. Messenger. Be of good comfort; for the great supply That was expected by the Dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now: The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. King John, Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And Will not let me welcome this good news, — Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight: Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Eoceunt. SCENE

TV.—Another part of the same.

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others. Salisbury. I did not think the king so stord with friends VOL. III.

L

146

KING JOHN.

Pembroke. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too. Salisbury. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pembroke. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field. Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers. Melun. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Salisbury. When we were happy, we had other names. Pembroke. It is the count Melun. Salisbury. Wounded to death. Melun. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;7 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, He 8 means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at St. Edmund's Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love. Salisbury. May this be possible? may this be true? Melun. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life; Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ?9 What in the world should make me now deceive, Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? Why should I then be false; since it is true That I must die here, and live hence by truth? I say again, if Lewis do win the day, He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the east: But even this night,—whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest 7 9

8 A proverb intimating treachery. Lewis. In allusion to the images made by witches.

KING JOHN.

] 47

Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,— Even this ill night your breathing shall expire; Paying the fine of rated treachery, Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. If Lewis by your assistance win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; The love of him,—and this respect besides, For that my grandsire was an Englishman,— Awakes my conscience to confess all this. In lieu whereof I pray you bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field; "Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my soul With contemplation and devout desires. Salisbury. We do believe thee.—And beshrew my soul But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will unthread the steps of this our flight; And, like a bated and retired flood, Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, And calmly run on in obedience, Even to our ocean, to our great king John. My aim shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see the cruel pangs of death Eight in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight: And happy newness,1 that intends old right. [Eooeunty leading O SCENE

V.—The French Camp.

Enter LEWIS and his Train. Lewis. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set; But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur d backward their own ground, In faint retire : O, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil we bid good night; 1

Innovation.

148

KING JOHN.

And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Lewis. Here:—What news ? Messenger. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lewis. Ah, foul shrewd news 1—Beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me.—Who was he, that said, King John did fly, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers ? Messenger. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lewis. Well; keep good quarter, and good careionight; The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt SCENE

VI.—An open Place in the Neighborhood of SWINSTEAD ABBEY.

Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT meeting. Hubert. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. Bastard. A friend;—What art thou? Hubert. Of the part of England. Bastard. Whither dost thou go? Hubert. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? Bastard. Hubert, I think. Hubert. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards, well believe

KING JOHN.

149

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : Who art thou? Bastard. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hubert. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, Have done me shame:—Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bastard. Come, come; sans2 compliment, what news abroad? Hubert. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out. Bastard. Brief, then; and what's the news? Hubert O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bastard. Show me the very wound of this ill news; I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. Hubert. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might The better arm you to the sudden time, Than if you had at leisure known of this. Bastard. How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hubert. A monk, I tell you: a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bastard. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hubert. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back, And brought prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty. Bastard. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven! And tempt us not to bear above our power! I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, 2

Without.

150

KING JOHN.

These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. Away, before! conduct me to the king; I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

SCENE

VII.— The Orchard of

\Exewit.

SWINSTEAD ABBEY.

Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. Prince Henry. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) Doth by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality. Enter PEMBROKE. Pembroke. His highness yet doth speak; and holdbelief, That, being brought into the open air, I t would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. Prince Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here.— Doth he still rage? [Exit BIGOT. Pembroke. He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. Prince Henry. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.

KING JOHN.

151

Salisbwry. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. Re-enter

and Attendants, who bring in KING JOHN in a Chair. King John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbowroom.; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I shrink up. Prince Henry. How fares your majesty? King John. Poison'd,—ill fare;—dead, forsook, cast off; And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold:—I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait 3 And so ingrateful, you deny me that. Prince Henry. OP that there were some virtue in my tears> That might relieve you! King John. The salt in them is hot.— Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood. BIGOT

Enter the BASTARD. Bastard. 0, I atn scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. King John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: 3

Narrow, avaricious.

152

KING JOHN.

The tackle of niy heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, "Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And module4 of confounded royalty. Bastard. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him : For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove. Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies. Salisbury. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.— My liege! my lord!—But now a king,—now thus. Prince Henry. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay! Bastard. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still. Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths; And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak door of our fainting land: Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; The Dauphin rages at our very heels. Salisbury. It seems, you know not then so much as we: The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin; And brings from him such offers of our peace As we with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war. Bastard. He will the rather do it, when he sees Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 4

Model.

KING JOHN.

153

Salisbury. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'd To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal: "With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily. Bastard. Let it be so:—and you, my noble prince, With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral. Prince Henry. At Worcester must his body be interred; For so he will'd it. Bastard. Thither shall it then. And happily may your sweet self put on The lineal state and glory of the land! To whom, with all submission, on my knee, I do bequeath my faithful services And true subjection everlastingly. Salisbury. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore. Prince Henry. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Bastard. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.— This England never did (nor never shall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. [Exewit,

THE LITE AND DEATH OF

RICHARD II.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING RICHARD THE SECOND.

EDMUND OF LANGLEY, Duke of York, ) TTv%/tl/io *„ ^ jr-^ JOHN OF GAUNT, Did* of Lancaster, \ Uncles to the King. HENRY, SURNAMED BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, Son to John

of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. DUKE OF AUMERLE, Son to the Duke of York.

MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk. DUKE OF SURREY. EARL OF SALISBURY. BUSHY, "\

BAGOT,

E A R L BERKELEY.

> Creatures to King Richard.

GREEN, J EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. HENRY PERCY, his Son. LORD Ross. LORD WILLOUGHBY. LORD FITZWATER. BISHOP OF CARLISLE. ABBOT OF "WESTMINSTER. LORD MARSHAL ; AND ANOTHER LORD. SIR PIERCE OF EXTON. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP.

CAPTAIN of a Band of Welshmen. QUEEN TO KING RICHARD. DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. DUCHESS OF YORK.

LADY attending on the Queen. Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. SCENE—Dispersedly in England and Wales.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

KING RICHARD II

ACT I. SCENE I.—LONDON. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING RICHARD, attended: JOHN OF GAUNT, and other NOBLES, with him. King Richard. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,1 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold SOD ; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Gaunt I have, my liege. King Richard. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him ? Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument,— On some apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. King Richcvrd. Then call them to our presence; face to face, 1

Bond.

158

KING RICHARD II.

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak: [Exeunt some ATTENDANTS. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with BOLINGBROKE and NORFOLK. Bolingbroke. May many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Norfolk. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! King Ricloard. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Bolingbroke. First,(heaven be the record to my speech!) In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence.— Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live:— Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Norfolk. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

KING KICHARD II.

159

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech: Which else would post, until it had returned These terms of treason doubled down his throat, Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him—a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable,2 Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,— By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Bolingbroke. Pale trembling coward, there I throw Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; By that, and all the rights of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Norfolk. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear, Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, m answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! King Richard. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbra/s charge? 2

Unhabitable.

160

KING KICHAED II.

It must be great, that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. Bolingbroke. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true;— That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers; The which he hath detained for vile employments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove,— Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye,— That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land, Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say,—and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good,— That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death; Suggest his soon-believing adversaries; And, consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me, for justice, and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. King Richard. How high a pitch his resolution soars!— Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Norfolk. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. | King Richard. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's brother's son,) Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;

KING RICHARD IL

161

He is our subject, Mowbray> so art thou; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. Norfolk. Then, Bolingbroke. as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers: The other part reserv'd I by consent; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's death,— I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, Neglected my sworn duty in that case.— For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay in ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul, But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor: Which in myself T boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foo^ To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom: In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. King Richwd, Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this cooler without letting blood; This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision: Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed; Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.— Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. VOL. III.

M

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Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. King Richard. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Gaunt. When, Harry? when? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. King Ricliard. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boot.3 Norfolk Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood "Which breath'd this poison. Rage must be withstood; King Richard. Give me his gage:—Lions make leopards tame. Norfolk. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is—spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is—a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die. King Richard. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin. Bolingbroke. O, God defend my soul from such foul sinf Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 3

No advantage in delay.

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The slavish motive of recanting fear; And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit GAUNT. King Richard. We were not born to sue, but to command: Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate; Since we cannot atone4 you, we shall see Justice design5 the victor's chivalry.— Marshal command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home akrins. [Exeunt. II.—The same. A Boom in the DUKE OF LANCASTER'S Palace. Enter GAUNT and DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. Gaunt Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life. But si] ice correction lieth in those hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Duchess. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root : Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut: But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,— One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root,— SCENE

4

Reconcile.

5

Show.

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Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; and though thou liVst, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair : In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we entitle—patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is—to Venge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister. Duchess. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence. Duchess. Why then, I will Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, That they may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife, With her companion grief must end her life, Gaunt. Sister; farewell: I must to Coventry! As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Duchess. Yet one word more;—Grief boundeth where it falls,

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Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : I take my leave before I have begun; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:—Nay, yet depart not so: Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him—0, what 2— With all good speed at Plashy 6 visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where: Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. \Eoceunt. SCENE III.—GOSFORD GREEN,

near

COVENTRY.

Lists set out, and a Throne. HERALDS, &C, attending. Enter the LORD MARSHAL, and AUMERLE. Marshal. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ? Aumerle. Yea, at all points: and longs to enter in. Marshal. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aumerle. Why, then the champions are prepared and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of Trumpets. Enter K I N G EICHARD, who takes his seat on his throne; GAUNT, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by a/nother trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK, in armour, preceded by a HERALD. King Richewd. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name; and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. 6

Her house in Essex.

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Marshal In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art, And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! Norfolk. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath, (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me: And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBBOKE, in armov/r ; preceded by a HERALD.

King Richard. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally according to our law Depose him in the justice of his cause. Marshal. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither, Before king Richard, in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! Bolinghroke. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me: And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Marshal. On pain of death, no person be so bold,

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Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists; Except the marshal, and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. Bolingbroke. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave, And loving farewell, of our several friends. Marshal. The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. King Richard. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. Bolingbroke. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear; As confident, as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, [{To LORD MARSHAL,] I take my leave of you;— Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle;— Not sick, although I have to do with death; But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood,— [To GAUNT. Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head,— Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

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GaunL Heaven in tliy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution: And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. Bolingbrohe. Mine innocency, and saint George to thrive! [He takes his seat Norfolk. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heartCast off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary.— Most mighty liege,—and my companion peers,— Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund, as to jest, Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast. King Richard. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Yirtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin, [The KING and the LORDS return to their seats.

Marshal. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lanoe; and God defend the right! Bolingbroke. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry—amen. Marshal. Go bear this lance [To an OFFICER] to Thomas duke of Norfolk. 1 Herald. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight. 2 Herald. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,

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On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal; Courageously, and with a free desire, Attending but the signal to begin. Marshal. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants. [A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder7 down. King Richard. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again:— Withdraw with us:—and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree.— \A long flourish. Draw near, [To the COMBATANTS. And list, what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath foster'd; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; [And for we think the eagle-wing'd pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set you on To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;} Which so rous'd up, with boisterous untun'd drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;— Therefore we banish you our territories:— You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Bolingbroke. Your will be done: This must my comfort be, 7

Truncheon.

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That sun that warms you here, shall shine on me; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. King Richard. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: Thefly-slowhours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile;— The hopeless word of—never to return Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. Norfolk. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And alLunlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hand. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego, And now my tongue's use is to me no more, Than an unstringed viol or a harp; Or, like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips; And dull, unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now; What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? King Richard. It boots thee not to be compassionate; After our sentence; plaining comes too late. Norfolk. Then thus, I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. King Richard. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)

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To keep the oath that we administer:— You never shall, (so help you truth and heaven!) Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet, To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Bolingbroke. I swear. Norfolk. And I, to keep all this. Bolinghroke. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy;— By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul. Norfolk. No, Bolingbroke; If ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.— Farewell, my liege:—Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Exit. King Richard. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart, thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away;—Six frozen winters spent, Return [To BOLINGBROKE,] with welcome home from banishment. Bolingbroke. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word; such is the breath of kings. Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me, He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend,

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Can change their moons, and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp, and time bewasted light, Shall be extinct with age, and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. King Richard. "Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. Gaunt But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word, is current with him for my death; But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. King Richard. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice; Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave;8 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour. You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, You would have bid me argue like a father:— O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault, I should have been more mild: A partial slander9 sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, I was too strict, to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, Against my will to do myself this wrong. King Richard. Cousin, farewell:—and, uncle, bid Inrp so, Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flowrish. Exeunt KING RICHARD and Train. Aumerle. Cousin, farewell:—what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Marshal. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Bolingbroke. I have too few to take my leave of you, 8

Had a part or share.

9

Reproach of partiality.

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When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. Gaunt Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Bolingbroke. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. Gcwnt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. Bolingbroke. To men in joy: but grief makes one hour ten. Gaunt Gall it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. Bolingbroke. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. Gaunt The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Bolingbroke. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, But that I was a journeyman to grief? Gaunt All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say—I sent thee forth to purchase honour, And not—the king exil'd thee : or suppose, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime. Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: Suppose the singing birds, musicians; The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence1 strew'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance: 1

Presence chamber at court.

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For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. Bolingbroke. 0, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast ? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantastick summer's heat? O, no, the apprehension of the good, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Tell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. Gaunt. Come, come, my son. I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Bolingbroke. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt IY.—The same. A Room in the KING'S Castle. Enter KING .RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN; AUMERLE following. King Richard. We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aumerle. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next high way, and there I left him. King Richard. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed ? Aumerle. 'Faith, none by me: except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our facefc, Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. Kwig Richard. What said our cousin, when you parted with him? Aumerle. Farewell: SCENE

2

Growling.

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And, for my heart disdain'd that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But, since it would not, he had none of me. King Richard. He is our cousin, cousin; but'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people:— How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy; What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid—God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee, With—Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ; As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland;— Expedient manage must be made, my liege; Ere further leisure yield them further means, For their advantage, and your highness' loss. King Richard. We will ourself in person to this war: And, for3 our coffers—with too great a courts And liberal largess—are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; 2

Because.

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Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter

BUSHY.

Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, To entreat your majesty to visit him. King Richard. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely-house. King Richa/rd. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.— Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray heaven,,we may make haste, and come too late! [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.—LONDON. A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT on a Couch; the DUKE OF YORK, and OTHERS standing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth. York. Yex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. 0, but they say, the tongues of djdng men Enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listen'd more Than they4 whom youth and ease have taught to glose; 4

Flatter.

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More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before: The setting sun, and musick at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As, praises of his state: then, there are found Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen: Report of fashions in proud Italy ; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after, in base imitation, Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; 9 Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspired; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last: For violent fires soon burn out themselves: Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding, food doth clioke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands;

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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, .Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) Like to a tenement or pelting5 farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: O, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING .RICHARD, and QUEEN; AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, ROSS, and WILLOUGHBY.

York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ? King Richard. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gaunt. 0, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt6 in being old; Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast y And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaAint: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast, I mean—my children's looks; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones, 5

Paltry.

6L e a n >

thiu>

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King Richard. Can sick men play so nicely with their names ? Gaunt No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. King Richard. Should dying men flatter with those that live? Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. King Richard. Thou, now a dying say'st—thou flatter'st me. Gaunt Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. King Richard. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Gaunt Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; 111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill, Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, Wherein thou liest in reputation sick: And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee : A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, Erom forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease: But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou King Richard a lunatick lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege,

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Dax'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, With fury, from his native residence. Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. Gaunt O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son ; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) May be a precedent and witness good, That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!— These words hereafter thy tormentors be,— Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : Love they to live, that love and honour have. [Eocit, borne out by his ATTENDANTS.

King Richard. A i d let them die, that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. King Richard. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, so his: As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Northumberland. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. King Richard. What says he now?

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181

Northumberland. Nay, nothing; all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. York Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. King Richard. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns;7 Which live like venom, where no venom else, But only they, hath privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance, we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how longShall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.— I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman: His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 7

Irish soldiers.

182

KING RICHARD II.

O, Kichard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. King Richard. Why, uncle, what's the matter? York. O, my liege. Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time His charters, and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, But by fair sequence and succession? If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attornies-general to sue His livery,8 and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. King Richard. Think what you will; we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York I'll not be by, the while: My liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood, That their events can never fall out good. \Exit. King Richard. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight; Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, To see this business: To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow; Arid we create, in absence of cmrself, 8

Claim possession; a law term.

KING RICHARD II.

183

Our uncle York lord governor of England, For lie is just and always lov'd us well.— Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Ee merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish, [Eoceunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLF, GREEN, and

BAGOT.

Northumberland. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. Boss. And living too; for now his son is duke. Willoughby. Barely in title, not in revenue. Northumberland. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross, My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. Northumberland. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more, That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willoughby. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. Boss. No good at all, that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Stript and bereft of all his patrimony, Northumberland. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne, In him a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Boss. The commons hath he pilTd9 with grievous taxes, And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fin'd For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 9

Pillaged.

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KING KICHAKD II.

Willoughby. And daily new exactions are devis'd; As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, in heaven's name, doth become of this? Northumberland. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willoughby\ The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. Northumberland. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. Northumberland. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish.1 Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. Northumberland. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort i& Willoughby. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. Northumberland. Then thus:—I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence. That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 1

Perish by confidence in our security.

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185

[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] That late broke from the duke of Exeter, His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint, All these well furnisli'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall2 ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience,3 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp 4 out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,5 And make high majesty look like itself, Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg: But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. Willoughby. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt. II.—The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, SCENE

2 stout. 4 Supply with new feathers.

3 5

Expedition. Gilding.

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KING RXCKAED IT.

Is coming towards me; and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at som'ething it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which show like grief itself, but are not so: For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives,6 which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry, Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not; more's not seen: Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad, As,—though, in thinking on no thought I think,— Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit,7 my gracious lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; For nothing hath begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.8 Enter

GREEN.

Green. Heaven save your majesty!—and well met, gentlemen:— I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is, 6

Pictures.

7

Fanciful conception.

8

Know.

KING RICHAED II*

IS7

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? Green That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land : The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd At Ravenspurg. Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,— The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy, The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And all the rest of the revolting faction Traitors? Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him, To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. Bushy. Despair not, madam. Queen. Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter

YORK,

Green. Here comes the duke of York. Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;

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KING RICHARD II.

O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself; Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a SERVANT. Servant. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?—Why, so!—go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:— Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. York. What is it, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do:—I would to heaven, (So my untruth9 had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my brother's.— What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?— How shall we do for money for these wars ? Come, sister,—cousin, I would say, pray, pardon me.— Go, fellow, [To the SERVANT,] get thee home, provide some carts, 9

Disloyalty.

KING RICHARD II.

189

And bring away the armour that is there— [Exit SERVANT. Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Xever believe me. Both are my kinsmen; The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do.—Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you;—Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too,— But time will not permit:—All is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to the enemy, Is all impossible. Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd, Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.

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Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is—numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. SCENE

III.—The Wilds in GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND with Forces. Bolingbrohe. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? Northumberland. Believe me; noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles and make them wearisome : And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ; Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess: And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. Bolingbroke. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here? Enter HARRY PERCY. Northumberland. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.— Harry, how fares your uncle?

KING KICHARD II.

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. Northumberland. Why, is he not with the queen? Percy. JSTO, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the king. Northumberland. What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed trait* a*. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied therj; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. Northumberland. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Percy. ISTo, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. Northumberland. Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen and confirm To more approved service and desert. Bolingbrohe. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sin e, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. Northumberland,. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war ? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as T have heard : And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; None else of name, and noble estimate.

192

KING RICHARD II.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY. Northumberland. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. BolingbroJce. Welcome, my lords: I wot,1 your love pursues A banish'd traitor; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. Willoughby. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Bolingbroke. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? Enter BERKLEY. Northumberland. I t is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berkley. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. Bolingbroke. My lord, my answer is—to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England : And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. Berkley. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning, To raze one title of your honour out:— To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) From the most glorious regent of this land, The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time,2 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter YORK, attended. Bolingbroke. I shall not needs transport my words by you. Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle! [Kneels. 1

Know.

2

Time of the king's absence.

KING RICHARD II.

193

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false. Bolingbroke. My gracious uncle! York. Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : I am no traitor's uncle; and that word—grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground ? But then more why;—Why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, And ostentation of despised arms ? Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French; O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy fault! JBolingbroJce. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein? York. Even in condition of the worst degree,— In gross rebellion, and detested treason: Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. Bolingbroke. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent3 eye; You are my father, for, methinks, in you I see old Gauiq.t alive; 0, then, my father! 3

VOL. IIL

Impartial. °

194

KING RICHARD II.

"Will you permit that I shall stand condemned A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthriffcs? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin ting be king of England, It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; Had you first died, and he had been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs,4 and chase them to the bay, I am denied to sue my livery5 here, And yet my letters-patent give me leave: My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And challenge law: Attornies are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. Northumberland. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. Boss. It stands your grace upon,€ to do him right. Willoughby. Base men by his endowments are made great. York My lords of England, let me tell you this,— I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right: But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong,—it may not be; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. Northumberland. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is But for his own: and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms; 4 6

The persons who wrong him. I t is your interest.

6

Possession of my land, &c.

KING RICHAKD II.

195

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak, and all ill left: But, if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But, since I cannot, be it known to you, I do remain as neuter. So fare you well;— Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night. Bolingbroke. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But we must win your grace, to go with us To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. York. It may be, I will go with you:—but yet I'll pause; For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress, are now with me past care. \ExeiutL SCENE

IV.—A Gamp in

WALES.

Enter SALISBUKY, and a CAPTAIN. Captain, My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king: Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. Salisbury. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; The king reposeth all his confidence In thee. Captain. 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;

196

KING RICHARD II.

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,^— The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other, to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.— Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Eodt. Salisbury. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind^ I see thy glory, like a shooting stara Fall to the base earth from the firmament! Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit.

ACT I I I SCENE I.—BOUNGKROKE'S

Ccvmp at BRISTOL.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers behind with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners. Bolingbroke. Bring forth these men.— Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity: yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigured clean.7 You have, in manner, with your sinfiil hours, Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself—a prince, by fortune of my birth; 7

Completely.

KING RICHARD II.

197

Near to the king in blood; and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me,— Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment: "Whilst you have fed upon my seignories, Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods; From my own windows torn my household coat, Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,— Save men's opinions, and my living blood,— To show the world I am a gentleman. This, and much moi*e, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death:—See them deliver'd over To execution and the hand of death. Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England. Green. My comfort is,—that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice. Bolingbroke. My lord Northumberland, see them despatched. \Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with Prisoners. Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Bolingbroke. Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords away; To fight with Glendower and his complices; Awhile to work, and, after, holiday, [EoceunL SCENE

II.—The Coast of WALES.

A Castle in view.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, a/nd Soldiers. King Richard. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?

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Awnerle. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace the air, After late tossing on the breaking seas? King Richard. Needs must I like it well; I weep, for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense, But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not, my senseless conjuration, lords; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. Carlisle. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made you king, Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd, And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; The proffer'd means of succour and redress. Aumerle. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. King Richard. Discomfort-able cousin! know'st thou not,

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That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, bloody here; But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,— Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, "Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,— Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king: The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord: For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. Enter

SALISBURY.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power? Salisbury. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than, this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, T fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day; unhappy day too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;

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For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. Aumerle. Comfort^ my liege: why looks your grace so pale? King Ricliard. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. Aumerle. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. King Richard. I had forgot myself: am I not king? Awake thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names ? Arm, arm, my name, a puny subject strikes At thy great glory.—Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high ? High be our thoughts; I know my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But "who Comes here? Enter

SCROOP.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. King Richard. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd; The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care; And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so: He volt our subjects? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us: Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; The worst is—death, and death will have his day* Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so armM To bear the tidings of calamity.

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Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. King Hichard. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord. King Richard. O villains, vipers, lost without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Scroop. Sweet love, I see changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:— Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you curse Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Aumerle. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. Aumerle. Where is the duke my father with his power ?

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King Richard. No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : And yet not so,—for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death; And that small model of the barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings:— How some have been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd :—For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court; and there the antick sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit,— As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and—farewell king! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, Need friends:—Subjected thus, How can you say to me—I am a king? Carlisle. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,

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Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight : And fight and die, is death destroying death ; Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. Aumerle. My father hath a power, enquire of him; And learn to make a body of a limb. King Richard. Thou chid'st me well:—Proud Bolingbroke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague-fit of fear is overblown; An easy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day : So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say, I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:— Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke; And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. King Richard. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which did lead me forth. [To AUMERLE.

Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? what comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, That bids me be of comfort any more. Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away; A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge; and let them go To ear8 the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none:—Let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. Aumerle. My liege, one word. 8

riough.

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King Richard. He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers, let them hence;—Away, From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Eoceimt. SCENE III.—WALES.

Before

FLINT

Castle.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, BOLINGBROKE and Forces; YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and others. Bolingbroke. So that by this intelligence we learn, The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, With some few private friends upon this coast. Northumberland. The news is very fair and good, my lord: Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, To say—king Richard:—Alack the heavy day, When such a sacred king should hide his head J Northumberland. Your grace mistakes mej only to be brief, Left I his title out. York. The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, Eor taking so the head, your whole head's length. Bolingbroke. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you should. York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mistake: The heavens are o'er your head. Bolingbroke. I know it, uncle; and oppose not Myself against their will.—But who comes here? Enter

PERCY.

Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance.

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Bolingbroke. Royally! Why, it contains no king? Percy. Yes, my good lord, I t doth contain a king: king Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone; And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. Northumberland. Belike it is the bishop of Carlisle. Bolingbroke. Noble lord, [To NORTHUMBERLAND. Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. Harry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand; And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, To his most royal person: hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, And lands restor'd again, be freely granted: If not, 111 use the advantage of my power, And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke I t is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much; while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.— [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle with a Trumpet. Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, That from the castle's totter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:

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The rage be his, while on the earth I rain My waters; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark king Richard how he looks, A Parle sounded, and answered by another Trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls KING RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, SCROOP, SALISBURY.

and

York See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east; When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory, and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the Occident. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth. Controlling majesty; Alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show! King Richard. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To NORTHUMBERLAND.

Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think, that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, And we are barren, and bereft of friends; Yet know,—my master, God omnipotent, Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf, Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head,

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And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) That every stride he makes upon my land, Is dangerous treason: He is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face; Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pasture's grass with faithful English blood. Northumberland. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon; Thy thrice-noble cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones; And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head; And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt; And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn or said,— His coming hither hath no further scope, Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. King Richard, Northumberland, say,—thus the king returns His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: With all the gracious utterance thou hast, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.—

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We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To AUMERLE,

To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? Aumerle. No, my good lord; let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. King Richard* Merciful heaven, that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth!9 O, that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been! Or not remember what I must be now! Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Aumerle, Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. King Richcvrd. What must the king do now? Must he submit? The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd? The king shall be contented: must he lose The name of king ? o* God's name, let it go: I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown; My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood; My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff; My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; And my large kingdom, for a little grave, A little, little grave, an obscure grave:— Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; 9

Softness.

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And, buried once, why not upon my head ? Aunierle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cousin!— We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding tears; As thus:—To drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and therein laid,—There lies Two kinsmen, diggd their graves with iveeping eyes ? Would not this ill do well?—Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you mock at me.— Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg,x and Bolingbroke says—ay. Northumberland. My lord, in the base2 court he doth attend, To speak with you; may't please you to come down? King Richard. Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. [NORTHUMBERLAND retires to BOLINGBROKE. In the base court ? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. Inthebasecourt? Comedown? Down,court! down,king! For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing. [Exeunt, from above. Bolingbroke. What says his majesty? Northumberland. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick man: Yet he is come. Enter KING RICHARD, cmd his ATTENDANTS, below. Bolingbroke. Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. My gracious lord,— [Kneeling. 1

A bow, VOL. I l l ,

2

Lower. P

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King Richard. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee, To make the base earth proud with kissing i t : Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up: your heart is up, I know. Thus high at least, [Touching his own head,~\ although your knee be low. Bolvngbroke. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. King Richard. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. Bolingbroke. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. King Richard. "Well you deserve:—They well deserve to have, That know the strong'st and surest way to get.— Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies.— Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we must, what force will have us do.— Set on towards London: Cousin, is it so ? Bolingbroke. Yea, my good lord. King Richard. Then I must not say, no. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE IV.—LANGLEY.

The DUKE of YORK'S Garden.

Enter the QUEEN, and two LADIES. Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care? 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. Queen. 'Twill make me think, The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune Runs 'gainst the bias. 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance.

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Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ? 1 Lady. Of either, madam. Queen. Of neither, girl: For if of joy, being altogether wanting, I t doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it boots not to complain. 1 Lady. Madani, I'll sing. Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause; But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners. Let's step into the shadow of these trees.— Enter a GARDENER, and two SERVANTS. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They'll talk of state; for every one doth so Against a change: Woe is forerun with woe. [QUEEN and LADIES retire. Gardener. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportance to the bending twigs.— Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government, You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds, that without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 1 Servant. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,

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Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate ? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots 3 disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? Gardener. Hold thy peace:— He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 1 Servant. What, are they dead? Gardener. They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.—Oh! what pity is it, That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, As we this garden! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself: Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 1 Servant What, think you then, the king shall be depos'd? Gardener. Depress'd he is already; and deposed, 9 Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, That tell black tidings. Queen. 0, I am press'd to, death, Through want of speaking!—Thou, old Adam's likeness, [Coming from her concealment. Set to dress this garden, how dares 3

Figures planted in a box.

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Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ? Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd? Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how, Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch. Gardener. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I, To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd: In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, And some few vanities that make him light; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all the English peers, And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. Post you to London, and you'll find it so; I speak no more than every man doth know. Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast.—Come, ladies, go, To meet at London London's king in woe.— What, was I born to this! that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke ? Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow. [Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES. Gardener. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse, I would, my skill were subject to thy curse.— Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place, I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace: Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen^ In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt.

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ACT IV. SCENE I.—LONDON.

WESTMINSTER-HALL.

Tlie Lords Spiritual on the right side of the Throne; the Lords Temporal on the left; the Commons below, Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, another LORI>, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and ANTS. OFFICERS behind, with BAGOT.

ATTEND-

Bolingbroke. Call forth Bagot: Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end? Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. Bolingbroke. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. I n that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard you say,—Is not my arm of length, That reachethfrom the restful English court As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; Adding withal, how blest this land would be, In this your cousin's death. Aumerle. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man ? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars. On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,

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And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false, In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. Bolingbroke. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Awmerle. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so. Fitzwater. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Aumerle. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. Fitzwater. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aumerle. Fitzwater, thou art doom'd to hell for this, Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true, In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: And, that thou art BO, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. Aumerle. And if I do not, may my hands rot oft^ And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe! Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with fall as many lies As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Aumerle. Who sets me else? by heaven, 111 throw at all: I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you. Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitzwater. My lord,'tis true: you were in presence then} And you can witness with me; this is true.

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Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. Fitzwater. Surrey, thou liest. Surrey. Dishonourable boy! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Fitzwater. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction.— As I intend to thrive in this new world, Amnerle is guilty of my true appeal: Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, That thou, Aunierle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. Aumerle. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. JBolingbroke. These differences shall all rest under gage, Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restor'd again To all his land and signories; when he's return'd, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. Carlisle. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.— Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross, Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens: And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself To Italy; and there at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. Bolingbroke. "Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

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Carlisle. As sure as I live, my lord. Bolingbrohe. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham!—Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign you to your days of trial. Enter YORK, attended. York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him,— And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! Bolingbrohe. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. Carlisle. Marry, God forbid!— Worst in this royal presence may I speak. Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God, that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard; then true nobless would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong, What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God, That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy,—

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The blood of England shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels, And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. O, if thou rear this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove, That ever fell upon this cursed earth: Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry, against you—woe! Northumberland. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here: My lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial.— May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. Bolingbrohe. Fetch hither Jtichard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. Bolingbrohe. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer:— Little are we beholden to your love, \To CARLISLE. And little look'd for at your helping hands. Re-enter YORK, with KING

RICHARD,

and

OFFICERS

bearing the Crown, &c.

King Richard. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts "Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee:— Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours4 of these men: Were they not mine? 4

Countenances.

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219

Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?— To do what service am I sent for hither? York. To do that office, of thine own good will, Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. King Richard. Give me the crown:—Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owes5 two buckets filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water: That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. Bolingbroke. I thought you had been willing to resign. King Richard. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are mine: You may my glories and my state depose, But not my grief; still am I king of those. Bolingbroke. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. King Richard. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. My care is—loss of care, by old care done; Your care is—gain of care, by new care won: The cares I give, I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. Bolingbroke. Are you contented to resign the crown? King Richcvrd. Ay, no;—no, ay;—For I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself:— I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldy scepter from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; W i t h r&ine own tears I wash away my balm,6 With mine own hands I-give away my crown, 5

Owns.

6

Oil of consecration.

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KING RICHARD II.

"With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths: All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues, I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny: God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd; And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd! Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!— God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days!— What more remains? Northumberland. No more, but that you read [Offering a Paper.

These accusations, and these grievous crimes, Committed by your person, and your followers, Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily depos'd. King Richard. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out My weav'd up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article,— Containing the deposing of a king, And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,— Mark'd with a blot, mark'd in the book of heaven:— Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,— Though some of you are showing outward pity, Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. Northumberland. My lord, despatch: read o'er these articles. King Richard. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see! And yet salt water blinds them not so much,

KING RICHARD II. 7

221

But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest: For I have given here my soul's consent, To undeck the pompous body of a king; Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave; Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. Northumberland. My lord, King Richard. No lord of thine, thou haughty insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,— No. not that name was given me at the font,— But 'tis usurp'd:—Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O, that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke To melt myself away in water-drops!— Good king,—great king,—(and yet not greatly good,) An if my word be sterling yet in England Let it command a mirror hither straight; That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Bolingbroke. Go, some of you, and fetch a lookingglass. [Exit an ATTENDANT. Northumberland. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. King Richard. Fiend! thou torinent'st me. Bolingbroke. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. Northumberland. The commons will not then be satisfied. King Richard. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.— Re-enter ATTENDANT, ivith a Glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read.— 7

Pack,

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KING RICHARD II.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds?—O? flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies, And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face: As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dasheth the Glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.— Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,— How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Bolingbroke. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. King Richard. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha! let's see:— 5 Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I l l beg one boon, And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it? Bolingbroke. Name it, fair cousin. King Richard. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a king: For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject. I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. Bolingbroke. Yet ask. King Richard. And shall I have?

KING RICHARD IL

223

Bolingbroke. You shall. King Richard. Then give me leave to go. Bolingbroke. Whither 1 King Richard. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Bolingbroke. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. King Richard. O, good! Convey?—Conveyers8 are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt KING RICHARD, some LORDS, and a GUARD. Bolingbroke. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the ABBOT, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and

AUMERLE.

Abbot A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Carlisle. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Aumerle. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise:— I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt.

ACT Y. SCENE I.—LONDON.

A Street leading to the Tower.

Enter QUEEN, and LADIES. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,9 To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 8

Jugglers, also robbers.

9

Tower of London.

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KING RICHARD II.

Is doomed a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke; Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. Enter KING RICHARD, and GUARDS. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold; That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash, him fresh again with true-love tears.— Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb, And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, "When triumph is become an ale-house guest? King Hichard. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awak'd, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim necessity; and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the eartb, if nothing else, with rage, To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ? King Richard. A king of beasts, indeed! if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,

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225

As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire, With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid: And, ere thou bid good night, to quit1 their grief, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And, in compassion, weep the fire out: And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. Northumberland. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.— And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; With all swift speed you must away to France. King Richard. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,— The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think, Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all; And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear; That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, To worthy danger, and deserved death. Northumberland. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. King Richard. Doubly divorc'd?—Bad men, ye violate 1

VOL. I l l

Requite, repay. Q

226

KING KICHAKD II.

A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; And then, betwixt me and my married wife.— Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.—• Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, "Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas,2 or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? King Richard. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. Northumberland. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. King Richard. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than—near, be ne'er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. King Richard. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. King Richard. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [JSoceunt 2

Allhallows, i. e. All-saints, Nov. 1.

KING RICHARD II.

SCENE

227

II.—The same. A Room in the DUKE OF YORK'S Palace.

Enter YORK, and his DUCHESS. Duchess. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off; Of our two cousins coining into London. York. Where did I leave? Duchess. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king .Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,— Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,— With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried—God save thee, Bolingbroke! You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls, With painted imag'ry, had said at once,— Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke: Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus,—I thank you, countrymen: And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duchess. Alas,poor Richard! where rides he the while? York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him! No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,— His face still combating with tears and smiles. The badges of his grief and patience,—

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KING RICHAKD IT.

That, had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, "Whose state and honour I for aye allow. Enter AUMERLE. Duchess. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was; But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: I am in parliament pledge for his truth, And lasting fealty to the new-made king. Duchess. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? Aumerle. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: Heaven knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime, What news from Oxford? hold those justs 3 and triumphs ? Aumerle. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. Aumerle. I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom ? Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing. Aumerle. My lord, 'tis nothing. York. No matter then who sees it: I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. Aumerle. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear, Duchess. What should you fear? 3

Tilts and tournaments.

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229

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool— Boy, let me see the writing, Aumerle. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason ! villain! traitor! slave! Duchess. What is the matter, my lord? York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a SERVANT. Saddle my horse. Heaven for his mercy! what treachery is here! Duchess. Why, what is it, my lord? York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse:— Now by mine hoaour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. [Exit SERVANT. Duchess. What's the matter? York. Peace, foolish woman. Duchess. I will not peace:—What's the matter, s-n? Aumerle. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. Ditchess. Thy life answer? He-enter SERVANT, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duchess. Strike him, Aumerle.—Poor boy, thou art amaz'd: Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.— [To the SERVANT.

York. Give me my boots, I say. Duchess. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, And rob me of a happy mother's name ? Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

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KING RICHARD II,

York. Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford. Duchess. He shall be none; We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him? York. Away, Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him. Duchess. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Duchess. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse; Spur, post; and get before him to the king, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: And never will I rise up from the ground, Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away : Begone. \Eoceunl. SCENE III.—WINDSOR.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King; PERCY, and oilier LORDS.

Bolingbroke. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last:— If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found: Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions; Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour, to support So dissolute a crew.

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231

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Bolingbrolce. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was,—he would unto the stews; And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Bolingbroke. As dissolute, as desperate! yet through both I see some sparkles of a better hope, Which elder days may happily bring forth. But who comes here? Enter AUMERLE hastily. Aumerle. Where is the king? Bolingbrolce. What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aumerle. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty To have some conference with your grace alone. Bolingbroke. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.— [Exeunt PERCY and LORDS. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aumerle. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. Bolingbroke. Intended, or committed, was this fault? If but the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. Aumerle. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Bolingbroke. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Bolingbroke. Yillain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.

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Aumerle. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear. York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy king: Shall I, for love, speak treason in thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. [BOLINGBROKE

opens the door.

Enter YORK. Bolingbroke. What is the matter, uncle? speak? Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. Aumerle. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past: I do repent me; read not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.— I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king: Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Bolingbroke. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!— O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer,4 immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages, Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly plot in thy digressing son. York. So shall he spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies; Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Duchess. [ Within^] What ho, my liege! for Heaven's sake let me in. 4

Transparent.

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233

Bolinghrohe. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? Duchess. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door; A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Bolingbroke. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; I know she's come to pray for your foul sin. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter DUCHESS. Duchess. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man. York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here? Duchess. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels. Bolingbroke. Rise up, good aunt. Duchess. Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I kneel upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aumerle. TJnto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. [Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duchess. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: H e prays but faintly, and would be denied; We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.

234

KING RICHARD II.

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayers ought to have. Bolingbroke. Good aunt, stand up. Duchess. Nay, do not say—stand upj But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up. And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon—should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say—pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet.— Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. Bolingbroke. Good aunt, stand up. Duchess. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Bolingbroke. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duchess. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. Bolingbroke. With all my heart I pardon him. Duchess. A god on earth thou art. Bolingbroke. But for our trusty brother-in-law,—and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew,— Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.— Good uncle help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell,—and cousin, too, adieu: Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Duchess. Come, my old son;—I pray heaven make thee new. [Exeunt,

KING RICHARD II. SCENE

235

IV.

Enter EXTON and a SERVANT. Exton. Didst thou not mark tlie king, wliat words lie spake? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ? Was it not so? Servant. Those were his very words. Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice, And urg'd it twice together; did he not? Servant. He did. Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; As who should sav,—I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this error from my heart; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. SJZxeunt. SCENE V.—POMFRET.

The Castle.

Enter KING RICHARD. King Richard. I have been studying how I may compare This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it;—Yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul, the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world; In humours, like the people of this world; For no thought is contented. The better sort,— As thoughts of things divine,—are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word: Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails

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KING RICHARD II.

May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,— That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuse their shame, That many have, and others must sit there: And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortune on the back Of such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented: Sometimes am I king; Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar; And so I am: Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by, Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing:—but whate'er I am, Nor I, nor any man, but that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd With being nothing.—Musick do I hear? [Musick Ha, ha! keep time:—How sour sweet musick is, When time is broke, and no proportion kept! So is it in the musick of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear, To check time broke in a disorder'd string; But, for the concord of my state and time, Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is, Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours:—but my time

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237

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. This musick mads me, let it sound no more; For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits, In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. Enter GROOM. Groom. Hail, royal prince! King Richard. "What art thou? and how comest thou hither, "Where no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food, to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king. When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometime master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd. King Richard. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him ? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. King Richard. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-galTd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.

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KING RICHARD II.

Enter KEEPER, with a Dish. Keeper. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the GROOM.

King Richard. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit Keeper. My lord, will't please you to fall to? King Richard. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keeper. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. King Richard. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the KEEPER. Keeper. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON, and SERVANTS armed. King Richard. How now ? what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and hilling one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He hills another, then EXTON strihes him doivn. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.—Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies.

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me—I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear;— Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

[Exeunt

KING RICHARD II.

SCENE VI.—WINDSOR.

Flourish.

239

A Boom in the Castle.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, and YORK, with LORDS, <md ATTENDANTS.

Bolingbrohe. .Kind uncle York, the latest news v?o hear Is—that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Welcome, my lord: What is the news? Northumberland. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness, The next news is,—I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent : The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. [Presenting a paper. Bolingbrohe. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER. Fitzwater. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Bolingbrohe. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot Enter PERCY, with the BISHOP OF CARLISLE. Percy. The .grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.

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KING K1CHARD II.

Bolinghroke. Carlisle, this is your doom:— Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life j So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter EXTON, with ATTENDANTS bearing a Coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Bolingbroke. Exton, 1 thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton, From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Bolingbroke, They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: "With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light, Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent;5 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:— March sadly after; grace my mournings here, In weeping after this untimely bier. [Eoceunt. 5

Immediately.

FIEST PART OF

KING HENRY IV.

VOL,

III.

R

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH. H E N R Y , Prince of Wales, ) P R I N C E J O H N , of Lancaster. ) E A R L OF WESTMORELAND, )

«>.. .

-

S ( m to

the

- .

, ~ .,

~.

SIR WAXTER BLUNT, } Fnendslo the King. THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester. HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland. HENRY PERCY, SURNAMED HOTSPUR, his Son.

EDWARD MORTIMER, Earl of March.

SCROOP, Archbishop of York. ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. OWEN GLENDOWER. SIR RICHARD VERNON. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. POINS. GADSHILL. PETO. BARDOLPH.

LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mortimer. LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendowert and Wife to Mortimer. MRS. QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE—England.

FIKST PART OF

KING HENRY IV. PREFACE OP THE EDITOR TO THE TWO PARTS OF HENRY IV. My late excellent friend, Mrs. Montagu, in her Essay on the Writings and Genius of Sbakspeare, has paid particular attention to H e n r y the I Y t h . I n this, as in every part of her work, good principles, judicious argument, and refined taste, appear in all her observations; but I confine myself to the more immediate objects of the present publication,— purity, and decency of expression. Every person must be sensible, that of all the historical plays, the Two Parts of Henry the I Y t h axe the most difficult to render fit for family reading. To clear them of all indecent, and indelicate expressions, without destroying the wit and spirit of Falstaff, and without injuring the narrative, is indeed an arduous undertaking; but I hope I may remove many objectionable passages, though I may not be able to render the work perfect. "Est quadamprodire tenus, si non datur ultra." Feeling the difficulty of the task, I take as a guide the following extract from the just observations of my deceased friend:— "There are delicacies of decorum in one age unknown to another age: but whatever is immoral, is equally blameable in all ages; and every approach to obscenity, is an offence, for which wit cannot atone, nor the barbarism or the corruption of the times afford an excuse. Mine hostess Quickly is of a species not extinct. I t may be said, the author there sinks from comedy to farce; but she helps to complete the character of Fal-

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staff, and some of the dialogues in which she is engaged are diverting. Every scene in which Doll Tearsheet appears, is indecent; and therefore not only indefensible, but inexcusable." After the foregoing quotation, my readers will not be surprised, if the name of the last-mentioned person is not to be found in the following plays. I hope that all obscenity is equally banished from them. I wish it were in my power in like manner to exclude every expression which approaches to vulgarity or indelicacy; but this I fear cannot be done, unless the whole of those scenes are omitted in which any of the comic characters appear. The present publication may possibly be censured by two classes of readers, of very difFerent sentiments. Those persons who are unwilling to be deprived of any part of the wit of Falstaff (whatever may be the expense of retaining it), will perhaps be displeased at the omission of the evening scene between him and Doll Tearsheet, and their followers. To them I reply, that consistently with the design of the present edition of Shakspeare, the omission was unavoidable; but I regret it the less, because, as was suggested in my preface, those readers can gratify their taste by having recourse to former editions of the Second Part of Henry the IVth. Other persons may possibly complain that there still remain in this work some expressions which are not consistent with that perfect delicacy of sentiment, with which it were desirable that every publication should be conducted. To this objection I fear that I can give no answer that will be quite satisfactory. I can only say, that I have endeavoured to render the speeches of Falstaff and his companions as correct as they could be rendered, without losing sight of their characters and dispositions. Those persons who still object to their language, cannot I believe do better than confine their reading to the serious parts of the three following plays, which possess such merit, as can hardly be equalled in any other dramatic poet, and is seldom exceeded by our own immortal bard.

KING HENRY IV.

245

ACT! SCENE I.—LONDON.

Enter

A Boom in the Palace.

K I N G HENRY, WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others.

King Henry. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in stronds 1 afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys 2 of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, Which,—like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, March all one way; and be no more oppos'd Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engag'd to fight,) Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; Whose axms were moulded in their mother's womb To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd For our advantage, on the bitter cross. But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, And bootless 'tis to tell you—we will go; Therefore we meet not now:—Then let me hear Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 1

Strands, banks of the sea.

2

The fury of discord.

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What yesternight our council did decree In forwarding this dear expedience.3 Westmoreland. My liege, this haste was hot in question, And many limits4 of the charge set down 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, And a thousand of his people butchered. King Henry. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. Westmoreland. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north, and thus it did import. On Holy-rood day,5 the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; As by discharge of their artillery, 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, Uncertain of the issue any way. King Henry. Here is a dear and true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The earl of Douglas is discomfited; Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, Balk'd6 in their own blood, did sir Walter see 3 5

Expedition. September 14.

4

Estimates. • Piled up in a heap.

KING HENRY IV.

247

On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? Westmoreland. It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. King Henry. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin In envy that my lord Northumberland Should be the father of so blest a son: A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, See riot and dishonour stain the brow Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, And call'd mine—Percy, his—Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts:—What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd, To his own use he keeps: and sends me word, I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. Westmoreland. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects; Which makes him prune 7 himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. Xing Henry. But I have sent for him to answer this; And, for this cause, a while we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords : But come yourself with speed to us again; 7

Trim, as birds clean their feathers.

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For more is to be said, and to be done, Than out of anger can be utter'd. Westmoreland. I will, my liege.

[Exemt.

II.—Another Boom in the Palace. Enter HENRY Prince o/1 WALES, and FALSTAFF. Falstaff. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? Prince Henry. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, a>nd sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, I see no reason, why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Falstaff. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,—he, that wandering knight so fair'. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,—as, save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,) Prince Henry. What, none? Falstaff. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. Prince Henry. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Falstaff. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be—Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government: being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we—steal. Prince Henry. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearSCENE

KING HENRY IV.

249

ing—lay by; 8 and spent with crying—bring in : 9 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. Falstaff. Thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet girl ? Prince Henry. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?1 Falstaff. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what have I to do with a buff jerkin? Prince Henry. Why, what have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Falstaff. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. Prince Henry. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Falstaff No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. Prince Henry. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Falstaff. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,—But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. Prince Henry. No; thou shalt. Falstaff Shall I? 0 rare! I'll be a brave judge. Prince Henry. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Falstaff Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. Prince Henry. For obtaining of suits? Falstaff Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the 8

Stand still.

9

More wine.

l

The dress of sheriffs' officers.

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hangman hath no lean wardrobe. I am as melancholy as a lugged bear. Prince Henry. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Falstaff. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.2 Prince Henry. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? Falstaff. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,—sweet young prince,—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I wish 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. Prince Henry. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Falstaff. O thou art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,—Heaven 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; an I do not, I am a villain. Prince Henry. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Falstaff. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle3 me. Prince Henry. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter Poms, at a distance. Falstaff. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match.4 This is 2 4

Croak of a frog. Made an appointment.

3

Treat me with ignominy,

KING HENRY IV.

251

the most omnipotent villain that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. Prince Henry. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar?— My lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies 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 at home, and be hanged. Falstaff. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops? Falstaff. Hal, wilt thou make one? Prince Henry. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Falstaff. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.5 Prince Henry. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. Falstaff. Why, that's well said. Prince Henry. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Falstaff. I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. Prince Henry. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Falstaff. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he 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. 5

The value of a coin called real or royal.

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Prince Henry. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell All-hallown summer !6 \Eocit FALSTAFF. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with TO to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadsnill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. Prince Henry. But how shall we part with them in setting forth. Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. Prince Henry. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce,7 to immask our noted outward garments. Prince Henry. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endur'd; and, in reproof of this, lies the jest. Prince Henry. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. Farewell. 6 Fine weather at All-hallown-tide, (t. e. All-Saints, Nov. 1st,) is called an All-hallown summer. 7 Occasion

KING HENRY IV.

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Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POTNS, Prince Hmry. I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the sun; 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 wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come. And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents, So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. SCENE

III.—Another Boom in the Palace.

Enter

KING HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and Others.

King Henry. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me; for, accordingly, You tread upon my patience; but, be sure, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition;8 Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 8

Disposition.

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Ajid therefore lost that title of respect, Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. Worcester. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves, The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it; And that same greatness to which our own hands Have holp to make so portly. Northumberland. My lord, King Henry. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger And disobedience in thine eye; O, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow. You have good leave to leave us; when we need Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.— [Eorit WORCESTER. You were about to speak. [To NORTHUMBERLAND. Northumberland. Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied As is deliver'd to your majesty: Either envy, therefore, or misprision, Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hotspur. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 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, trimly dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box,9 which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again;— Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff:—and still he smil'd and talk'd; 9

A small box for musk or other perfumes.

KING HENRY IV.

255

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them—untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. "With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me; among the rest demanded My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not;—for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark 1) And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. Which many a good tall 1 fellow had destroyed So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answer'd indirectly, as I said; And, I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whatever Harry Percy then had said, To such a person, and in such a place, At such a time, with all the rest re-told, May reasonably die, and never rise To do him wrong, or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now. King Henry. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; But with proviso, and exception,— That we; at our own charge, shall ransonie straight 1

Brave.

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His brother-in-law; the foolish Mortimer; Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd The lives of those that he did lead to fight Against the great magician, vile Glendower; Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home? Shall we buy treason? and indent2 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 To ransome home revolted Mortimer. Hotspur. Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war:—To prove that true, Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand, He did confound the best part of an hour In changing hardiment with great Glendower: Three times they breath'd, and three timesdid they drink, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, And hid his crisp3 head in the hollow bank Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. Never did bare and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor never could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. King Henry. Thou dost belie him, Percy, ttou dost belie him; He never did encounter with Glendower; I teU thee, He durst as well have met the devil alone, 2

Sign an indenture.

3

Curled.

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As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: 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 license your departure with your son:— Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exeunt KING HENRY, BLUNT, and Train. Hotspur. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them:—I will after straight, And tell him so: for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. Northumberland. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile; Here comes your uncle. Re-enter WORCESTER. Hotspur. Speak of Mortimer? Yes, I will speak of him; and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him: Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer As high i' the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. Northumberland. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. [To WORCESTER. Worcester. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? Hotspur. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; And when I urg'd the ransome once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. Worcester. I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaimed By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? Northumberland. He was; I heard the proclamation: then it was, when the unhappy king VOL, IIL

S

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(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth TJpon his Irish expedition; From whence he, intercepted, did return To be depos'd, and shortly, murdered. Worcester. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hotspur. But, soft, I pray you; Did King Eichard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown ? Northumberland. He did; myself did hear it. Hotspur. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. But shall it be, that you,—that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man; And, for his sake, wear the detested blot Of murd'rous subornation,—shall it be, That you a world of curses undergo; Being the agents, or base second means, The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?— O, pardon me, that I descend so low, To show the line, and the predicament, Wherein you range under this subtle king.— Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power, Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,— As both of you, God pardon it! have done,— To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this tliorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? And shall it in more shame, be further spoken, That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem Your banishM honours, and restore yourselves Into the good thoughts of the world again: Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt, Of this proud king; who studies day and night, To answer all the debt he owes to you,

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Even "with the bloody payment of your deaths. Therefore, I say, Worcester. Peace, cousin, say no more: And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I'll read you matter deep and dangerous; As fall of peril, and advent'rous spirit, As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hotspur. 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;—0! the blood more stirs, To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. Northumberland. Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hotspur. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 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, Without corrival, all her dignities: But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! Worcester. He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend— Good cousin, give me audience for a while. Hotspur. I cry you mercy. Worcester. Those same noble Scots, That are your prisoners, Hotspur. I'll keep them all; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them: Ko, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: I'll keep them, by this hand. Worcester. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes— These prisoners you shall keep. Hotspur. Nay, I will; that's flat:— He said, he would not ransome Mortimer;

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Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; But I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear I'll holla—Mortimer! Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion. Worcester. Hear you, Cousin; a word. Hotspw. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: And that same sword-and-buckler prince of "Wales,— But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. Worcester. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd to attend. Northumberland. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou to break into this woman's mood; Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! Hotspur. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time,—What do you call the place?— A plague upon't!—it is in Glostershire;— 'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; His uncle York;—where I first bow'd my knee TJ nto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. Northumberland. At Berkley castle. Hotspur, You say true: Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Look,—when his infant fortune came to age, And,—gentle Harry Percy,—and, kind cousin,— The devil take such cozeners! Heaven forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.

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Worcester. Kay, if you have not, to 't again; We'll stay your leisure. Hotspwr. I have done, i' faith. Worcester. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners, Deliver them up without their ransome straight, And make the Douglas1 son your only mean For powers in Scotland; which,—for divers reasons, Which I .shall send you written,—be assur'd, Will easily be granted.—You my lord,— [To NORTHUMBERLAND.

Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,— Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop. Hotspur. Of York, is't not ? Worcester. True; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation, As what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hotspur. I smell i t ; upon my life, it will do well. Northumberland. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. Hotspur. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:— And then the power of Scotland, and of York,— To join with Mortimer, ha? Worcester. And so they shall. Hotspwr. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. Worcester. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, ; To save our heads by raising of a head: 4 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, The king will always think him in our debt; And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already, how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. 4

A body of forces.

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FIKST PART OF

Hotspur. He does, he does: we'll be reveng'd on him. Worcester. Cousin, farewell:—No farther go in this, Than I by letters shall direct your course, When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) 111 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, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. Northumberland. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. Hotspwr. TJncle, adieu—O, let the hours be short, Till fields and blows, and groans applaud our sport! [Exemt.

ACT II. SCENE I.—ROCHESTER. An Inn Yard. Enter a CARRIER, with a lantern in his hand. 1 Carrier. Heigh ho! An 't be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! Ostler. \Within^\ Anon, anon. 1 Carrier. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's 5 saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.6

Enter another CARRIER. 2 Carrier. Pease 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. 1 Carrier. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him. 2 Carrier. I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.7 1 Carrier. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a 5

Name of his horse.

6

Measure.

7

Spotted like a tench.

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king in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock. 2 Carrier. What, ostler! come away and be hanged, come away. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 1 Carrier. 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 a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain.—Come, and be hanged:—Hast no faith in thee ? Enter GADSHILL. Gadshill. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 1 Ca/rrier. I think it be two o'clock. Gadshill. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. 1 Carrier. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that. Gadshill. I pr'ythee lend me thine. 2 Carrier. Ay, when? canst tell?—Lend me thy lantern, quoth a?—marry, I'll see thee hang'd first. Gadshill. Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to come to London? 2 Carrier. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.—Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exeunt CARRIERS.. Gadshill. What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse.8 Gadshill. That's even as fair as—at hand, quoth the chamberlain: for thou variest no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou lay'st the plot how. Enter CHAMBERLAIN. Chamberlain. Good morrow, master Gadshill. I t holds current, that I told you yesternight: There's a 8

A proverb, from the pick-purse being always ready.

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franklin9 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, heaven knows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: They will away presently. GadshiU. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' clerks,1 I'll give thee this neck. Cliamberlain. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worship'st saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. GadshiU. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows: for, if I hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou knowest, he's no starveling. Tut: there are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sj>ort 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,2 no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; none of these mad, mustachio, purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility, and tranquillity; burgo-masters, and great oneyers;3 such as can hold in; such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: And yet 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 her their boots.4 Chamberlain. What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in wet weather? GadshiU. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her,5 We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. Chamberlain. Nay, by my faith! I think you are more beholden to the night than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible. 9

Freeholder. Footpads. 4 B ooty. 2

* Cant term for a highwayman. 3 Public accountants. * Oiled, smoothed her over.

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265

Gadshill Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man. Chamberlain. Nay, rather let me have it as you are a false thief. GadshiU. Go t o ; Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt. SCENE

II.—The Road by GADSHILL.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS ; BARDOLPH and PETO, at some distance. Poins. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. Prince Henry. Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF. Falstaff. Poins! Poins! and be hanged! Poins! Prince Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal; what a brawling dost thou keep! Falstaff. Where's Poins, Hal? Prince Henry. He is walked up to the top of the hill; 111 go seek him. [Pretends to seek POINS. Falstaff. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire6 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 these two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it could not be else; I have drunk medicines.—Poins!—Hal!—a plague upon you both!— Bardolph!—Peto!—I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot farther. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven fl

Square rule.

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ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one another! [They whistle.] Whew!—A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged. Prince Henry. Peace, lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers. Fdlstaff. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt 7 me thus? Prince Henry. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. Falstaff. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse: good king's son. Prince Henry. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler? Falstaff. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garters! if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, let a cup of sack be my poison: When a jest is so forward, and afoot too—I hate it. Enter

GADSHILL.

Gadshill. Stand, Falstaff. So I do, against my will. Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know liis voice. Enter BAHDOLPH. Bardolph. What news? Gadshill. Case ye, case ye: on with your visors: there's money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. Falstaff. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern. Gadshill. There's enough to make us all— Falstaff To be hanged. 7

Make a youngster of me.

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267

Prince Hervry. 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. Peto. How many be there of them? Gadshill. Some eight, or ten. Falstaff. Will they not rob us? Pri/nce Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? Falstaff. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather ; but yet no coward, Hal. Prince Henry. Well, we leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge; when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. Falstaff. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. Prince Henry. Ned, where are our disguises? Poins. Here, hard by; stand close. [Exeunt PRINCE HENRY and POINS. Falstaff. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I ; every man to his business. Enter TRAVELLERS. 1 Traveller. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our horses down the hill: we'll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs. Thieves. Stand. Travellers. Heaven bless us! Falstaff. Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats: Ah! caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; fleece them. 1 Traveller. 0, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. Falstaff. Hang ye, knaves; Are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs;8 I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young men must live; You are grand-jurors are ye? We'll jure ye, i' faith. [Exeunt FALSTAFF,
Clowns.

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Re-enter PRINCE HENRY <md POINS. Prince Henry. 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, and a good jest for ever. Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. Re-enter THIEVES. Falstaff. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck. Prince Henry. Your money. [Rushing out upon them, Poins. Villains. [As they are sharing, the PRINCE and POINS set upon them. FALSTAFF, after a blow or two, and the rest, run away, leaving thei/r booty behind them. Prince Henry. Got with much ease. Now meirily to horse: The thieves are scatter'd, and possessed with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd! [Exemt. SCENE III.—WARKWORTH.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter HOTSPUR, reading a Letter. 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 und&Ptake is dangerous;—Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my

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269

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 cm 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? 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 the action. By this hand, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Grlendower? 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 skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: We are prepared: I will set forward to-night. Enter LADY PERCY. How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours. Lady Percy. 0 my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I, this fortnight, been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is t 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 sitt'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy?

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In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; Cry, Courage 1—to the field! And thou hast talk'd Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, And all the currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturb'd stream; And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And T must know it, else he loves me not. Hotspur. What, ho ? is Gilliams with the packet gone? Enter SERVANT. Servant. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hotspur. Hath Butler brought those horsesfromthe sheriff? Servant One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hotspur. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not'J Servant. It is, my lord. Hotspur. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight: O esperance!*— Bid Butler lead him forth into the park [Exit SERVANT. Lady Percy. But hear you, my lord. Hotspur. What say'st, my lady? Lady Percy. What is it carries you away? Hotspur. My horse, My love, my horse. Lady Percy. Out, you mad-headed ape! A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, As you are toss'd with. In faith, 9

Motto of the Percy family.

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271

I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir About his title; and hath sent for you, To line1 his enterprize: But if you go Hotspwr. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. Lady Percy. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly to this question that I ask. In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. Hotspur. Away, Away, you trifler!—Love!—I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world To play with mammets,2 and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns, And pass them current too.—My horse, my horse!— What say'st thou, Elate? what wouldst thou have with me? Lady Percy. Do you not love me; do you not, indeed ? 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. Hotspur. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? And when I am o' horseback, I will swear I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; I must not have you henceforth question me Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: 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 Percy's wife: constant you are; But yet a woman: and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe, Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate! Lady Percy. How! so far? Hotspur. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate I Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 1

Strengthen.

2

Puppets.

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To-day will I set forth, to-morrow yon— Will this content you, Kate? Lady Percy. I t must, of force. SCENE IV.—EASTCHEAP. A Room HEAD TAVERN.

[Exeunt.

in the BOAR'S

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS. Prince Henry. Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal? Prince Henry. 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 Christian names, as—Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a lad of mettle, a good boy, so they call me; and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap.—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 action. But, sweet Ned,—to sweeten which name of Ned,-I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in my hand by an under-skinker ; 3 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 pr'ythee, 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 111 show thee a precedent. 3

Tapster.

KING HENRY IV.

Prim. Francis! Prince Henry. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis! Enter

273

[Exit

POINS.

FRANCIS.

Francis. Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph. Prince Henry. Come hither, Francis. Francis. My lord. Prince Henry. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Francis. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to— Poins. [Within.] Francis! Francis. Anon, anon, sir. Prince Henry. Five years! by'r 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 to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it] Francis. O sir! I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find it in my heart— Poins. [Within.] Francis! Francis. Anon, anon, sir. Prince Henry. How old art thou, Francis? Francis. Let me see,—About Michaelmas next I shall be— Poins. [Within.] Francis! Francis. Anon, sir.—Pray you, stay a little, my lord. Prince Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the sugar thou gavest me,—'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Francis. 0 sir! I would it had been two. Prince Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. [Within.] Francis! Francis. Anon, anon. Prince Henry. Anon, Francis? Fo, Francis: but to morrow, Francis; or Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— Francis. My lord? Prince Henry. Wilt thou rob this kathern-jerkin, VOL. III.

T

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crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,— Francis. 0 sir, who do you mean? Prince Henry. Why then, your brown bastard4 is your only drink: for look you, Francis, your white canvass doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much. Francis. What, sir? Poins. [Within.] Francis! Prince Henry. Away, you rogue; Dost thou not hear them call? [Here they both call him; tJie Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter VINTNER. Vintner. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit FRANCIS.] My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; Shall I let them in? Prince Henry. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit VINTNER,] Poins % Re-enter POINS. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. Prince Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; Shall we be merry? Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; What cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? Prince Henry. I am now of all humours, that have show'd themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter FRANCIS, with ivine.] What's o'clock, Francis? Francis. Anon, anon, sir. Prince Henry. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, arid yet the son of a woman! —His industry is—up stairs, and down stairs; his. eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet 01 4

A sweet

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Percy's 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,—Fye upon this quiet life! T want work. 0 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 pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and he shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter

FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH,

and

PETO.

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Falstaff. 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, 111 sew nether-stocks,5 and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!—Give me a cup of sack, rogue.—Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks. Prince Henry. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the son! if thou didst, then behold that compound. Falstaff. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it; a villainous coward.—Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgotten 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: Heaven 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. Prince Henry. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? Falstaff A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy 5

Stockings.

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subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! Prince Henry. Why, you round man! what's the matter? Falstaff. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that; and Poins there? Poins. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee. Falstaff. I call thee coward! I'll see thee hang'd 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 drunk to-day. Prince Henry. 0 villain! thy lips are scarce 'wiped since thou drunk'st last. Falstaff. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. [He drinks. Prince Henry. What's the matter? Falstaff. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. Prince Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Falstaff. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. Prince Henry. What, a hundred, man? Falstaff. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose j 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. Prince Henry. Speak, sirs; how was it? Gadshill. We four set upon some dozen, Falstaff Sixteen, at least, my lord. Gadshill. And bound them.

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Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Falstaff. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. Gadshill. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us, Falstaff. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. Prince Henry. What, fought ye with them all? Falstaff All? I know not what ye 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 Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. Poins. Pray heaven you have not murdered some of them. Falstaff Nay, that's past praying for: for I have peppered two of them: two, I am sure, I have paid; Wo 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, Prince Henry. What, four? thou saidst but two, even now. Falstaff Four, Hal; I told thee four. Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. Falstaff These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. Prince Henry. Seven? why, there were but four, even now. Falstaff. In buckram. Poins, Ay, four, in buckram suits. Falstaff. Seven by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Prince Herury. Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. Falstaff. Dost thou hear me, Hal? Prince Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. Falstaff. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram, that I told thee of, Prince Henry. So, two more already.

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Falstaff. Their points being broken, Pains. Down fell their hose. Falstaff. Began to give me ground: But I followed me close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. Prince Henry. 0 monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Falstaff. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves, in Kendal 6 green, came at my back, and let drive at me;—for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. Prince Henry. These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why thou knotty-pated fool. Falstaff. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth? Prince Henry. 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? Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Falstaff. What, upon compulsion? No; were I 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 plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. Prince Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh; Falstaff. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you stock-fish,—O, for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case! Prince Henry. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack. Prince Henry. We two saw you four set on four; you fi

A town in Westmoreland famous for making cloth.

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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 ran away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard a 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 apparent shame? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hasfc thou now? Falstaff. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, 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 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, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray tomorrow.—Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore? Prince Henry. Content;—and the argument shall be thy running away. 'Falstaff Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. Enter

HOSTESS.

Hostess. My lord, the prince, Prince Henry. How now, my lady the hostess? what sayst thou to me? Hostess. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door, would speak with you: he says, he comes from your father.

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Prince Henry. Give him as much as will make a royal man, and send him back again to my mother. Falstaff What manner of man is he? Hostess, An old man. Falstaff. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?—Shall I give him his answer. Prince Henry. Pr'ythee, do, Jack. Falstaff. 'Faith, and 111 send him packing. [Exit Prince Henry. Now, sirs; by'r 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 prince; no,—fye! Bardolph. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. Prince Henry. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hacked ? Peto. 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. Bardolph. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them bleed: and then to beslubber our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood of true men, I did that I did not this seven year before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. Prince Henry. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner,7 and ever since thou hast blushed extempore: Thou hadst fire and sword on' thy side, and yet thou ran'st away; What instinct hast thou for it? Bardolph. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? Prince Henry. I do. Bardolph. What think you they portend? Prince Henry. Hot livers and cold purses.8 Bardolph, Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. Prince Henry. No, if rightly taken, halter. 7

In the fact,

8

Drunkenness and poverty.

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Re-enter FALSTAFF. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast?9 How long is't ago, Jack, since tliou sawest thine own knee? Falstaff. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villainous 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 Amaimon1 the bastinado,—What, a plague, call you him? Poins. O, Glendower. Falstaff. Owen, Owen; the same;—and his son-inlaw, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular. Prince Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. Falstaff. You have hit it. Prince Henry. So did he never the sparrow. Falstaff. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. Prince Henry. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running? Falstaff. 0' horseback, ye cuckoo? but afoot, he will not budge a foot. Prince Hewry. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. Falstaff. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps2 more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel.—But tell me, Hal, art 9

Bombast is the stuffing of clothes. A dsemon; who is described as one of the four kings, who rule over all the daemons in the world, 2 Scotsmen in blue bonnets. 1

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thou not horribly afeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again, as that fiend Dougks, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? Prince Henry. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. Falstaff. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. Prince Henry. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Falstaff. Shall I? content:—This chair shall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown. Prince Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown. Falstaff. 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 mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in king Cambyses'3 vein. PHnce Henry. Well, here is my leg.4 Falstaff. And here is my speech:—Stand aside, nobility. Hostess. This is excellent sport, i' faith. Falstaff. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. Hostess. O, the father, how he holds his countenance! Falstaff. For heaven's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Hostess. O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry players, as I ever see. Falstaff. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good ticklebrain. 6 —Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: 3 4

A character in a Tragedy by T. Preston, 1570. 5 ObeisuDce. !NTame of a btroDg liquor.

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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 mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villainous 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,6 and eat blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thie£ 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 keep'st: 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. Prince Henry. What manner of man, an it like your majesty? Falstaff. A good portly man, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, byV-lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be wantonly 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 1 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 thou been this month ? Prince Henry. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Falstaff. 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 poulter's hare. 6

A truant boy.

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Prince Henry; Well, here I am set. Falstaff. And here I stand:—judge, my masters. Prince Henry. Now, Harry? whence come you? Falstaff. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. Prince Henry. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Falstaff. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false:—nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. Prince Henry. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou are violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that huge bombard7 of sack, that roasted Manningtree 8 ox, 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 m villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things ? wherein worthy, but in nothing? Falstaff. I would, your grace would take me with you; whom means your grace? Prince Henry. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Falstaff. My lord, the man I know. Prince Henry. I know, thou dost. Falstaff. 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 villainous, 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 lost: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 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 7 s

A leather black-jack to bold beer. In Essex, where a large ox was roasted whole.

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Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. Prince Henry. I do, I will. [A knocking heard [Exeunt HOSTESS, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH. Re-enter BARDOLPH, running. Bardolph O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door. Falstaff. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. Re-enter HOSTESS, hastily. Hostess. 0, my lord, my lord! Falstaff. Heigh! heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick: What's the matter? Hostess. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house! Shall I let them in ? Falstaff. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold, a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, "without Seeming so. Prince Henry. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Falstaff 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. Prince Heivry. Go, hide thee behind the arras;—the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and good conscience. Falstaff, Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me. [Exeunt all but the PRINCE and POINS. Prince Henry. Call in the Sheriff. Enter SHERIFF and CARRIER. Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me?

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Sheriff. First pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. Prince Henry. What men ? Sheriff. One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier. As fat as butter. Prince Henry. The man, I do assure you, is not here, For I myself at this time have employ'd him. And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, That I will by to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing he shall be charg'd withal: And so let me entreat you leave the house. Sheriff. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks Prince Henry. I t may be so: if he have robbed these men, He shall be answerable; and so farewell. Sheriff. Good night, my noble lord. Prince Henry. I think it is good morrow; Is it not? Sheriff. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exeunt SHERIFF and CARRIER Prince Henry. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go, call him forth. Poins. Falstaff!—fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. Prince Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: Search his pockets. [POINS searches.'] What hast thou found? Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. Prince Henry. Let's see what they be: read them. Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. Item, Sauce, \.d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d Item, Bread, a half-penny. Prince Henry. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!—What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advan-

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tage ; there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins. Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt ACT I I I . SCENE I.—BANGOR.

Enter

HOTSPUR,

A Room in the ARCHDEACON'S House. WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLENDOWER.

Mortimer. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hotspur. Lord Mortimer—and cousin Glendower— Will you sit down? And, uncle Worcester:—A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. Glendower. No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur: For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and, with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hotspwr. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glendower. I cannot blame him: at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets:8 and at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward. Hotspur. Why, so it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat had But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 8 Lights set cross-ways upon beacons, and also upon poles, which were used in processions, &c.

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Glendower. I say the earth did shake when I was born. Hotspur. And I say the earth was not of my mind, If yon suppose, as fearing yon it shook. Glendower, The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hotspur. 0, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex'd By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving. Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples9 down Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, Our grandam earth, having this distemperatnre, In passion shook. Glendower.. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave To tell you once again,—that at my birth, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Were strangely clamorous, to the frighted fields. These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; Ajid all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living,—clipp'd in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,— Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? And bring him out, that is but woman's son, Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, And hold me pace in deep experiments. Hotspur. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh: I will to dinner. Mortimer. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. 9

Tumbles,

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Glendower. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur. Why, so can I ; or so can any man: But will they come, when you do call for them? Glendower. "Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The devil. Hotspur. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.— If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither. And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. Mortimer, Come, come, No more of this unprofitable chat. Glendower. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him, Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Hotspur. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? Glendoiver. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide our right, According to our three-fold order ta'en? Mortimer. The archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits, very equally: England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, By south and east, is to my part assign'd: 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: Which being sealed interchangeably, (A business that this night may execute,) To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, To meet your father, and the Scottish power, VOL. III.

U

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As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. My father Glendower is not ready yet, Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:— Within that space, [To GLENDOWER,] you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Glendower. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, And in my conduct shall your ladies come: From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; For there will be a world of water shed, Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hotspur. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here, In quantity equals not one of yours: See, how this river comes me cranking in, And cuts me, from the best of all my land, A huge half moon, a monstrous cantlel out. I'll have the current in this place damm'd up; And here the smug and silver Trent shall run, In a new channel, fair and evenly: It shall not wind with such a deep indent, To rob me of so rich a bottom here. Glendower. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it doth. Mortimer. Yea, But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side; Robbing the opposed continent as much, As on the other side it takes from you. Worcester. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, And on this north side win this cape of land; And then he runs straight and even. Hotspur. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. Glendower. I will not have it alter'd. Hotspur. Will not you? Glendower. No, nor you shall not. Hotspur. Who shall say me nay? 1

Corner.

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Glendower. Why that will I. Hotspur. Let me not understand you then, Speak it in Welsh. Glendower. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hotspur. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart: I had rather be a kitten, and cry—mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: I had rather hear a brazen canstick2 turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. Glendower. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Hotspur. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land To any well-deserving friend; But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? Glendoiver. The moon shines fair, you may away by night: I'll haste the writer, and, withal, Break3 with your wives of your departure hence : I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. Mortimer. Eye, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! Hotspur. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me, With telling me of the moldwarp4 and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies; And of a dragon and afinlessfish, A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, A couching lion, and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 2

Candlestick,

3

Break the matter.

4

Mole.

292

FIRST PART OF

As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,— He held me, but last night, at least nine hours, In reckoning up the several devils' names, That were his lacqueys: I cried, humph,—and well,— go to,— But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious As is a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house:—I had rather live With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, In any summer-house in Christendom. Mortiiner. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; Exceedingly well read, and profited In strange concealments; valiant as a lion, And wondrous affable: and as bountiful As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? He holds your temper in a high respect, And curbs himself even of his natural scope, When you do cross his humour; faith, he does: I warrant you, that man is not alive, Might so have tempted him as you have done, Without the taste of danger and reproof; But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. Worcester. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside his patience, You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood, (And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, want of government, Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: The least of which, haunting a nobleman, Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain Upon the beauty of all parts besides, Beguiling them of commendation. Hotspu?\ Well, I am school'd; good manners be yoxir speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

KING HENRY IV.

293

Re-enter GLENDOWER, with the LADIES. Mortimer. This is the deadly spite that angers me,— My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. Glendower. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you, She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. Mortimer. Good father, tell her,—that she, and my aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [GLENDOWER speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glendower. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry, One no persuasion can do good upon. [LADY MORTIMER speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. Mortimer. I understand thy looks; that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens, I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley would I answer thee. [LADY MORTIMER speaks. I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation: But I will never be a truant, love, Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute. 5 Glendower. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. [LADY MORTIMER speaks again. Mortimer. O, I am ignorance itself in this. Glendower. She bids you Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, And rest your gentle head upon her lap, And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep, 5

A compliment to queen Elizabeth.

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FIRST PART OF

As is the difference betwixt day and night, The hour before the heavenly harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east. Mortimer. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her smg; By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. Glendower. Do so;

And those musicians that shall play to you, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. GLENDOWER

speaks some Yfelsh words, and then the Musick plays.

Hotspur. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. By'r lady, he's a good musician. Lady Percy. Then should you be nothing but musical ; for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. Hotspur. I had rather hear Lady, my brach,6 howl in Irish. Lady Percy. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? Hotspur. No. Lady Percy. Then be still. Hotspur. Peace! she sings. A Welsh Song, sung by

LADY MORTIMER.

Hotspur. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady Percy. Not mine, in good sooth. Hotspur. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear Like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth; And, As true as I live; and, As sure as day: And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury.7 Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth9 And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 6

Hound.

in Mooriields

KING HENRY IV.

395

To velvet guards,8 and Sunday citizens. Come, sing. Lady Percy. I will not sing. Hotspur. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so come in when ye will. [Exit. Glendower. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as slow, As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. By this our book's drawn; we'll but seal, and then To horse immediately. Mortimer. "With all my heart. [Exeunt. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, and Lords. King Henry. Lords, give us leave; the prince of Wales, and I, Must have some conference: But be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.— SCENE II.—LONDON.

[Exeunt LORDS.

I know not whether heaven will have it so, For some displeasing service I have done, That in his secret doom out of my blood He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me; But thou dost, in thy passages of life, Make me believe,—that thou art only mark'd For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, Could such inordinate, and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, Such barren pleasures, rude society, As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, Accompany the greatness of thy blood, And hold their level with thy princely heart? Prince Henry. So please your majesty, I would, I could 8

Laced velvet, the finery of cockneys.

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Quit all offences with such clear excuse, As well as, I am. doubtless, I can purge Myself of many I am charg'd withal: Yet such extenuation let me beg, As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,— Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks9 and base newsmongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. King Henry. God pardon thee!—yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, Which by thy younger brother is supplied; And art almost an alien to the hearts Of all the court and princes of my blood: The hope and expectation of thy time Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man Prophetically does fore-think thy fall. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, So stale and cheap to vulgar company; Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Had still kept loyal to possession; And left me in reputeless banishment, A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir, But, like a comet, I was wondered at: That men would tell their children, This is he: Others would say,— Where? which is Bolingbrohe?

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress'd myself in such humility, That I did pluck allegiance from men's 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; 9

Officious parasites.

KING HENRY IV.

297

My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state, Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; And won, by rareness, such solemnity. The skipping king, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters, and rash bavin 1 wits, Soon kindled, and soon burn'd: 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 Of every beardless vain comparative:— Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoff'd himself to popularity: That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey; and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes, As, sick and blunted with community, Afford no extraordinary gaze, Such as is bent on sun-like majesty "When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids down, Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries; Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou: Eor thou hast lost thy princely privilege, With vile participation; not an eye But is a-weary of thy common sight, Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; Which now doth that I would not have it do, Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. Prince Henry. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself. 1

Brushwood.

298

FIRST PART OF

King Henry. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; And even as I was then, is Percy now. ISTow by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, He hath more worthy interest to the state, Than thou, the shadow of succession: For, of no right, nor colour like to right, He doth fill fields with harness2 in the realm; Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. What never-dying honour hath he got Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, Holds, from all soldiers chief majority, And military title capital, Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ % Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him. To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capitulate3 against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near'st and dearest4 enemy? Thou that art like enough,—through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen,— To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, To show how much thou art degenerate. Prince Henry. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; And heaven forgive them, that have so much sway'd 2

Armour.

3

Combine.

4

Most fatal.

KING HENRY IV.

293

Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you that I am your son; When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet: For every honour sitting on his helm, 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head My shames redoubled! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; And 1 will call him to so strict account, That he shall render every glory up, Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here: The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, I do beseech your majesty, may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: If not the end of life cancels all bands; And I wilJ die a hundred thousand deaths, Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. King Henry. A hundred thousand rebels die in this:— Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. Enter BLUNT. How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,— That Douglas, and the English rebels, met The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are,

300

FIKST PART OF

If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. King Henry. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old:— On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march : Our meeting is Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you, Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, Our business valued, some twelve days hence Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. Our hands are full of business: let's away; Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt SCENE III.—EASTCHEAP. A Room HEAD Tavern.

in the BOAR'S

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Falstaff. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; 5 I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bardolph. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Falstaff. Why, there is it:—come, sing me a 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; 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. 5

Have some flesh.

KING HENRY IV.

301

JBardolpk Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John. Falstaff. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral,6 thou bearest the lantern in the poop,—but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bardolph. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Falstaff. No, I'll be sworn; I make good use of it. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou had'st been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. 0, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two-and-thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Enter HOSTESS. How now dame Partlet the hen?7 have you inquired yet, who picked my pocket? Hostess. 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 was never lost in my house before. Falstaff. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. Hostess. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Falstaff Go to, I know you well enough. Hostess. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir 6 7

Admiral's ship. In the story-book of Keynard the Fox.

S02

FIRST PART OF

John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it; I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Falstaff Dowlas, dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. Hostess. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an elL You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound. Falstaff. He had his part of it; let him pay. Hostess. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Falstaff. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a sealring of my grandfather's worth forty mark. Hostess. O! I have heard the prince tell \\\m7 I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. Falstaff. How! the prince is a Jack,8 a sneak-cup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so. Enter

PRINCE HENRY

and POINS, marching.

FALSTAFF

meets the PRINCE, playing on his truncheon like a fife.

Falstaff. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, must we all march? Bardolph. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. Hostess. My lord, I pray you, hear me. Prince Henry. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly ? How does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an honest man. Hostess. Good my lord hear me. Falstaff. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. Prince Henry. What say'st thou, Jack. Falstaff. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked. Prince Henry. What did'st thou lose, Jack ? Falstaff. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four 8

A term of contempt frequently used by Shakspeare.

KING HENRY IV.

303

bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's. Prince Henry. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. Hostess. 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, he would cudgel you. Prince Henry. "What! he did not. Hostess. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. Falstaff. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox ; and for womanhood, maid Marian9 may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing,

g°Hostess. Say, what thing? what thing? I am an honest man's wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so. Falstaff. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. Hostess. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou ? Falstaff. What beast? why, an otter. Prince Henry. An otter, sir John! why an otter? Falstaff. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh. Hostess. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Prince Henry. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly. Hostess. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you owed him a thousand pound. Prince Henry. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Falstaff. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Hostess. ISTay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you. Falstaff Did I, Bardolph? Bardolph. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Falstaff. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper. 9

A female character, who attends morris-dancers; generally a man dressed like a woman.

304

FIRST PART OF

Prince Henry. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as good as thy word now? Falstaff Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. Prince Henry. And why not, as the lion? Falstaff. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: Dost thou think, 111 fear thee as I fear thy father? Prince Henry. O, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou impudent rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, 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 it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed? Falstaff Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket? Prince Henry. It appears so by the story. Falstaff. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason : thou seest, I am pacified.—Still?—Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit HOSTESS.] NOW, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad,—How is that answered? Prince Henry. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:—The money is paid back again. Falstaff. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. Prince Henry. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Falstaff. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest. and do it with unwashed hands too.

KING HENRY IV.

305

Bardolph. Do, my lord. Prince Henry. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Falstaff. 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, Heaven be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them. Prince Henry. Bardolph Bardolph. My lord. Prince Henry. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland,— Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I, Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. Jack, Meet me to-morrow i' the Temple-hall At two o'clock i' 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. [Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, and BARDOLPH. Falstaff. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast; come:— 0, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE

I.—The Rebel Camp near

SHREWSBURY.

Enter HQTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. Hotspur. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, In this fine age, were not thought flattery, Such attribution should the Douglas1 have, 1 This expression is applied by way of pre-eminence to the head of the Douglas family. x VOL.III.

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FIKST PART OF

As not a soldier of this season's stamp Should go so general current through the world, By heaven, 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 the word; approve me, lord. Douglas. Thou art the king of honour: No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beard him. Hotspur. Do so, and 'tis well:— Enter a MESSENGER, with Letters. What letters hast thou there ?—I can but thank you. Messenger. These letters come from your father,— Hotspur. Letters from him! why comes he not himself? Messenger. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick. Hotspur. O how has he the leisure to be sick, In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Under whose government come they along? Messenger. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Worcester. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Messenger. 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. Worcester. 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. Hotspur. Sick now! droop now! this sickness dotli infect The very life-blood of our enterprize; '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; nor did he think it meet, To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul remov'd, but on his own.

KING HENRY IV.

307

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 quailing2 now; Because the king is certainly possess'd Of all our purposes. "What say you to it? Worcester. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Hotspw)\ A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: And yet, in faith, 'tis 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 main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good: for therein should wo read The very bottom and the soul of hope; The very list,3 the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes. Douglas. 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. Hotspur. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. Worcester. But yet, I would your father had been here, The quality and hair 4 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 offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitreinent 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, 2 4

s Languishing. Limit, boundary. The complexion, the character.

308

FIRST PART OF

That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Before not dreamt of. Hotspur. 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 enterprize, Than if the earl were here: for men must think, If we, without his help, can make a head To push against the kingdom; with his help, We shall o'erturn it, topsy-turvy down.— Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Douglas. As heart can think: there is not such a word Spoke of in, Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter SIR RICHARD YERNON. Hotspur. My cousin Yernon! welcome, by my soul. Vernon. Pray Heaven, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hotspur. No harm: What more? Vernon. And further, I have learn'd— The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hotspur. He shall be welcome, too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales, And his comrades that daffd5 the world aside, And bid it pass? Vernon. All furnish'd, all in arms, All plum'd like estridges6 that wing the wind; Bated7 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, 5

Threw contemptuously.

6

Ostriches.

7

Fresh.

KING HENRY TV. 8

309

His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,— Rise from the ground like feather'd 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. Hotspur. 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-eyed 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 take 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.— O, that G-lendower were come! Vernon. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Douglas. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Worcester. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. Hotspur. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? Vernon. To thirty thousand. Hotspur. Forty let it be; My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a day. Come, let us make a muster speedily: Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. Douglas. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt. 8

Armour for the thighs.

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SCENE

I L — A public Road near COVENTRY.

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Falstaff. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. Bardolph. Will you give me money, captain? Falstaff. Lay out, lay out. Bardolph. This bottle makes an angel. Falstaff. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bardolph. I will captain: farewell. [Exit. Falstaff. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press vilely. I have got in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeoman's sons; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the bans; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver9 worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts 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, and such as, indeed, were never soldiers, but discarded, unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers tradefallen; the cankers of a calm world, and a long peace; ten times more dishonourably ragged than an old-faced ancient i 1 and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services. 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 scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry 9

Musket

i Standard.

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with them, that's flat:—Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves2 on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's 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 a herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose inn-keeper of Daintry. 3 But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. Enter PRINCE HENRY and WESTMORELAND. Prince Henry. How now, blown Jack ? how now, quilt ? Falstaff. 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. Westmoreland. '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 away all night. Falstaff. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream. Prince Henry. I think to steal cream, indeed; for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But, tell me, Jack; Whose fellows are these that come after? Falstaff. Mine, Hal, mine. Prince Henry. I did never see such pitiful rascals. Falstaff. Tut, t u t ; 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. Westmoreland. Ay, but sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare; too beggarly. Falstaff 'Faith, for their poverty,—I know not where they had that: and for their bareness,—I am sure they never learned that of me. Prince Henry. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste; Percy is already in the field. 2

Fetters.

3

Daventiy, pronounced Daintry.

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Falstaff What, is the king encamped? Westmoreland. He is, sir John; I fear we shall stay too long. Falstaff. Well, To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exewvt. SCENE

III.—The Rebel Gamp near

SHREWSBURY.

Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON. Hotspur. We'll fight with him to-night. Worcester. I t may not be. Douglas. You give him then advantage. Vernon. Not a whit. Hotspur. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? Vernon. So do we. Hotspur. His is certain, ours is doubtful. Worcester. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night, Vernon. Do not, my lord. You do not counsel well; Douglas. You speak it out of fear and cold heart. Vernon. 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 lives:— Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, Which of us fears. Douglas. Yea, or to-night Vernon. Content. Hotspur. To-night say I. Vernon. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, being men of such great leading,4 That you foresee not what impediments Drag back our expedition: Certain horse Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come u p : Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 4

Conduct, experience.

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Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, That not a horse is half the half himself. Hotspur. So are the horses of the enemy, In general journey-bated and brought low; The better part of ours is full of rest. Worcester. The number of the king exceedeth ours: For heaven'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. Hotspitr. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to heaven, You were of our determination! Some of us love you well: and even those some Envy your great deserving, and good name; Because you are not of our quality,5 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;6 and whereupon You conjure from the breast of civil peace Such bold hostility, teaching this 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. Hotspur. 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: 5

Fellowship.

6

Grievances.

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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,7 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 perform'd it too. Now, when the lords and barons of the realm Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less8 came in with cap and knee; Met him in boroughs, cities, villages; Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, Gave 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 Ravenspurg; 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. Blunt. I came not to hear this. Hotspur. Then, to the point. In short time after, he depos'd the king; Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: 7

The delivery of his lands.

8

The greater and the less*

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To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, There without ransome to lie forfeited: Disgrac'd me in my happy victories; Sought to entrap me by intelligence; Kated my uncle from the council-board; In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; Broke 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? Hotspur. 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. Hotspur. And, may be, so we shall. Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do! [Exeunt. A Room in the ARCHBISHOP'S House. Enter the Archbishop of YORK, and a GENTLEMAN. Archbishop. Hie, good sir Michael? bear this sealed brief,9 With winged haste, to the lord mareshal; This to my cousin Scroop; and all the restTo whom they are directed: if you knew How much they do import, you would make hasteGentleman. My good lord, I guess their tenor. Archbishop. Like enough you do. To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, SCENE IV.—YORK.

9

A letter.

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Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sire Michael,— What with the sickness of Northumberland, (Whose power was in the first proportion,) And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence, (Who with them was a rated sinew too,1 And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,) I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the king. Gentleman. Why, good my lord, you need not fear; there's Douglas, And Mortimer. Archbishop. No, Mortimer's not there. Gentleman. But there is Mordake, Yernon, lord Harry Percy, And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. Archbishop. 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; And many more corrivals, and dear men Of estimation and command in arms. Gentleman. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be wel] oppos'd. Archbishop. 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,— For he hath heard of our confederacy. • 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. [Exeunt severally* 1

A strength on which they reckoned.

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ACT V. SCENE

I.—The

KING'S

Gamp near

SHREWSBURY.

Enter

KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and SIR JOHN FALSTAFF.

King Henry, How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon busky2 hill! the day looks pale At his distemperature. Prince Henry. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. King Henry. Then with the losers let it sympathize; For nothing can seem foul to those that win.— Trumpet Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. How now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well, That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust; And made us doff3 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 't % will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light; And be no more an exhal'd meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times? Worcester. Hear me, my liege: For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours; for, I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike. 2

Woody.

3

Put off.

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King Henry. You have not sought for it! how comes it then? Falstaff. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. Prince Henry. Peace, chewet,4 peace. Worcester. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks Of favour, from myself, and all our house; And yet I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you, my staff of office did I break In Richard's 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 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother, and his son, 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-fall'n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, It rain'd 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 So long in his unlucky Irish wars, That all in England did repute him dead,— And, from this swarm of fair advantages, You took occasion to be quickly woo'd To gripe the general sway into your hand; Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And, being fed by us, you us'd us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, That even our love durst not come near your sight, 4

A chattering bird, a pie.

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For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforc'd, for safety's sake, to fly Out of your sight, and raise this present head: Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to us in your younger enterprize. King Henry. These things, indeed, you have articulated,5 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour, that may please the eye Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news Of hurlybuiiy innovation: And never yet did insurrection want Such water-colours, to impaint his cause; Nor moody beggars, starving for a time Of pellmell havock and confusion. Prince Henry. In both our armies, there is many a sold, 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 In praise of Henry Percy; By my hopes,— This present enterprize set off his head,— I do not think, a braver gentleman, More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, More daring, or more bold, is now alive, To grace his latter age with noble deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry; And so, I hear, he doth account me too: Yet this before my father's majesty,— I am content, that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation; And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight. 5

Exhibited,in articles.

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FIRST PART OP

King Henry. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit, considerations infinite Do make against it: No, good Worcester, no, We love our people well; even those we love, That are misled upon your cousin's part: And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his: So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do:—But if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So, be gone; We will not now be troubled with reply: We offer fair, take it advisedly. [Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON. Prince Henry. It will not be accepted on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms. King Henry. 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 KING, BLUNT, and PRINCE JOHN. Falstaff. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. Prince Henry. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. Falstaff. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. Prince Henry. Why, thou owest heaven a death. [Exit.

Falstaff 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay before the 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

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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. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it:—therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit SCENE

II.—The Rebel Camp.

Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. Worcester. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, The liberal kind offer of the king. Vernon. 'Twere best he did. Worcester. Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be, The king should keep his word in loving us; He will suspect us still, and find a time To punish this offence in other faults: Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes: For treason is but trusted like the fox; Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks; And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, I t hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood; And an adopted name of privilege,— A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen: All his offences live upon my head, And on his father's;—we did train him on; And, his corruption being ta'en from us, We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, In any case, the offer of the king. VOL. III.

Y

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FIRST PART OF

Vernon. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so. Here comes your cousin. Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS ; and OFFICERS and SOLDIERS, behind. Hotspur. My uncle is returned :—Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland.—Uncle, what news? Worcester. The king will bid you battle presently. Douglas. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. Hotspur. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. Douglas. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit Worcester. There is no seeming mercy in the king. Hotspur. Did you beg any? God forbid! Worcester. I told him gently of our grievances, Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,— By now forswearing that he is forsworn: He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge With haughty arms this hateful name in us. He-enter DOUGLAS. Douglas. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth, And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. Worcester. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king, And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. Hotspur. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads; And that no man might draw short breath to-day, But I, and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How show'd his talking? seemd it in contempt? Vernon. No, by my soul; I never in my life Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man; Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue j Spoke your deservings like a chronicle; Making you ever better than his praise,

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By still dispraising praise, valued with you: And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital6 of himself; And chid his truant youth with such a grace. As if he jnaster'd there a double spirit, Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. There did he pause: But let me tell the world,— If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe7 so sweet a hope, So much misconstrued in his wantonness. Hotspur. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured Upon his follies; never did I hear Of any prince, so wild, at liberty:— But, be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, That he shall shrink under my courtesy. Arm, arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers, friends, Better consider what you have to do, Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with persuasion. Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. My lord, here are letters for you. Hotspur. I cannot read them now,— 0 gentlemen, the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely, were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; If die, brave death, when princes die with us! Now for our conscience,—the arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just. Enter another MESSENGER. Messenger. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. Hotspur. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profess not talking; Only this— Let each man do his best: and here draw I 9

Recital.

T

Own.

324

FIKST PART OF

A sword, whose temper I intend to stain With the best blood that I can meet withal In the adventure of this perilous day. Now,—Esperance /8—Percy!—and set on^— Sound all the lofty instruments of war, And by that musick let us all embrace: For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall A second time do such a courtesy. [The Trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeimt. III.—Plain near

SCENE

SHREWSBURY.

Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the Battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, meeting. Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek Upon my head? Douglas. Know then, my name is Douglas; And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, Because some tell me that thou art a king. Blunt They tell thee true. Douglas. 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, Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot: And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford's death. [Theyfight,and BLUNT is slain. Enter HOTSPUR. Hotspur. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. Douglas. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the king. Hotspur. Where? Douglas. Here? Hotspur. This, Douglas ? no, I know this face full well: 8

The motto of the Percy family.

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A gallant knight lie was, his name was Blunt; Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. Douglas. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes, A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? Hotspur. The king hath many marching in, .his coats. Douglas. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, Until I meet the king. Hotspur. Up, and away; Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. \Exeunt. Other Alarums. Enter FALSTAFF. Falstaff. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon the pate.—Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt;—there's honour for you: Here's no vanity!—I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too; heaven keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels.—I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered: there's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here? Enter PRINCE HENRY. Prince Henry. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword: Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are unreveng'd: Pr'ythee, lend thy sword. Falstaff. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a while.—Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure. Prince Henry. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. Falstaff. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. Prince Henry. Give it me: What, is it in the case?

326

FIRST PART OF

Falstaff. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot! there's that will sack a city. [The PRINCE draws out a bottle of sack Prince Henry. What, is't a time to jest and dally now? [Throws it at him, and exit. Falstaff^ Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado9 of me. I like not such grinning hononr, as sir Walter hath: Give me life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit. SCENE

Alarums.

IV.—Another pmt of the Field. Excursions.

Enter the KING,

HENRY, PRINCE JOHN, and

PRINCE WESTMORELAND.

King Henry. I pr'ythee, Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much:— Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. Prince John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. Prince Henry. I do beseech your majesty,-make up, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. King Henry. I will do so:— My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. Westmoreland. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. Prince Henry. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your help: And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive The prince of Wales from such a field as this; Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! Prince John. We breathe too long:—Come, cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies; for heaven's sake, come. [Exeunt PRINCE JOHN and "WESTMORELAND. Prince Henry. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: 9

A piece of meat cut crosswise for the gridiron.

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327

Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; But now, I do respect thee as my soul. King Henry, I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior. Prince Henry. 0, this boy Lends mettle to us all! [Exit. Alarums. Enter DOUGLAS. Douglas. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads: I am the Douglas, fatal to all those That wear those colours on them.—What art thou, That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? King Henry. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart, So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very king. I have two boys Seek Percy and thyself, about the field: But, seeing thou fall'sfc on me so luckily, I will assay thee; so defend thyself. Douglas. I fear thou art another counterfeit; And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be, And thus I win thee. [They fight; the KING being in danger, enter PRINCE HENRY. Prince Henry. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again! the spirits Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms: It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee; Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.— [They fight; DOUGLAS flies.

Cheerly, my lord; how fares your grace?— Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, And so hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton straight, King Henry. Stay, and breathe a while:— Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion; And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life, In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

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Prince Henry. O, heaven! they did me too much injury, That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. If it were so, I might have let alone The insulting hand of Douglas over you; Which would have been as speedy in your end, As all the poisonous potions in the world, And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. King Henry. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas Gawsey. [Exit KING HENRY. Enter HOTSPUR. Hotspur. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. Prince Henry. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. Hotspur. My name is Harry Percy. Prince Henry. Why, then I see A very valiant rebel of the name. I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. Hotspur. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come To end the one of us; And 'would to God, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! Prince Henry. I'll make it greater, ere I partfromthee; And all the budding honours on thy crest I'll crop to make a garland for my head. Hotspur. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. Enter FALSTAFF. Falslaff. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!—Nay, you shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter DOUGLAS; he fights with FALSTAFF, whofalls down as if he csere dead, and exit DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls.

Hotspur. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth; I better brook the loss of brittle life,

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Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh: But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; And time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, But that the earthy and cold hand of death Lies on my tongue:—No, Percy, thou art dust, And food for [Dies, Prince Henry. For worms, brave Percy; Fare thee well, great heart!— Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk f When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough.—This earth that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. If thou wert sensible of courtesy, I should not make so dear a show of zeal:— But let my favours1 hide thy mangled face; And, even in thy behalf, I'll 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, But not remember'd in thy epitaph! [He sees FALSTAFF on the ground. What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell! I could have better spar'd a better man. O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, If I were much in love with vanity. Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, Though many dearer, in this bloody fray:— Embowell'd will I see thee by and by; Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. Falstaff. [Rising slmdy^\ Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder2 me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Twas time to counterfeit, or 1

Scarf, with which he covers Percy's face,

2

Salt.

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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. I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid, he would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure: yea, and I'll swear I killed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbing him^\ with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me. [Takes HOTSPUR on his bach.

Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and PRINCE JOHN. Prince Henry. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh'd Thy maiden sword. Prince John. But, soft! whom have we here ? Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead? Prince Henry. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and bleeding Upon the ground. Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak; We will not trust our eyes, without our ears:— Thou art not what thou seem'st. Falstaff. No, that's certain; I am not a double man: but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy, [Throwing the body down.~\ If your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl, or duke, I can assure you. Prince Henry. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead. Falstaff. Didst thou?—Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying!—I grant you, I was down, and out of

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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. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my sword. Prince John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. Prince Henry. 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, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. [A Retreat is sounded. da is ours. The trumpet sounds retreat, the day Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, To see what friends are living, who are dead. [Exeunt PRINCE HENRY and PRINCE JOHN. Falstaff. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, heaven reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live as a nobleman should do. [Exit, bearing off* the body. SCENE

Y.—Another part of the Field.

The Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, PRINCE JOHN, WESTMORELAND, and others; with WORCESTER and YERNON, Prisoners. King Henry. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.— Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace, Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ? Three knights upon our party slain to-day, A noble earl, and many a creature else, Had been alive this hour, If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

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Worcester. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to; And I embrace this fortune patiently, Since not to be avoided it falls on me. King Henry. Bear "Worcester to the death, and Yernon too: Other offenders we will pause upon.— [Exewnt WORCESTER and YERNON, guarded.

How goes the field? Prmce Henry. The noble Scot lord Douglas, when he saw The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, The noble Percy slain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear,—fled with the rest; And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, That the pursuers took him. At my tent The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace, I may dispose of him. King Henry. With all my heart. Prince Henry. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you, This honourable bounty shall belong: Go to the Douglas, and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomeless and free: His valour shown upon our crests to-day, Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, Even in the bosom of our adversaries. King Henry. 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, Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: 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, Meeting the check of such another day: And since this business so fair is done, Let us not leave till all our own be won.

SECOND PAET OF

KING HENRY IV.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

HENRY, Prince of Wales, afterwards King Henry V.; THOMAS, Dulce of Clarence; PRINCE J O H N of Lancaster, afterwards (2 H E N R Y V.) Duke of

f

Ms Sons.

PRINCE HUMPHREY ofGloster, afterwards (2 HENRY V.) Duke

ofGloster; EARL OF WARWICK ;

;

LAND;

[[

ofthe King's Par®.

HARCOURT; LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE KING'S BENCH.

A GENTLEMAN attending on the Chief Justice. EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND ;

SCROOP, Archbislwp of York; LORD BARDOLPH ; SIR JOHN COLEVILLE ;

TRAVERS AND MORTON, Domestics of Noiihumberland, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, AND PAGE.

POINS AND PETO, Attendants on Prince Henry. SHALLOW AND SILENCE, Country Justices.

DAVY, Servant to Shalloio. MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, AND BULL-CALF, Recruits.

FANG AND SNARE, Sheriffs Officers. RUMOUR. A PORTER.

A DANCER, Speaker of the Epilogtie. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. LADY PERCY. HOSTESS QUICKLY.

Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Drawers, Gh%ooms,
SECOND PAET OF

KING HENRY IV.

INDUCTION. WARKWORTH.

Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle.

Enter RUMOUR, painted full of Tongues. Rumour. Open your ears; For which of you will stop The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? I, from the orient to the drooping west, Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold The acts commenced on this ball of earth: Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. I speak of peace, while covert enmity, Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief; Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies., conjectures; And of so easy and so plain a stop, That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. But what need I thus My well-known body to anatomize

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Among my household? "Why is Kumour here? I run before King Harry's victory, Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Quenching the flame of bold rebellion Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I To speak so true at first? my office is To noise abroad,—that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; And that the king before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns Between that royal field of Shrewsbury And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, And not a man of them brings other news Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit.

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ACT I. SCENE I.—WARKWORTH. Before. NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle.

TJie PORTER before the Gate; Enter LORD BARDOLPH. Lord Bardolph. Who keeps the gate here, ho?— Where is the earl? Porter. What shall I say you are? Lord Bardolph. Tell thou the earl, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Porter. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard; Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Lord Bardolph. Here comes the earl. Northumberland. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem •} The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him. Lord Bardolph. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. Northumberland. Good, an heaven will! Lord Bardolph. As good as heart can wish:—• The king is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, Is prisoner to your son: 0, such a day, So fought? so followed, and so fairly won, 1

VOL. III.

Important or d eadful event. Z

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Came not till now, to dignify the times, Since Caesar's fortunes! Northumberland. How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Lord Bardolph. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. Northumberland. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. Lord Bardolph. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More than he haply may retail from me. Enter TRAVERS. Northumberland. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you? Travers. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, A gentleman almost forspent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that rebellion had bad luck, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold: With that he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade Up to the rowel head; and, starting so, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question. Northumberland. Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck! Lord Bardolph. My lord, I'll tell you what;— H my young lord your son have not the clay,

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Upon mine honour, for a silken point2 I'll give my barony: never talk of it. Northumberland. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers, Give then such instances of loss? Lord JBardolph. Who, he? 3 He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter MORTON. Northumberland. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragick volume: So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpation. Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? Morton. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, To fright our party. Northumberland. How doth my son, and brother? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd : But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, And 1 my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. This thou wouldst say,—Your son did* thus, and thus; Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds: But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Thou hadst a sigh to blow away this praise, Ending with—brother, son, and all are dead. Morton, Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: But, for my lord, your son, Northumberland. Why, he is dead. 2

Lace tagged.

3

Hilderling, base, cowardly.

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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He, that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton: Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies; And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Morton. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. Northumberland. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead: Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Reinember'd knolling a departing friend. Lord Bardolph. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. Morton. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance,4 wearied and outbreath'd, To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath, beat down The never daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in his camp) Being bruited5 once, took fire and heat away From the best-temper'd courage in his troops: For from his metal was his party steel'd; Which once in him abated, all the rest Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 4

Return of blows.

5

Reported,

KING HENRY IV.

341

Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 'Gan vail6 his stomach, and did grace the shame, Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight, Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all Is,—that the king hath won; and hath sent out A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster, And "Westmoreland: this is the news at full. Northumberland. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physick; and these news, Having been well, that woiild have made me sick, Being sick, have in some measure made me well: And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice7 crutch; A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif,8 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. Now bind my brows with iron; And approach The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland! Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die! And let this world no longer be a stage, 6

Let fall.

7

Trifling.

8

Cap.

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To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead! Travers. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. Lord Bardolph. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. Morton. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast the event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd the account of chance, before you said,—• Let us make head. It was your presurmise, That in the dole 9 of blows your son might drop: You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, More likely to fall in, than to get o'er: You were advis'd, his flesh was capable Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirits Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; Yet did you say,—Go forth; and none of this, Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen, Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth, More than that being which was like to be? Lord Bardolph. We all, that are engaged to this loss, Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; And since we are o'erset, venture again. Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods. Morton. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble lord, I hear for certain and do speak the truth, The gentle archbishop of York is up, With well-appointed powers; he is a man, 9

Distribution.

KING HENRY IV.

343

Who with a double surety binds his followers. My lord your son had only but the corps, But shadows, and the shows of men to fight: For that same word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from their souls: And they did fight with queasiness,1 constraint, As men drink potions; that their weapons only Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls, This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up, As fish are in a pond; But now the bishop Turns insurrection to religion: Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, He's foliow'd both with body and with mind; And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones. Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; And more,2 and less, do flock to follow him. Northumberland. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. Go in with me; and counsel every man The aptest way for safety, and revenge : Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed; Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. A Street. Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his Sword and Buckler. Falstaff. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me; I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason SCENE II.—LONDON.

1

Against Iheir stomachs.

2

Greater.

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than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. T was never manned with an agate3 till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: nature may finish it when she will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said master Dumbleton about the satin for my short cloak, and slops? Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security. Falstaff. A rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security!— The smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough4 with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon—security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security, I looked he should have sent me two-andtwenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,—Where's Bardolph? Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse. Falstaff. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.5 Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, and an ATTENDANT. Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 3 5

Alluding to littlefigurescut in agate. Alluding to an old proverb.

4

In their debt.

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345

Falstaff. Wait close, I will not see him. Chief Justice. What's he that goes there? Attendant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Chief Justice. He that was in question for the robbery? Attendant. He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. Chief Justice. What, to York? Call him back again. Attendant. Sir John Falstaff! Falstaff. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. Chief Justice. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.—Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Attendant. Sir John,— Falstaff. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worse side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Attendant. You mistake me, sir. Falstaff. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so. Attendant. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. Falstaff. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou get'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged: You hunt-counter,6 hence! avaunt! Attendant. Sir, my lord would speak with you. Chief Justice. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. Ftilstaff My good lord! give your lordship good time 6

A catch-pole or bailiff.

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of day. I am gladfcosee your lordship abroad: I heard say, your lordship was sick: I hope, your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship, to have a reverend care of your health. Chief Justice. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. Falstaff. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Chief Justice. I talk not of his majesty:—You would not come when I sent for you. Falstaff. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen into this same apoplexy. Chief Justice. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me speak with you. Falstaff. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a tingling. Chief Justice. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. Falstaff. I t hath its original from much grief; from study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of deafness. Chief Justice. I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. Falstaff. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Chief Justice. To punish you by the heels, would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not, if I do become your physician. Falstaff. I am as poor as Job, my lord; but not so patient: your lordship may minister the portion of imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed,, a scruple itself. Chief Justice. I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me.

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Falstaff. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Chief Justice. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in great infamy. F&lstaff. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in less. Chief Justice. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Falstaff. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Chief Justice. You have misled the youthful prince. Falstaff. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Chief Justice. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'erposting that action. Falstaff. My lord? Chief Justice. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. Falstaff To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Chief Justice. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. Falstaff A wassel candle,7 my lord: all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Chief Justice. There is not a white hair on your face, but should have his effect of gravity. Falstaff His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Chief Justice. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. Falstaff Not so, my lord; your ill angel8 is light; but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell: 9 Virtue is of so little regard in these coster-monger times, that true valour is turned bear-herd: Pregnancy 1 is made a tapster, and hath his 7 9

A large candle for a feast. Pass current.

8 1

The coin called an angel. Eeadiness.

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quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the capacities of us that are young: you measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward2 of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Chief Justice. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing body? Is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself young? Fye, fye, fye, sir John! Falstaff. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a round belly. For my voice,—I have lost it with hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him. For the box o? the ear that the prince gave you,—he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it; and the young lion repents: marry, not in ashes, and sack-cloth; but in new silk, and old sack. Chief Justice. Well, heaven send the prince a bettetf companion! Falstaff. Heaven send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Chief Justice. Well, the king hath severed you and prince Harry: I hear you are going with lord John of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of Northumberland. Falstaff. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day! for, I take 2

Forepart.

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but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it: Well, I cannot last ever; But it was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If you will needs say, I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to heaven; my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Chief Justice. Well, be honest, be honest; And heaven bless your expedition! Falstaff. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, to furnish me forth? Chief Justice. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. [Exeunt CHIEF JUSTICE and ATTENDANT. Falstaff. If I do,fillipme with a three-man beetle.3— Boy! Page. Sir? Falstaff What money is in my purse ? Page. Seven groats and two-pence. Falstaff! I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.—Go bear this letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the earl of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin : About it; you know where to find me. [Exit PAGE.] This gout plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable: A good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity.4 [Exit. 3 4

A large wooden hammer, so heavy as to require three men to wield it. Profit.

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A Boom in the ARCHBISHOP'S Palace. Enter tJie ARCHBISHOP of YORK, the LORDS HASTINGS, SCENE III.—YORK.

MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH.

Archbishop. Thus have you heard our cause, and known our means ; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:— And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? Mowbray. I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied, How, in our means, we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. Hastings. Our present musters grow upon the file To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom bums With an incensed fire of injuries. Lord Bardolph. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth thus;— Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland. Hastings. With him, we may. Ay, marry, there's the point: Lord Bardolph. But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand: For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. Archbishop. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. Lord Bardolph. It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself with project of a power

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Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so with great imagination, Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, And, winking, leap'd into destruction. Hastings. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. Lord Bardolph. Yes, in this present quality of war;— Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) Lives so in hope, as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, That frosts will bite them. "When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model, And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then, but draw anew the model In fewer offices; or, at least, desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, (Which is, almost to pluck a kingdom down, And set another up,) should we survey The plot of situation, and the model; Consent5 upon a sure foundation; Question surveyors; know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else, We fortify in paper, and in figures, Using the names of men, instead of men: Like one, that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds, And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. Hastings. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth) Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation; I think, we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. 5

Agree.

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Lord Bardolph What! is the king but five and twenty thousand? Hastings. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: So is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. Archbishop. That he should draw his several strengths together, And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. Hastings. If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. Lord Bardolph. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? Hastings. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. Archbishop. Let us on; And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice, Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:— An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many!6 with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou would'st have him be? And being now trimm'd 7 in thine own desires, They that, when Eichard liv'd, would have him die Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, When through proud London he came sighing or* After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 6

Foolish multitude,

7

Dressed.

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Cry'st now, 0 earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this ! 0 thoughts of men accurst Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. Mowbray. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? Hastings. 'We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt. ACT I I . SCENE I.—LONDON.

Enter

A Street.

HOSTESS; FANG, and his Boy, SNARE following.

with her ; and

Hostess. Master Fang, have you enter'd the action? Fang. I t is entered. Hostess. Where is your yeoman? 8 Is it a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Hostess. O, good master Snare. Snare. Here, here. Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. Hostess. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered him and all. Snare. I t may ohance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. Hostess. Alas the day! take heed of him; in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out: he will foin9 like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. Hostess. I'll be at your elbow. Fang. An I but fist him once; an a' come but within jny vice. 1 Hostess. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinite thing upon my score:—Good master Fang, hold him sure;—good master Snare, let him not escape. He comes continually to Pie-corner, and he's 8

Follower. VOL. I l l ,

9

Thrust.

l

Grasp. 2 A

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indited to dinner to the Lubbar's Head in Luinbertstreet, to master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long loan for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and have been fobbed of£ and fobbed off, and fobbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH. Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices. Falstaff. How now? whose mare's dead? what's the matter? Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress Quickly. Falstaff. Away, varlets!—Draw, Bardolph; cut me off the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. Hostess. Throw me in the channel? I'll throw theein the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou rogue!— Murder, murder! O thou honeysuckle2 villain! wilt thou kill the king's officers? 0 thou honeyseed3 rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a man-queller; and a womanqueller. Falstaff. Keep them off, Bardolph. Fang. A rescue! a rescue! Hostess. Good people, bring a rescue or two.—Thou wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't thou? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! Falstaff. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian! 2

Homicidal.

3

Homicide.

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Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, attended. Chief Justice. What's the matter? keep the peace here, ho! Hostess. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech you! Chief Justice. How now, sir John? what, are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time, and business? You should have been well on your way to York.— Stand from him, fellow; Wherefore hang'st thou on him ? Hostess. O my most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Chief Justice. For what sum? Hostess. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have: he hath eaten me out of house and home: he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his. Chief Justice. How comes this, sir John ? Fye! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? Hostess. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself, and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt4 goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor: thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us, she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; 4

Party gilt.

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saying, that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirtyshillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath; deny it, if thou canst. Falstaff. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress against them. Chief Justice. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. I t is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration; you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easyyielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and person. Hostess. Yea, in troth, my lord. Chief Justice. Pr'ythee, peace:—Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. Falstaff. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap5 without reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent sauciness: if a man will make court'sy, and say nothing, he is virtuous: No, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor; I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Chief Justice. You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, 6 and satisfy the poor woman. Falstaff Come hither, hostess. [Taking 7wr aside. Enter GOWER. Chief Justice. Now, master Gower; "What news? Gower. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of Wales, Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. 5

Snub, check.

6

Suitably to your character.

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Falstaff As I am a gentleman ;Hostess. Nay, you said so before. Falstaff. As I am a gentleman; Come, no more words of it. Hostess. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my dining-chamb ers. Falstaff. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and for thy walls,—a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the prodigal, or the German hunting in waterwork, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, and these flybitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw7 thy action: Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me ? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. Hostess. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty nobles; i' faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good earnest, la. Falstaff. Let it alone; I'll make other shift; you'll be a fool still. Hostess. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper: you'll pay me all together? Falstaff. Will I live?—Go, with her, with her; [To BARDOLPH,] hook on, hook on. [Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, OFFICERS, and PAGE. Chief Justice. I have heard better news. Falstaff What's the news, my good lord? Chief Justice. Where lay the king last night? Gower. At Basingstoke, my lord. Falstaff. I hope, my lord, all's well: What's the news, my lord? Chief Justice. Come all his forces back? Gower. Is"o; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. 7

Withdraw.

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Falstaff. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Chief Justice. You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good master Gower. Falstaff. My lord! Chief Justice. What's the matter? Falstaff. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? Gower. I must wait upon my good lord here: I thank you, good sir John. Chief Justice. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. Falstaff. Will you sup with me, master Gower? Chief Justice. What foolish master taught you these manners, sir John? Falstaff. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me.—This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Chief Justice. Now heaven lighten thee ! thou art a great fool. [Exeunt SCENE

II.—Another Street.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and Poms. Prince Henry. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. Prince Henry. 'Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer? Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied, as to remember so weak a composition. Prince Henry. Belike then, my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? or to know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how

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359

many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz. these, and those that were the peach-coloured ones? Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is ? Prince Henry. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? Poins. Yes; and let it be an excellent good thing. Prince Henry. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. Prince Henry. Why, I tell thee,—it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad indeed too. Poins. Yery hardly, upon such a subject. Prince Henry. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency: Let the end try the man. But I tell thee,—my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. Poins. The reason ? Prince Henry. What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. Prince Henry. It would be every man's thought: and thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought, to thinls so? Poins. Why, because you have been so much engraffed to Falstaff. Prince Henry. And to thee. Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can hear it vith my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper

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fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Prince Henry. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. Enter

BARDOLPH

and

PAGE.

Bardolph. 'Save your grace. Prince Henry. And yours, most noble Bardolph. Bardolph. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page,] you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last, I spied his eyes. Prince Henry. Hath not the boy profited? Bardolph. Away, you upright rabbit, away! Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away! Prince Henry. Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy? Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. Prince Henry. A crown's worth of good interpretation —There it is, boy. [Gives him money. Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers !—Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. Bardolph. An you do not make him be hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. Prince Henry. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? Bardolph. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town; there's a letter for you. Poins. Delivered with good respect.—And how doth the martlemas,7 your master ? Bardolph. In bodily health, sir. Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not. Prince Henry. I do allow this wen to be as familiar 7

Martinmas; St. Martin's day is NOT. 11.

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361

with me as my dog: and he holds his place; for, look you, how he writes. Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight, Every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself. Even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their.finger, but they say, There is some of the king's blood spilt: How comes that ? says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap; / am the king's poor cousin, sir. Prince Henry. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But the letter:— Poins. Sir John JFalstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, greeting,— Why, this is a certificate. Prince Henry. Peace! Poins. / will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity: —he sure means brevity in breath; short-winded.—/ commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave tJiee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he sivears, thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell. Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; John, with my brothers and sisters; and Sir John, with all JUurope. My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it. Prince Henry. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister. Poins. May the girl have no worse fortune! but I never said so. Prince Henry. "Well, thus we play the fools with the time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.—Is your master here in London? Bardolph. Yes, my lord. Prince Henry. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? 8 8

Sty.

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Bardolph. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap. Prince Henry. Shall we steal upon him, Ned, at supper? Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. Prince Henry. Sirrah, you boy,—and Bardolph;—no word to your master that I am yet come to town; There's for your silence. Bardolph. I have no tongue, sir. Page. And for mine, sir;—I will govern it. Prince Henry. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE.] HOW might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. Prince Henry. From a god to a bull? a heavy descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine: for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Enter PETO. Peto, how now? what news? Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster; And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, Come from the north: and, as I came along, I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. Prince Henry. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, So idly to profane the precious time: When tempest of commotion, like the south, Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. Give me my sword and cloak:—and, Poins, good night. [Exeunt

KING HENRY V.

SCENE III.—WARKWORTH.

Enter

363

Before t/ie Castle. NORTHUMBERLAND, and

NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY LADY PERCY.

Northumberland. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times, And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. Lady Northumberland. I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. Northumberland. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. Lady Percy. O, yet, for heaven's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, "When you were more endear'd to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost; yours, and your son's. For yours,—may heavenly glory brighten it! For his,—it stuck upon him, as the sun In the grey vault of heaven: and by his light, Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait: And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant: For those that could speak low, and tardily, Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood,

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He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashioned others. And him,—O wondrous him! O miracle of men!—him did you leave, (Second to none, unseconded by you,) To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field, Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible, so you left him: Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong, To hold your honour more precise and nice With others, than with him; let them alone; The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. Northumberland. Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me, With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go, and meet with danger there; Or it will seek me in another place, And find me worse provided. Lady Northumberland. O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, Have of their puissance made a little taste. Lady Percy. If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but for all our loves, First let them try themselves: So did your son; He was so suffer'd; So came I a widov; And never shall have length of life enough, To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. Northumberland. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind, As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back:

KING HENRY IV.

I will resolve for Scotland; there am I Till time and vantage crave my company.

365

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.—A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, in his Night-gown, with a PAGE. King Henry. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them: make good speed.— [Exit PAGE. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep!—Sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep niy senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; And in the visitation of the winds Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly,9 death itself awakes? Canst thou, 0 partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 0

Noise.

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With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then happy low,1 lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Enter WARWICK and SURREY, Warwick. Many good morrows to your majesty! King Henry. Is it good morrow, lords? Warwick. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. King Henry. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords. Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? Warwick. We have, my liege. King Henry. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom, How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it. Warwick. It is but as a body, yet distemper'd; Which to his former strength may be restor'd, With good advice, and little medicine: My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. King Henry. O heaven! that one might read the book of fate; And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself Into the sea! and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth,—viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue,— Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 'Tis not ten years gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feast together, and, in two years after, Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since This Percy was the man nearest my soul; 1

Those in lowly situations.

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Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, And laid his love and life under my foot: Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) [To WARWICK. When Richard,—with his eye brimfull of tears, Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,— Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? Northumberland, ihou ladder, by the which My cousin Bolingbrohe ascends my throne;— Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent: But that necessity so bow'd the state, That I and greatness were compelled to kiss: The time shall come, thus did he follow it, The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption:—so went on, Foretelling this same time's condition, And the division of our amity. Warwick. There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd: The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life; which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time; Ajid, by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess, That great Northumberland, then false to him, Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; Which should not find a ground to root upon, Unless on you. King Henry. Are these things then necessities? Then let us meet them like necessities: And that same word even now cries out on us; They say, the bishop and Northumberland Are fifty thousand strong. Warwick. It cannot be, my lord; Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the fear'd:—Please it your grace,

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To go to bed; upon my life, my lord, The powers that you already have sent forth, Shall bring this prize in very easily. To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill; And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add Unto your sickness. King Henry. I will take your counsel: And, were these inward wars once out of hand, We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt. SCENE

II.—Court before JUSTICE SHALLOW'S House in GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

Enter

SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULL-CALF, and

MOULDY, SERVANTS

behind. Shallow. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir; an early stirrer, by the rood.2 And how doth my good cousin Silence? Silence. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. Shallow. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? Silence. Alas, a black ousel, cqusin Shallow. Shalloio. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin William is become a good scholar: He is at Oxford, still, is he not? Silence. Indeed, sir; to my cost, Shallow. He must then to the inns of court, shortly: I was once of Clement's Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Silence. You were called—lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shallow. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will 2

Cross.

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Squele a Cotswold man,—you had not four such swingebucklers in all the inns of court again: and I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were. Then was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. Silence. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon, about soldiers? Shallow. The same sir John, the very same; I saw him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he was a crack,3 not thus high: and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer; behind Gray's Inn. O, the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead! Silence. We shall all follow, cousin. Shallow. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure; death is certain to all; all shall die.—How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair? Silence. Truly, cousin, I was not there. Shallow. Death is certain.—Is old Double of your town living yet ? Silence. Dead, sir. Shallow. Dead!—See, see!—he drew a good bow;— And dead!—He shot a fine shoot:—John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead!—he would have clapp'd i' the clout at twelve score; 4 and carried you a forehand shaft at fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see.—How a score of ewes now? Silence. Thereafter as they be; a score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds. Shallow. And is old Double dead! Enter BAEDOLPH, and one with him. Silence. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, as I think, Bardolph. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech you, which is justice Shallow? 3

Boy. VOL. III.

4

Hit the white mark at twelve score y arris. 2 B

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Shallow. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, and one of the king's justices of the peace: What is your good pleasure with me ? Bardolph. My captain, sir, commends him to you: my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall 5 gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. Shallow. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good backsword man: How doth the good knight? may I ask, how my lady his wife doth? Bardolph. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated, than with a wife. Shallow. I t is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed too. Better accommodated!—it is good; yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated!—it comes from accommodo: very good; a good phrase. Bardolph. Pardon me, sir: I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? By this good day, I know not the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command. Accommodated; that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or when a man is,—being,— whereby,—he may be thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing. Enter FALSTAFF. Shallow. I t is very just:—Look, here comes good sir John.—Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand: By my troth, you look well, and bear your years very well: welcome, good sir John. Falstaff. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert Shallow:—Master Sure-card, as I think. Shallow. No, sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me. Falstaff. Good master Silence, it well befits you should be of the peace. Silence. Your good worship is welcome.

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Falstaff. Fye! this is hot weather.—Gentlemen, have you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men? Shallow. Marry, have we sir. Will you sit? Falstaff. Let me see them, I beseech you. Shallow. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the roll ?—Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so: Yea, marry, sir—Ralph Mouldy:—let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? Movlcly. Here, an't please you. Shallow. What think you, sir John; a good limbed fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. Falstaff Is thy name Mouldy? Mouldy. Yea, an't please you. Falstaff. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. Shallow. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, things that are mouldy, lack use: Very singular good!—well said, sir J o h n ; very well said. Falstaff. Prick him. [To SHALLOW. Mouldy. My old dame will be undone now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery: you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I. Falstaff Go to; peace, Mouldy, you shall go, Mouldy. Shallow. Peace, fellow, peace: stand aside; Know you where you are?—For the other, sir John:—let me see;—Simon Shadow! Falstaff Ay marry, let me have him to sit under: he's like to be a cold soldier. Shallow. Where's Shadow? Shadow. Here, sir. Falstaff. Shadow, whose son art thou? Shadow. My mother's son, sir. Falstaff. Thy mothers son! like enough, and thy father's shadow. Shalloiv. Do you like him, sir John? Falstaff Shadow will serve for summer,—prick him; —for we have a number of shadows to fill up the musterbook.

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Shallow. Thomas Wart! Falstaff. Where's he? Wart Here, sir. Falstaff. Is thy name Wart? Wart Yea, sir. Falstaff. Thou art a very ragged wart. Shallow. Shall I prick him, sir John? Falstaff. I t were superfluous: for his apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins: prick him no more. Sliallow. Ha, ha, ha!—you can do it, sir; you can do it: I commend you well.—Francis Feeble! Feeble. Here, sir. Falstaff What trade art thou, Feeble? Fveble. A woman's tailor, sir. Shallow. Shall I prick him, sir? Falstaff. You may:—Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast made with thy needle? Feeble. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. Falstaff. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse.—Prick the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; deep, master Shallow. Feeble. I would, Wart might have gone, sir. Falstaff. I would thou wert a man's tailor; that thou might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands: Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. Feeble. I t shall suffice, sir. Falstaff. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.— Who is next? Shallow. Peter Bull-calf of the green! Falstaff. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. Bull-calf. Here, sir. Falstaff. Trust me, a likely fellow!—Come, prick me Bull-calf till he roar again. Bull-calf. O lord! good my lord captain,—

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Falstaff. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? Bull-calf. O lord, sir! I am a diseased man. Falstaff. "What disease hast thou? Bull-calf. A cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I caught with ringing in the king s affairs, upon his coronationday, sir. Falstaff. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we will have away thy cold; and 1 will take such order, that thy friends shall ring for thee.—Is here all? Shallow. Here is two more called than your number? you must have but four here, sir;—and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. Falstaff. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth, master Shallow. Shallow. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields? Falstaff. No more of that, good master Shallow, no more of that. Shallow. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night alive? Falstaff. She lives, master Shallow. Shallow. She never could away with me. Falstaff. Never, never: she would always say, she could not abide master Shallow. Shallow. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well ? Falstaff. Old, old, master Shallow. Shallow. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; certain she's old; and had Robin before I oame to Clement's Inn. Silence. That's fifty-five year ago. Shallow. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I have seen!—Ha, sir John, said I well? Falstaff We have heard the chimes at midnight, master Shallow. Shallow. That we have, that we have, that we have: in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word was, Hem,

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boys!—Come, let's to dinner; coine, let's to dinner:— O, the days that we have seen!—Come, come. [Exeunt FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, and SILENCE. Bull-calf. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here is four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but, rather, because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so much. Bcvrdolph. Go t o ; stand aside. Mouldy. And good master corporal captain, for my old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody to do any thing about her, when I am gone: and she is old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. Bardolph. Go to; stand aside. Feeble. By my troth I care not;—a man can die but once;—we owe God a death;—111 ne'er bear a base mind;—an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so: No man's too good to serve his prince; and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this year, is quit for the next. Bardolph. Well said; thou'rt a good fellow. Feeble. Nay, I'll bear no base mind. Re-enter FALSTAFF, and JUSTICES. Falstaff. Come, sir, which men shall I have? Shallow. Four, of which you please. Bardolph. Sir, a word with you:—I have three pound to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. Falstaff. Go to ; well. Shallow. Come, sir John, which four will you have? Falstaff. Do you choose for me. Shallow. Marry then,—Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and Shadow. Falstaff. Mouldy, and Bull-calf:—for you, Mouldy, stay at home, still; you are past service:—and, for your part, Bull-calf,—grow till you come unto it; I will none of you. Shallow. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong;

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375

they are your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best. Falstaff. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, master Shallow.—Here's Wart;—you see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of a pewterer's hammer; come off, and on, swifter than he that gibbets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow,—give me this man; he presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim level at the edge of a penknife: And, for a retreat,—how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off? O, give me the spare men, and spare me the great ones.— Put me a caliver6 into Wart's hand, Bardolph. Bardolph. Hold, Wart, traverse;7 thus, thus, thus. Falstaff. Come, manage me your caliver. So :—very well: go to :—very good:—exceeding good.—0, give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot.—Well said, Wart; hold, there's a tester for thee. Shallow. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I lay at Clement's Inn,—I was then sir Dagonet in Arthur's show,8) there was a little quiver fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus: and 'a would about and about, and come you in, and come you in: rah, tah} tah, would 'a say; bounce, would 'a say; and aVay again Would 'a go, and again would 'a come:—I shall never see such a fellow. Falstaff. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. —Heaven keep you, master Silence; I will not use many words with you:—Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank you: I must a dozen mile to-night.—Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. Shallow. Sir John, heaven bless you and prosper your affairs, and send us peace! As you return, visit my house; 6

Musket.

7

March.

8

An exhibition of archers.

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let our old acquaintance be renewed: peradventure, I will with you to the court. Falstaff. I would you would, master Shallow. Shallow. Go to; I have spoke at a word. Fare you well. [.Exeunt SHALLOW and SILENCE. Falstaff. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt BARDOLPH, RECRUITS, &C^\ AS I return, I will fetch off these justices: I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. How subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull-street;9 and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: he was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible: he was the very Genius of famine; he came ever in the rearward of the fashion; and sung those tunes to the huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware—they were his fancies, or his good-nights.1 And now is this Vice's dagger2 become a squire; and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him: and I'll be sworn he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head, for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it; and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own name:3 for you might have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin; the case of a treble haut-boy was a mansion for him, a court; and now has he land and beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if I return: and it shall go hard, but I will make him a philosopher's stone to me: If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. [Exit. 9 1 2 3

In Clerkenwell. Titles of little poems. A wooden dagger like that used by the modern harlequin. Gaunt is thin, slender.

KING HENRY IV.

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ACT IV. SCENE I.—A

Forest in YORKSHIRE.

Enter the Archbishop of YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and Others.

Archbishop. What is this forest call'd? Hastings. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your grace. Archbishop. Here stand, my lord; and send discoverers forth, To know the numbers of our enemies. Hastings. We have sent forth already. Archbishop. 'Tis well done. My friends and brethren in these great affairs, I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd New-dated letters from Northumberland; Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus:— Here doth he wish his person, with such powers As might hold sortance4 with his quality, The which he could not levy; whereupon He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers, That your attempts may overlive the hazard, And fearful meeting of their opposite. Mowbray. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground, And dash themselves to pieces. Enter a

MESSENGER.

Hastings. Now, what news? Messenger. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form comes on the enemy: And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. Mowbray. The just proportion that we gave them out. Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 4

Be suitable.

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Enter WESTMORELAND. 4rchbishop. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? Mowbray. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. Westmoreland. Health and fair greeting from our general, The prince, lord John, and duke of Lancaster. Archbishop. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace: What doth concern your coming? Westmoreland. Then, my lord, Unto your grace do I in chief address The substance of my speech. If that rebellion Came like itself in base and abject routs, Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, And countenanc'd by boys and beggary; I say, if vile commotion so appear'd, In his true, native, and most proper shape, You, reverend father, and these noble lords, Had not been here, to dress the ugly form Of base and bloody insurrection With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,— Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd; Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd; Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd; Whose white investments figure innocence, The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,— Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine To a loud trumpet, and a point of war ? Archbishop. Wherefore do I this? so the question stands, Briefly to this end:—We are all diseased; And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it: of which disease Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland,

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I take not on me here as a physician; Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, Troop in the throngs of military men; But, rather, show a while like fearful war, To diet rank minds, sick of happiness; And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs5 heavier than our offences. We see which way the stream of time doth run, And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere By the rough torrent of occasion: And have the summary of all our griefs, When, time shall serve, to show in articles: Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, And might by no suit gain our audience: When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access unto his person Even by those men that most have done us wrong. The dangers of the days but newly gone, (Whose memory is written on the earth With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples Of every minute's instance, (present now,) Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : Not to break peace, or any branch of it; But to establish here a peace indeed, Concurring both in name and quality. Westmoreland. When ever yet was your appeal denied! Wherein have you been galled by the king? What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you? That you should seal this lawless bloody book Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? Archbishop. My brother general, the commonwealth, I make my quarrel in particular. Westmoreland. There is no need of any such redress; Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 5 Grievances.

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Mowbray. Why not to him, in part; and to us all, That feel the bruises of the days before; And suffer the condition of these times, To lay a heavy and unequal hand Upon our honours? Westmoreland. O my good lord Mowbray, Construe the times to their necessities, And you shall say indeed,—it is the time, And not the king, that doth you injuries. Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, Either from the king, or in the present time, That you should have an inch of any ground To build a grief on; Were you not restor'd To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories, Your noble and right-well remember'd father's? Mowbray. What thing, in honour, had my father lost. That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me? The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him: And then, when Henry Bolingbroke, and he,— Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together; Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, O, when the king did throw his warder6 down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw : Then threw he down himself; and all their lives, That by indictment, and by dint of sword, Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. Westmoreland. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not what: The earl of Hereford was reputed then In England the most valiant gentleman; Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd? But if your father had been victor there, 6

Truncheon,

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He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry: For all the country, in a general voice, Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers, and love, Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, And bless'd and grac'd indeed, more than the king. But this is mere digression from my purpose.— Here come I from our princely general, To know your griefe; to tell you from his grace, That he will give you audience: and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just, You shall enjoy them; every thing set off, That might so much as think you enemies. Mowbray. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer; And it proceeds from policy, not love. Westmoreland. Mowbray, you overween,7 to take it so; This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: For, lo! within a ken,1 our army lies: Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full of names than yours, Our men more perfect in the use of arms, Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good:— Say you not then, our offer is compelled. Mowbray. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. Westmoreland. That argues but the shame of your offence: A rotten case abides no handling. Hastings. Hath the prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father, To hear, and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon? Westmoreland. That is intended2in the general's name: I muse,3 you make so slight a question. Archbishop. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this schedule; For this contains our general grievances:— Each several article herein redress'd; 7

Think too highly.

l

Sight.

2

Understood.

3

Wonder.

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SECOND PAKT OF

All members of our cause, both here and hence, That are insinew'd to this action, Acquitted by a true substantial form; And present execution of our wills To us, and to our purposes, consign'd; "We come within our awful banks again, And knit our powers to the arm of peace. Westmoreland. This will I show the general Please you, lords, In sight of both our battles we may meet: And either end in peace, which heaven so frame! Or to the place of difference call the swords Which must decide it. Archbishop. My lord, we will do so. [Exit WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me That no conditions of our peace can stand. Hastings. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace "Upon such large terms, and so absolute, As our conditions shall consist upon, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. Mowbray. Ay, but our valuation shall be such, That every slight and false-derived cause, Yea, every idle, nice,4 and wanton reason, Shall, to the king, taste of this action: That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, And good from bad find no partition. Archbishop. No, no, my lord; Note this,—the king is weary Of dainty and such picking 5 grievances: For he hath found,—to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. And therefore will he wipe his tables 6 clean; And keep no tell-tale to his memory, That may repeat and history his loss To new remembrance: For full well he knows, 4

Trivial.

5

Insignificant.

6

Book for memorandums.

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383

H e cannot so precisely weed this land, As his misdoubts present occasion: His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. So that this land, like an offensive wife, That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes; As he is striking, holds his infant up, And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm That was uprear'd to execution. Hastings. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement: So that his power, like a fangless lion, May offer, but not hold. Archbisho]j. 'Tis very true;— And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal. If we do now make our atonement well, Our peace will, like a broken limb united, Grow stronger for the breaking. Mowbray. Be it so. Here is returned my lord of Westmoreland. Re-enter WESTMORELAND. Westmoreland. The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your lordship, To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies? Mowbray. Your grace of York, in God's name then set forward. Archbishop. Before, and greet his grace:—my lord, we come. [Exeunt. II.—Another Part of the Forest. Enter\ from one side, MOWBRAY, the ARCHBISHOP, HASTINGS, and others: from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of SCENE

LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and ATTENDANTS.

Prince John. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray:—

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Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop;— And so to you, lord Hastings,—and to all.— My lord of York, it better show'd with you, When that your flock, assembled by the bell, Encircled you, to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text; Than now to see you here an iron man, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man, that sits within a monarch's heart, And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, Alack, what mischiefs might be set abroach, In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop, I t is even so:—Who hath not heard it spoken, How deep you were within the books of heaven ? To us, the speaker in his parliament; To us, the imagin'd voice of heaven itself; The very opener, and intelligencer, Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings: O, who shall believe, But you misuse the reverence of your place; Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, As a false favourite doth his prince's name, In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up, Under the counterfeited zeal of heaven, The subjects of heaven's substitute, my father; And, both against the peace of heaven, Have here up-swarm'd them. Archbishop. Good my lord of Lancaster. I am not here against your father's peace: But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form, To hold our safety up. I sent your grace The parcels and particulars of our grief; The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court, Whereon this hydra son of war is born: Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,

KING HENRY IV.

385

With grant of our most just and right desires; And true obedience of this madness cur'd Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. Mowbray. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man. Hastings. And though we here fall down, We have supplies to second our attempt; If they miscarry, theirs shall second them: And so, success7 of mischief shall be born; And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, Whiles England shall have generation. Prince John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow, To sound the bottom of the after-times. Westmoreland. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly, How far-forth you do like their articles? Prince John, I like them all, and do allow8 them well: And swear here by the honour of my blood, My father's purposes have been mistook; And some about him have too lavishly Wrested his meaning and authority.— My lord, these griefs shall be with speed reclress'd; Upon my soul they shall. If this may please you, Discharge your powers unto their several counties, As we will ours: and here, between the armies Let's drink together friendly, and embrace; That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, Of our restored love, and amity, A rchbishop. I take your princely word for these redresses. Prince John. I give it you, and will maintain my word; And thereupon I drink unto your grace. Hastings. Go, captain, [To an OFFICER,] and deliver to the army This news of peace; let them have pay, and part: ( know it will well please them; Hie thee, captain. [Exit OFFICER. ArchbisJbop. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 7

VOL, III.

Succession.

8

Approve. 2 C

386

SECOND PART OF

Westmoreland. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew what pains I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace, You would drink freely: but my love to you Shall show itself more openly hereafter. Archbishop. I do not doubt you. Westmoreland. I am glad of it:— Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. Mowbray. You wish me health in very happy season; For I am, on the sudden, something ill. Archbishop. Against ill chances, men are ever meriy; But heaviness foreruns the good event. Westmoreland. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow Serves to say thus,—Some good thing comes to-morrow. Archbishop. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. Mowbray. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shouts within. Prince John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark, how they shout! Mowbray. This had been cheerful, after victory. Archbishop. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. Prince John. Go, my lord, And let our army be discharged too.— [Exit WESTMORELAND. And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains March by us; that we may peruse the men We should have cop'd withal. Archbishop. G-o, good lord Hastings, And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. [Exit HASTINGS. Prince John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together.— Re-enter WESTMORELAND. Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still %

KING HENRY IV.

387

Westmoreland. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, Will not go off until they hear you speak. Prince John. They know their duties. Re-enter

HASTINGS.

Hastings. My lord, our army is dispersed already: Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses, East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up, Each hurries towards his home, and sporting-place. Westmoreland. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:— And you, lord archbishop,—and you, lord Mowbray, Of capital treason I attach you both. Mowbray. Is this proceeding just and honourable? Westmoreland. Is your assembly so ? Archbishop. Will you thus break your faith? Prince John. I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most Christian care. But, for you, rebels,—look to taste the due Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly9 brought here, and foolishly sent hence.— Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray; Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day.— Some guard these traitors to the block of death, Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Exeunt. SCENE

III.—Another Part of the Forest.

Akvrums: Excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLEVILE, meeting. Falstaff. What's your name, sir? of what condition are you; and of what place, I pray? 9

Foolishly.

388

SECOND PART OF

Colevile. I am a knight, sir; and my name is—Colevile of the dale. Falstaff Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight is your degree; and your place, the dale: Colevile shall still be your name,—a traitor your degree; and the dungeon your place,—a place deep enough; so shall you still be Colevile of the dale. Colevile. Are not you sir John Falstaff? Falstaff As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. Colevile. I think you are sir John Falstaff; and, in that thought, yield me. Falstaff. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe:—Here comes our general. Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, and Others. Prince John. The heat is past, follow no farther now;— Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.— \Exit WESTMORELAND. Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When every thing is ended, then you come: These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back. Falstaff. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the x*eward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility: I have foundered nine-score and odd posts; and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and

KING HENRY IV,

389

valorous enemy: But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hooked-nose fellow of Rome,1—I came, saw, and overcame. Prince John. I t was more of his courtesy than your deserving. Falstaff. I know not; here he is, and here I yield him: and I beseech your grace let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds; or I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: To the which course, if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershining you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which shew like pins' heads to her; believe not the word of the noble: Therefore let me have right and let desert mount. Prince John. Thine's too heavy to mount. Falstaff. Let it shine then. Prince John. Thine's too thick to shine. Falstaff. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. Prince John. Is thy name Colevile? Colevile. I t is, my lord. Prince John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. Falstaff. And a famous true subject took him. Colevile. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, That led me hither: had they been ruled by me, You should have won them dearer than you have. Falstaff. I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and I thank thee for thee. Re-enter WESTMORELAND. Prince John. Now, have you left pursuit ? Westmoreland. Retreat is made, and execution stay'cl Prince John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, To York, to present execution: 1

Julius Cassar.

390

SECOND PAKT OF

Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. [Exeunt some with COLEVILE. And now despatch we toward the court, my lords; I hear, the king my father is sore sick: Our news shall go before us to his majesty,— Which, cousin, you shall bear,—to comfort him; And we with sober sj:>eed will follow you. Falstaff My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report. Prince John. Fare you well, Falstaff: 1, in my condition, 2 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. Falstaff. I would, you had but the wit: 'twere better than your dukedom.—Good faith, this same young soberblooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh;—but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, they are generally fools and cowards;—which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. I t ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive,3 full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is,—the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it. and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. I t illumineth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage: and this valour comes of sherris: So that skill in the weapon is 2

In my present temper.

3

Inventive.

KING HENRY IV.

391

nothing, without sack; for that sets it a-work: and learning, a mere hoard of gold, kept by a devil; till sack commences it,4 and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris; that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them shoiild be,—to forswear thin potations, and addict themselves to sack. Enter BARDOLPH. How now, Bardolph % Bardolph. The army is discharged all, and gone. Falstaff. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him.5 Come away. [Eooeunt. SCENE IV.—WESTMINSTER.

Enter

A Room in the Palace.

KING HENRY, CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY, WARWICK, and Others.

King Henry. Now, lords, if heaven doth give successful end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will our youth lead on to higher fields, And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is address'd,6 our power collected, Our substitutes in absence well invested, And every thing lies level to our wish: Only, we want a little personal strength; And pause us, till these rebels now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government. 4 5 6

Brings it into action. An allusion to the old use of sealing with soft wax. Beady, prepared*

392

SECOND PART OF

Wctrwich Both which we doubt not but your majesty Shall soon enjoy. King Henry. Humphrey, my son, of Gloster, Where is the prince your brother? Prince Humphrey. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. King Henry. And how accompanied? Prince Humphrey. I do not know, my lord. King Henry. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? Prince Humphrey. No, my good lord, he is in presence here. Clarence. What would my lord and father? King Henry. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; Thou hast a better place in his affection, Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy; And noble offices thou mayst effect Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren:— Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love: Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, By seeming cold, or careless of his will, For he is gracious, if he be observ'd; 7 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth: But, being moody, give him line and scope; Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas^ And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends; 7

Has attention shown him.

KING HENRY IV.

393

A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in; That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion, (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum,8 or rash gunpowder. Clarence. I shall observe him with all care and love. King Henry, Why art thou not at Windsor with him. Thomas? Clarence. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. King Henry. And how accompanied? canst thou tell that? Clarence. With Poins, and other his continual folowers. King Henry. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death; The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, In forms imaginary, the unguided days, And rotten times, that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! Warwick. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: The prince but studies his companions, Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language, 'Tis needful that the most immodest word Be look'd upon, and learn'd: which once attain'd, Your highness knows, comes to no further use, But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, The prince will, in the perfectness of time, Cast off his followers: and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 8

Wolf's bane, a poisonous herb.

394

SECOND PART OF

By which his grace must mete the lives of others; Turning past evils to advantages. King Henry. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.—Who's here? "Westmoreland? Enter WESTMORELAND. Westmoreland. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness Added to that that I am to deliver! Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand: Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, Are brought to the correction of your law; There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne, Here at more leisure may your highness read; With every course, in this particular.9 King Henry. O Westmoreland, thou art a summerbird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. Enter HARCOURT. Harcourt. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; And when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of! The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, With a great power of English, and of Scots, Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: The manner and true order of the fight, This packet, please it you, contains at large. King Henry. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? Will fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach, and no food,— Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast, * The (Jetail contained in Prince John's letter.

KING HENRY IV.

395

.And takes away the stomach,—such are the rich, That have abundance, and enjoy it not. I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy:— O me! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoons. Prince Humphrey. Comfort, your majesty! Clarence. 0, my royal father! Westmoreland. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up! Warwick. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits Are with his highness very ordinary. Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be welL Clarence. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs; The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure,1 that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. Prince Humphrey. The people fear me; 2 for they do observe Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature; The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep, and leapVI them over. Clarence. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between:3 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, Say, it did so, a little time before That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. Warwick. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. Prince Humphrey. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. King Henry. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber: softly, 'pray. [They convey the KING into an inner part of the room, and place him on a bed. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull 4 and favourable hand Will whisper musick to my weary spirit. 1 3

Wall. An historical fact, on Oct. 12,1411.

2 4

Make me afraid. Melancholy, soothing.

396

SECOND PART OF

Warwick Call for the musick in the other room. King Henry. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. Clarence. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. Warwick. Less noise, less noise. Enter PRINCE HENRY. Prince Henry. Who saw the duke of Clarence? Clarence. I am here, brother, fall of heaviness. Prince Henry. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad! How doth the king? Prince Humphrey. Exceeding ill. Prince Henry. Heard he the good news yet ? Tell it him. Prince Humphrey. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. Prince Henry. If he be sick "With joy, he will recover without physick. Warwick. Not so much noise, my lords:—sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. Clarence. Let us withdraw into the other room. Warwick. Will't please your grace to go along with us ? Prince Henry. No; I will sit and watch here by the king. [Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY. Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports 5 of slumber open wide To many a watchful night!—sleep with it now! Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, As he, whose brow, with homely biggin 6 bound, Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 5

Gates.

6

Cap.

KING HENKY IV.

397

Perforce must move.—My gracious lord! my father!— This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol 7 hath divorc'd So many English kings. Thy due, from me, Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood; Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously; My due, from thee, is this imperial crown; Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,— [Putting it on his head Wliich heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. King Henry. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! He-enter WARWICK, and the rest. Clarence. Doth the king call? Warwick. What would your majesty] How fares your grace ? King Henry. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? ^larence. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you. King Henry. The prince of Wales? Where is he? let me see him: He is not here: Warwick. This door is open; he is gone this way. Prince Humphrey. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. King Henry. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow? Warwick. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. King Henry. The prince hath ta'en it hence:—go, seek him out; Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 7

Circle.

398

SECOND PART OF

My sleep my death? Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. [Exit WARWICK. This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me.—See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt, When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brain3 with care, Their bones with industry; For this they have engross'd and piled up The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts, and martial exercises: When, like the bee, tolling8 from every flower The virtuous sweets; Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees, Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste Yield his engrossments9 to the ending father.— Re-enter WARWICK. Now, where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determin'd1 me? Wa/rwick. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, That tyranny, which never quaffd but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. King Henry. But wherefore did he take away the crown ? Re-enter PRINCE HENRY. Lo, where he comes.—Come hither to me, Harry:— Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY, LORDS, &C. 8

Taking toll.

9

Accumulations.

1

Ended.

KING HENRY IV.

399

Prince Henry, I never thought to hear you speak again. King Henry. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind, That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hours, Were thine without offence; and, at my death, Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:2 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts; "Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone; and dig my grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, That thou art crown'd, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head: Only compound me with begotten dust; Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms, Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; For now a time is come to mock at form, Harry the Fifth is crown'd:—Up, vanity! Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence! And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness ! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? 2

Confirmed my opinion.

400

SECOND PART OF

Be happy, he will trouble you no more: England shall double gild his treble guilt; England shall give him office, honour, might: For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 0 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! Prince Henry. O pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, [Kneding. The moist impediments unto my speech, 1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown; And He that wears the crown immortally, Long guard it yours! If I affect it more, Than as your honour, and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, (Which my most true and inward duteous spirit Teacheth?) this prostrate and exterior bending! Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, And found no course of breath within your majesty, How cold it struck my heart! if I do feign, O? let me in my present wildness die; Ajid never live to show the incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) I spake unto the crown, as having sense, And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending, Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold, Other, less fine in carat? is more precious, Preserving life in oned'cine potable: But thou, most fine, ?nost honour d, most renown'd, 3

A term used in describing the fineness of gold.

KING HENRY IV.

401

Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on my head; To try with it,—as with an enemy, That had before my face murder'd my father,— The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did, with the least affection of a welcome, Give entertainment to the might of it, Let God for ever keep it from my head! And make me as the poorest vassal is, That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! King Henry. O my son! Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence, That thou might'st win the more thy father's love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, I met this crown; and I myself know well, How troublesome it sat upon my head: To thee it shall descend with better quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation: For all the soil of the achievement goes "With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand; And I had many living, to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances; Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears, Thou seest, with peril I have answer'd: For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument; and now my death Changes the mode: for what in me was purchased,4 Fftlls upon thee in a more fairer sort; So thou the garland wear'st successively, 4

Purchase, in Shakspeare, frequently means sfcolm goods. VOL. III. 2 D

402

SECOND PAKT OF

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friend^ Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displac'd: which to avoid I cut them off; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land; Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God, forgive! And grant it may with thee in true peace live! Prince Henry. My gracious liege, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Then plain, and right, must my possession be: Which Xj with more than with a common pain, 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. Enter

PRINCE JOHN

of LANCASTER,

WARWICK, LORDS,

and Others.

King Henry. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. Prince John. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father! King Henry. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare, wither'd trunk; upon thy sight, My worldly business makes a period. Where is my lord of Warwick? Prince Henry. My lord of Warwick! King Henry. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?

KING HENRY IV,

403

Warwick. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. King Henry. Laud be to God!—eVen there my life must end. I t hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land:— But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.---GLOSTERSHIRE.

A Hall in SHAXLOW'S House.

Enter SHALLOW, FALSTIAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE. Shallow, By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away tonight. What, Davy, I say! Falstaff. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. Shallow. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused ; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused,—Why, Davy! Enter DAVY. Davy. Here, sir. Shallow. Davy, Davy, Davy.—let me see, Davy; let me see:—yea, marry^ William cook, bid him come hither.—Sir John, you shall not be excused. Davy. Marry, sir, thus;—those precepts6 cannot be served: and, again, sir, Shall we sow the head-land with wheat? Shallow. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook; Are there no young pigeons ? Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note, for shoeing and plough-irons. Shallow. Let it be cast,7 and paid:—sir John, you shall not be excused. Dewy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had:—And, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's 6

Warrants.

7

Cast up.

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SECOND PART OF

wages, about the sack lie lost the other day at Hinckley fair? Shallow. He shall answer it: Some pigeons, Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? Shallow. Yes, Davy. I will use him well; A friend 1 the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy. About thy business, Davy. Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Yisor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. Shalloio. There are many complaints, Davy, against that Yisor; that Yisor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir: but yet, heaven forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir; therefore, I beseech your worship, let him be countenanced. Shallow. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look about, Davy. [Exit DAVY.] Where are you, sir John? Come, off with your boots.—Give me your hand, master Bardolph. Bardolph. I am glad to see your worship. Shallow. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master Bardolph:—and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the PAGE.] Come, sir John. [Exit SHALLOW. Falstaff. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow. Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, to see the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his: They, by observing him, do bear themselves like foolish justices; he, by

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conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like serving man; their spirits are so married in conjunction with the participation of society, that they flock together in consent, like so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master Shallow, I would humour his men, with the imputation of being near their master: if to his men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no man could better command his servants. It is certain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caught, as men take diseases, one of another: therefore, let men take heed of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums. O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with a sad brow,8 will do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up. Shallow. \Within.~\ Sir John! Falstaff. I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shallow. [Exit FALSTAFF, SCENE II.—WESTMINSTER.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE. Warwick. How now, my lord chief Justice ? whither away] Chief Justice. How doth the king? Warwick. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. Chief Justice. I hope, not dead. Warwick. He's walk'd the way of nature; And, to our purposes, he lives no more. Chief Justice. I would his majesty had call'd me with him: The service that I truly did his life, Hath left me open to all injuries. Wa/rwick. Indeed, I think, the young king loves you not. 3

A serious face.

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SECOND PART OF

Chief Justice. I know lie doth not; and do arm myself, To welcome the condition of the time; Which cannot look more hideously upon me Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. Enter

PRINCE JOHN, PRINCE HUMPHREY, WESTMORELAND, and Others,

CLARENCE,

Warwick. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: O, that the living Harry had the temper Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! How many nobles then should hold their places, That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! Chief Justice. Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd. Prince John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. Prince Humphrey, Clarence. Good morrow, cousin.

Prince John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. Warwick. We do remember; but our argument Is all too heavy to admit such talk. Prince John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! Chief Justice. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! Prince Humphrey. 0; good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed: And I dare swear, you borrow not that face Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, you own. Prince John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find, You stand in coldest expectation: I am the sorrier; 'would 'twere otherwise. Clarence. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff fair; Which swims against your stream of quality. Chief Justice. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour, Led by the impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you see, that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission*— If truth and upright innocency fail me,

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407

I'll to the king my master that is dead, And tell him who hath sent me after him. Warwick. Here comes the prince. Enter KING HENRY V. Chief Justice, Good morrow; and heaven save your majesty! King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Sits not so easy on me as you think.— Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear; This is the English, not the Turkish court, Not Amurath an Amurath9 succeeds, But Harry Harry: Yet be sad, good brothers, For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you; Sorrow so royally in you appears, That I will deeply put the fashion on, And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad ? But entertain no more of it, good brothers, Than a joint burden laid upon us all. For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 111 be your father and your brother too; Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. Yet weep, that Harry's dead; and so will I : But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, By number, into hours of happiness. Prince John, &c. We hope no other from your majesty. King. You all look strangely on me:—and you most; [To the CHIEF JUSTICE.

You are, I think, assur'd, I love you not. Chief Justice. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. King. No! How might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me? What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison The immediate heir of England! Was this easy? May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten? 9

Emperor of the Turks, died in 1596; his son, who succeeded him, had all his brothers strangled.

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SECOND PART OF

Chief Justice. I then did use the person of your father; The image of his power lay then in me: And, in the administration of his law, Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, Your highness pleased to forget my place, The majesty and power of law and justice, The image of the king whom I presented, And struck me in my very seat of judgment; "Whereon, as an offender to your father, I gave bold way to my authority, And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the garland, To have a son set your decrees at nought; To pluck down justice from your awful bench; To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person: Nay, more: to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings in a second body. Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; Be now the father, and propose a son: Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a son dLsrlain'd: And then imagine me taking your part, And, in your power, soft silencing your son: After this cold considesance, sentence me; And, as you are a king, speak in your state,1 What I have done, that misbecame my place, My person, or my liege's sovereignty. King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well; Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword: And I do wish your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words;— Sappy am /, that have a man so bold. That dares do justice on my proper son: And not less happy, having such a son, 1

In your regal character aud office.

KING HENRY IV.

409

That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice.—You did commit me:

For which I do commit into your hand The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear; "With this remembrance,—That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand; You shall be as a father to my youth: My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well practis'd, wise directions. And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you;— My father is gone wild into his grave, For in his tomb lie my affections; And with his spirit sadly I survive; To mock the expectation of the world; To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now: Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea: Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Now call we our high court of parliament: And let us choose such limbs of noble council, That the great body of our state may go In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us; In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. [To the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.

Our coronation done, we will accite,2 As I before remember'd, all our state: And (heaven consigning to my good intents) No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,— Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt. 2

Summon.

410

SECOND PART OP

The Garden of SHALLOW'S House.

SCENE III.—GLOSTERSHIRE.

Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE ; and DAVY.

Shallow. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth;—come, cousin Silence;—and then to bed. Falstaff. You have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich. Shallow. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, sir John:—marry, good sir.—Spread, Davy; spread, Davy; well said, Davy. Falstaff. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving-man, and your husbandman. Shallow. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, sir John.—By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper:—A good varlet. Now sit down, now sit down:—come, cousin. Silence. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a,—we shall Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing. And praise heaven for the merry year ; So merrily, And ever among so merrily. Falstaff. There's a merry heart!—Good master Silence. I'll give you a health for that anon. Shallow. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. Davy. Sweet sir, sit; [Seating BARDOLPH and the PAGE at another table.~\ I'll be with you anon;—most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master page, sit: pro/ace !3 What you want in meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's all. [Exit Shallow. Be merry, master Bardolph:—and my little soldier there, be merry.3

Italian, much good may it do you.

KING HENRY IV.

411

Silence. Be merry, he merry, my wifes as all; [Singing, For women wre shrews, both short and tall; 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, And welcome merry shrove-tide. Be merry, be merry, &c. Falstaff. I did not think master Silence had been a man of this mettle. Silence. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once, ere now. Re-enter DAVY. Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats4 for you. [Setting them before BARDOLPH. Shallow. Davy,— Davy. Your worship ?—I'll be with you straight. [To BARDOLPH.]—A cup of wine, sir? Silence. A cwp of wine, that's brisk and fine, [Singing. And drink unto the lady mine; And a merry heart lives long-a. Falstaff. Well said, master Silence. Silence. And we shall be merry;—now comes in the sweet of the night. Falstaff. Health and long life to you, master Silence. Silence. Fill the cup, and let it come; Til pledge you a mile to the bottom. Shallow. Honest Bardolph, welcome: If thou wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart.—Welcome, my little tiny thief, [To the PAGE ;] and welcome, indeed, too.—I'll drink to master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. Bardolph. An I might see you there, Davy,— Shallow. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together. H a ! will you not, master Bardolph? Bardolph. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. Shallow. I thank thee:—The knave will stick by thee, 1 can assure thee that: he will not out: he is true bred. 4

Apples, commonly called russetines.

412

SECOND PART OP

Bardolph. And I'll stick by him, sir. Shallow. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be merry. [Knocking heard.] Look who's at door there: Ho! who knocks? [Exit DAVY. Falstaff. "Why, now you have done me right. \To SILENCE, who drinks a bumper. Silence. Do me right, [Singing. And dub me knight:5 Samingo.6 Is't not so? Falstaff. 'Tis so. Silence. Is't so? Why, then say, an old man can do somewhat. Re-enter DAVY. Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the court with news. Falstaff. From the court! let him come in.— Enter PISTOL. How now, Pistol? Pistol. Save you, sir John! Falstaff. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? Pistol. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good.—Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm. Silence. By'r lady, I think 'a be; but goodman Puff of Barson. Pistol. Puff? Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!— Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, And golden times, and happy news of price. Falstaff. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world. 5 He who drank a bumper on his knees, to the health of his mistress, was dubb'd a knight for the evening. 6 It should be Domingo: it is part of a song in one of Nashe's plays.

KING HENRY IV.

413

Pistol. A fico for the world, and worldlings base! I speak of Africa, and golden joys. Falstaff. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. Silence. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. Pistol Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons 1 And shall good news be baffled? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. Shallow. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. Pistol. Why then, lament therefore. Shallow. Give me pardon, sir;—If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways; either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. Pistol. Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die. Shallow. Under king Harry. Pistol. Harry the fourth? or fifth? Shallow. Harry the fourth. A fico for thine office!— Pistol. Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth: When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like The bragging Spaniard. Falstaff. What! is the old king dead? Pistol. As nail in door: the things I speak, are just. Falstaff. Away, Bardolph; saddle my horse.—Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine.—Pistol, I will double-charge thee with dignities. Bardolph. 0 joyful day!—I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. Pistol. What? I do bring good news? Falstaff. Carry master Silence to bed.—Master Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's steward. Get on thy boots; we'll ride all night:—O, sweet Pistol:—Away Bardolph. [Exit BABDOLPH.]— Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal, devise something, to do thyself good.—Boot, boot, master Shallow; I know, the young king is sick for me. Let

414

SECOND PART OF

us take any man's horses; the laws of England are at my commandment. Happy are they which have been my friends; and woe to my lord chief justice! Pistol. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! Where is the life that late I led, say they: Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days. [Exeunt. SCENE

IV.—A public Place near

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

Enter two GROOMS, strewing Bushes. 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from the coronation: Despatch, despatch. [Exeunt GROOMS. Enter

FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL, BARDOLPH, PAGE.

and tlie

Falstaff. Stand here by ine, master Robert Shallow; I will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do but mark the countenance that he will give me. Pistol. Bless thy lungs, good knight. Falstaff. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me.—0, if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you, [To SHALLOW.] But 'tis no matter; this poor show doth better: this doth infer the zeal I had to see himT Shallow. It doth so. Falstaff. It shows my earnestness of affection. Shallow. It doth so. Falstaff. My devotion. Shallow. It doth, it doth, it doth. Falstaff. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to shift me. Shallow. It is most certain. Falstaff. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with desire to see liim: thinking of nothing else; putting

KING HENRY IV.

415

all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were nothing else to be done, but to see him. Pistol. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est:7

Tis all in every part. Shallow. 'Tis so indeed. [Shouts within, and the Trumpets sound. Pistol. There roar'd the sea, the trumpet-clangor sounds. Enter the KING and his Train, the CHIEF JUSTICE among them. Falstaff. God save thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal! Pistol. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! Falstaff. God save thee, my sweet boy! King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. Chief Justice. Have you your wits ? know you what 'tis you speak? Falstaff. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! King. 1 know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; But, being awake, I do despise my dream. Make less thy body, hence,8 and more thy grace; Leave gormandizing; know, the grave doth gape For thee thrice wider than for other men: Reply not to me with a fool-born jest; Presume not, that I am the thing I was: For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive, That I have turn'd away my former self; So will I those that kept me company. When thou dost hear I am as I have been, Approach me; and thou shalt be as thou wast, The tutor and the feeder of my riots: Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,— As I have done the rest of my misleaders,— Not to come near our person by ten miles. For competence of life, I will allow you, * 'Tis all in all, and all in every part.

8

Henceforward.

416

SECOND PART OF

That lack of means enforce you not to evil: And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, We will,—according to your strength, and qualities,— Give you advancement,—Be it your charge, my lord, To see perform'd the tenor of our word.— Set on. [Exeunt KING, and his Train. Falstaff. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound Shallow. Ay, marry, sir John; which I beseech you to let me have home with me. Falstaff. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancement; I will be the man yet, that shall make you great. Shallow. I cannot perceive how; unless you give me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred of my thousand. Falstaff Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you heard; was but a colour. Shallow. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. Falstaff Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, lieutenant Pistol;—come, Bardolph:—I shall be sent for soon at night. [Exeunt. Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the CHIEF JUSTICE, OFFICERS, &C. Prince John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's; He hath intent, his wonted followers Shall all be very well provided for; But all are banish'd, till their conversations Appear more wise and modest to the world. Chief Justice. And so they are. Prince John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord. Chief Justice, He hath. Prince John. I will lay odds,—that ere this year expire, We bear our civil swords, and native fire, As far as France : I heard a bird so sing, Whose musick, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. Coine, will you hence % [Exeunt.

KING HENRY IV.

417

EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY A DANCER. FIRST, my fear; then, my court'sy: last, my speech My fear is, your displeasure; my court'sy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for a good speech now, you undo me: for what I have to say, is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture.—Be it known to you, (as it is very well,) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it, and to promise you a better* I did mean, indeed, to pay you with this; which, if like an ill venture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here I commit my bady to your mercies: bate me some, and I will pay you some, and as most debtors do, promise you infinitely. If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs ? and yet that were but light payment, to dance out of your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so will I. All tlie gentlewomen here have forgiven me; if the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly. One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, our 1 tumble author will continue the story, with sir John in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine of France: where, for any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man. My tongue is weary; ivhen my legs are too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down before you; —but, indeed, to pray for the queen.,9 9

Most of the ancient interludes conclude with a prayer for the king or queen. Hence, perhaps, the Vivant Rex £ Regina, at the bottom of our modern play-bills. VOL.

in.

2E

KING HENRY V.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING HENRY THE FIFTH. DUKEOFGLOSTER, > BrotMrs to t u DUKE OF BEDFORD, ) DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the King.

m,}g.

DUKE OF YORK, Cousin to the King. EARLS OF SALISBURY, WESTMORELAND, AND WARWICK. ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. BISHOP OF ELY. EARL OF CAMBRIDGE, ^ LORD SCROOP, > Conspirators against the King. SIR THOMAS GREY, J SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, GOWER, FLUELLEN, MACMORRIS, JAMY, Officers in King Henry's army.

BATES, COURT, WILLIAMS, Soldiers in the same.

formerly Servants to Falstaff, noiv Soldiers in the same. BOY, Servant to them. NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL,

A HERALD. CHORUS. CHARLES THE SIXTH, King of France. LEWIS, the Dauphin. DUKES OF BURGUNDY, ORLEANS, AND BOURBON. THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE. RAMBURES AND GRANDPREE, Fraich Lords. GOVERNOR OF HARFLEIR. MONTJOY, a French Herald. AMBASSADORS TO THE KING OF ENGLAND.

Queen of France. KATHARINE, Daughter of Charles and Isabel. ALICE, a Lady attending on the Pinvcess Katliarine. QUICKLY, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess.

ISABEL,

Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. THE SCENE,

at the beginning of the play, lies in England, but afterwards wholly in France.

KING HENRY V. Enter CHORUS. O, for a muse of fire that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth So great an object: Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France, or may we cram Within the wooden O,1 the very casques,2 That did affright the air at Agincourt ? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little place, a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces3 work: Suppose, within the girdle of these walls, Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts, Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance: Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Painting their proud hoofs i3 the receiving earth : For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass; For the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 1 3

An allusion to the circular form of the theatre. Powers of fancy.

2

Helmets.

422

KING HENRY V.

ACT I SCENE I.—LONDON. An Ante-chamber KING'S Palace.

Enter the

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, OF ELY.

in tlte

and

BISHOP

Canterbury. MY lord, I'll tell you,—that self hill is urg'd, Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign, Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of further question. Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? Canterbury. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession : For all the temporal lands, which men devout By testament have given to the church, Would they strip from us; being valued thus,— As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights; Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bill. Ely. This would drink deep. Canterbury. 'Twould drink the cup and all. Ely. But what prevention? Canterbury. The king is full of grace and fair regard. Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. Canterbury. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too: yea, at that very moment,

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423

Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him; Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made: Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady current, scouring faults; Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, As in this king. Ely. We are blessed in the change. Canterbury. Hear him but reason in divinity, And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire, the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say,—it hath been all-in-all his study: List l his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle rendered you in musick : Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; So that the art and practick part of life Must be the mistress to this theorick: Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain: His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow; His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle; And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, 1

Listen to.

424

KING HENRY V.

Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive2 in his faculty. Canterbury. It must be so: for miracles are ceas'd; And therefore we must needs admit the means, How things are perfected. Ely. But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no ? Canterbury. He seems indifferent. Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, Than cherishing the exhibiters against us: For I have made an offer to his majesty,— Upon our spiritual convocation; And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France,—to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withaL Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord ? Canterbury. With good acceptance of his majesty; Save, that there was not time enough to hear (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,) The severals, and unhidden passages, Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms; And, generally, the crown and seat of France, Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off? Canterbury. The French ambassador, upon that instant, Crav'd audience: and the hour, I think, is come, To give him hearing: Is it four o'clock? My. It is. Canterbury. Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. Ely. I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it.

\Exmmi. 2

Increasing.

KING HENRY V.

SCENE

425

II.—A Room of State in tlie same.

Enter

KING HENRY, GLOSTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and ATTENDANTS.

King Henry. Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury ? Exeter. Not here in presence. King Henry. Send for him, good uncle. Westmoreland. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? King Henry. Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv'd, Before we hear him, of some things of weight, That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP

OF CANTERBURY, OF ELY.

cmd BISHOP

Canterbury. God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne, And make you long become it! King Henry. Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed; And justly and religiously unfold, Why the law Salique, that they have in France, Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. And heaven forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For heaven doth know, how many, now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to: Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake the sleeping sword of war; We charge you in the name of God, take heed: For never two such kingdoms did contend, Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,

426

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'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, nay lord: And we will hear, note, and believe in heart. That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. Canterbury. Then hear me, gracious sovereign,—and you peers, That owe your lives, your faith, and services, To this imperial throne;—There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France, But this which they produce from Pharamond,— In terrain Salicam onulieres ne succedant, No woman shall succeed in Salique land:

Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze,3 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, That the land Salique lies in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons. There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women, For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd there this law,—to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land; Which Salique. as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd—Meisen. Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of king Pharamond, Idly suppos'd the founder of this law: Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French. Beyond the river Sala, in the year 3

Explain.

KING HENRY V.

427

Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, Did, as heir-general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also,—that usurp'd the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the great,— To fine4 his title with some show of truth, (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) Convey'd himself5 as heir to the lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain : By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all ajopear To hold in right and title of the female * So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, To bar your highness claiming from the female; And rather choose to hide them in a net, Than amply to imbare6 their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. King Henry. May I, with right and conscience, make this claim ? Canterbury. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers it is writ,— When the son dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 4

Make ahowy or specious.

5

Derived his title.

6

Lay open.

428

KING HENRY V.

Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back unto your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim! invoke his warlike spirit, And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince; Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France; Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility.7 O noble English, that could entertain With half their forces the full pride of France; And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work, and cold for action! Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, And with your puissant arm renew their feats; You are their heir, you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage, that renowned them, Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes. Exeter. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. Westmoreland. They know your grace hath cause, and means, and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects; Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. Canterbury. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood, and sword, and fire to win your right: In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. King Henry. We must not only arm to invade the French; 7

At the battle of Cressy.

KING HENRY V.

429

But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. Canterbury. They of those marches,8 gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. King Henry. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment9 of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read, that my great grandfather Never went with his forces into France, But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force; Galling the gleaned land with hot essays; Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. Canterbury. She hath been then more fear'd1 than harm'd, my liege: For hear her but exampled by herself,— When all her chivalry hath been in France, And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended, But taken, and impounded as a stray, The king of Scots, whom she did send to France,— To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings; And made your chronicle as rich with praise, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck, and sumless treasuries. Westmoreland. But there's a saying, very old and true,— If that you will France win, Then with Scotlandfirstbegin: For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 8 9

The borders of England and Scotland. General disposition. * Frightened.

430

KING HENKY V.

Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs; Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, To spoil and havock more than she can eat. Exeter. It follows then, the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a sad necessity; Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home: For government, though high, and low, and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent; Congruing2 in a full and natural close, Like musick. Canterbury. True: therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey bees; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts :3 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor: Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanick porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors4 pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,— That many things, having full reference To one concent, may work contrariously; As many arrows, loosed several ways, 2

Agreeing.

3

Different degrees.

4

Executioners.

KING HENRY V.

431

Fly to one mark; As many several ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams run in one self sea; As many lines close in the dial's center; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, End in one purpose, and be all well borne "Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice that power left at home, Cannot defend our own door from the dog, Let us be worried; and our nation lose The name of hardiness, and policy. King Henry. Call in the messengers, sent from the dauphin. [Exit an Attendant The KING ascends his Throne. Now, are we well resolv'd: and,—by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power,— France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: Or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery,5 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms; Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall, with full mouth, Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter AMBASSADOKS O/"FKANCE. Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin dauphin; for we hear, Your greeting is from him, not from the king. A mbassador. May it please your maj esty, to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The dauphin's meaning, and our embassy? 5

Dominion.

432

KING HENRY V.

King Henry. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, Under whose grace our passion is a subject, As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness, Tell us the dauphin's mind. Ambassador. Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says,—that you savour too much of your youth; And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, That can be with a nimble galliard6 won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there : He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, Hear no more of you. This the dauphin speaks. King Henry. What treasure, uncle ? Exeter. Tennis-balls, my liege. King Henry. We are glad, the dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present, and your pains, we thank you for: When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard :7 Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces.8 And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valu'd this poor seat9 of England; And therefore, living hence,1 did give ourself To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common, That men are merriest when they are from homes But tell the dauphin,—I will keep my state; 6

An ancient dance. A place in the tennis-court, into which the ball is sometimes struck, 8 A term at tennis. 9 The throne. l Withdrawing from the court.

7

KING HENRY V.

433

Be like a king, and shew my sail of greatness. When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for working-days; But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince,—this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their son?, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name, Tell you the dauphin, I am coming on, To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So, get you hence in peace; and tell the dauphin, His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.— Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well. \JExeunt AMBASSADORS. Exeter. This was a merry message. King Henry. We hope to make the sender blush at it. [Descends from his Throne.

Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour, That may give furtherance to our expedition: For we have now no thought in us but France; Save those to heaven, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected: and all things thought upon, That may with reasonable swiftness, add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this dauphin at his father's door. Therefore, let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. [Eammt. VOL.111.

%

F

434

KING HENRY V.

ACT II. Enter CHORUS. Chorus. Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air; And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. The French advis'd by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear; and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England!—model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart,— What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted men,One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second, Henry lord Scroop of Masham; and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland,— Have, for the gilt2 of France, (O guilt, indeed!) Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, (If hell and treason hold their promises,) Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and well digest The abuse of distance, while we force a play. The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene 2

Gold

KING HENRY V.

435

Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton: There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. Before QUICKLY'S House in

SCENE I.—LONDON.

EAST-

CHEAP,

Enter NYM and BARDOLPH. Bardolph. Well met, corporal Nym. Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. Bcvrdolph. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet ? Nym. For my part, I care not; I say little: but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles;—but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one; but what though ? it will toast cheese ; and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's the humour of it. Bardolph. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France; let it be so, good corporal Nym. Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of i t ; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest,3 that is the rendezvous of it. Ba/rdolph. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly : and, certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. Nym. I cannot tell; things must be as they may : men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say, knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. 5

Determination.

436

KING HENRY V.

Enter PISTOL and MRS. QUICKLY. Bardolph. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife: —good corporal, be patient here.—How now, mine host Pistol? Pistol. Base tike,4 call'st thou me—host ? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Quickly. No, by my troth, not long: [NYM draws his sword.] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! 0 Lord! here's corporal Nym's—now shall we have wilful murder committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph, —good corporal, offer nothing here. Nym. Pish! Pistol. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou cur of Iceland! Quickly. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a man, and put up thy sword. Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sioord.

Pistol. Solus, egregious dog? O viper vile! The solus in thy most marvellous face; The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy.5 Nym. I am not Barbason;6 you cannot conjure me. 1 have an humour to knock you indifferently well: If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: and that's the humour of it. Pistol. 0 braggard vile, and desp'rate furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale.7 [PISTOL and NYM draw. Bardolph. Hear me, hear me what I say:—he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [Draws. Pistol An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give; Thy spirits are most tall. 4 6

Dog. Name of a daemon.

5 7

Par Dieu. Breathe your last.

KING HENRY V.

437

Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms; that is the humour of it. Pistol. Coupe le gorge, that's the word?—I thee defy again. 0 hound of Crete/ think'st thou my spouse to get ? 1 have, and I will hold, the quondam* Quickly For the only she; and—Pauca, there's enough. Enter the BOY.

Boy. Mine host, Pistol, you must come to my master, —and you, hostess;—he is very sick, and would to bed. —'Faith, he's very ill. Quickly. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days: the king has killed his heart.—Good husband, come home presently. [Exeunt MRS. QUICKLY and BOY. Bardolph. Come, shall I make you two friends? "We must to France together; Why should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? Pistol. Letfloodso'erswell, andfiendsfor food howl on! Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? Pistol. Base is the slave that pays. Nym. That now I will have; that's the humour of it. Pistol. As manhood shall compound; Push home. Bardolph. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. Pistol. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. Bardolph. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting? Pistol. A noble1 shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : 8 1

9 Blood-hound. Formerly. A coin, value six shillings and eightpenceu

438

KING HENRY V.

I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;— Is not this just?—for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. Nym. I shall have my noble? Pistol. In cash most justly paid. Nym. Well, then, that's the humour of it. Re-enter MRS. QUICKLY. Quickly. As you ever came of women, come in quickly to sir John: Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. Nym. The king hath ran bad humours on the knight, that's the even of it. Pistol. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours, and careers. Pistol. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. [Exeunt SCENE II.—SOUTHAMPTON.

A Council-Chamber.

Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, cmd WESTMORELAND. Bedford. By heaven, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. Exeter. They shall be apprehended by and by. Westmoreland. How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. Bedford. The king hath note of all that they intend. By interception which they dream not of. Eoceter. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely favours,— That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery!

KING HENRY V.

439

Trumpet sounds.

Enter K I N G HENRY, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS.

King Henry. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My lord of Cambridge and my kind lord of Mashani,— And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, Will cut their passage through the force of France; Doing the execution, and the act, For which we have in head 3 assembled them? Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. King Henry, I doubt not that: since we are well persuaded, W e carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair consent with ours; Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. Cambridge. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd, Than is your majesty; there's not, I think, a subject, That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies, Have steep'd their galls in honey; and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. King Henry. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance 4 of desert and merit, According to the weight and worthiness. Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil; And labour shall refresh itself with hope; To do your grace incessant services. King Henry. We judge no less.—Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider, I t was excess of wine that set him on; And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 3 Force. * Recompense,

440

KING HENRY V.

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign; lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. King Henry. O, let us yet be merciful. Cambridge. So may your highness, and yet punish too. Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life After the taste of much correction. King Henry. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons5 'gainst this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested, Appear before us?—We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey,—in their dear care, And tender preservation of our person,— Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes; Who are the late6 commissioners? Cambridge. I one, my lord; Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Scroop. So did you me, my liege. Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. King Henry. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there is yours;— There yours, lord Scroop of Masham;—and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:— Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.— My lord of Westmoreland,—and uncle Exeter,— We will aboard to-night.—Why, how now, gentlemen? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion?—look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there, That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood Out of appearance ? Cambridge. I do confess my fault: And do submit me to your highness' mercy. Grey, Scroop. To which we all appeal. King Henry. The mercy, that was quick7 in us but late, 5

Prayers.

6

Lately appointed.

7

Living.

KING HENRY V.

441

By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying them.— See you my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here,— You know, how apt our love was, to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd And sworn unto the practices of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is,—hath likewise sworn—But O! What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use ? May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That though the truth of it stands off as gross As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason, and murder, ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, That wrought upon thee so preposterously, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same daemon, that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his lion gait,8 walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar9 back, 8

Pace, step.

9

Tartarus.

442

KING HENRY V.

And tell the legions—I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's. O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: Seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: Come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: Seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: Or are they spare in diet; Free from gross-passion, or of mirth, or anger; Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; Garnish1 d and deck'd in modest complement j 1 Not working with the eye, without the ear, And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? Such, and so finely bolted,2 didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued, With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man.—Their faults are open, Arrest them to the answer of the law;— And heaven acquit them of their practices! Exeter. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name o Richard earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault, more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. Cambridge. For me,—the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive, The sooner to effect what I intended: But heaven be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice. Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. 1

Accomplishment.

a

Sifted,

KING HENRY V.

443

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason, Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, Prevented from a damned enterprize: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. King Henry. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspir'd against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom unto desolation. Touching our person, seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you Patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences!—Bear them hence. \Eoceunt Conspirators guarded.

Now, lords, for France; the enterprize whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war; Since heaven so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now, But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France, \Exewit.

KING HEXRY V.

House in EASTCHEAP. Enter PISTOL, MRS. QUICKLY, ]STYM, BAKDOLPH, cmd BOY. Quickly. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. Pistol No; for my manly heart doth yearn3— Bardolph, be blithe;—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. Bardolph. Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is. Quickly. Nay, sure, he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom4 child; 'a parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at turning o5 the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile npon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, sir John? quoth I : what, man! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out—God, God, God! three or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God; I hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hands into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and all was as cold as any stone. Nym. They say, he cried out of sack. Quickly. Ay, that 'a did. Bardolph. And of women. Quickly. Nay, that 'a did not. Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were devils incarnate. Quickly. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Bardolph. Well, he is gone, and all the riches I got in his service. Nym. Shall we shog off? the king will be gone from Southampton. SCENE III.—MRS. QUICKLY'S

3

Grieve.

4

A child not more than a month old.

KING HENRY V.

445

Pistol. Come, let's away,—My love, give me thy lips. Look to thy chattels, and my moveables: Let senses rule; the word is, Pitch and pay; Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals.—Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. Pistol. Touch her soft mouth and march. Bardolph. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing Jier. Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. Pistol. Let housewifery appear; keep close, T thee command. Quickly. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt SCENE IV-—FRANCE.

A Room in the FRENCH KING'S Palace.

Enter the FRENCH KING attended; the DAUPHIN, the DUKE OF BURGUNDY, the CONSTABLE, and others. French King. Thus come the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns, To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth,— And you, prince dauphin,—with all swift despatch, To line, and new repair, our towns of war, With men of courage, and with means defendant: For England his approaches makes as fierce, As waters to the sucking of a gulph. I t fits us then, to be as provident As fear may teach us, out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. Dauphin. My most redoubted father,

446

KING HENRY V.

I t is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe: For peace itself should not so dull5 a kingdom, (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question,) But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth, To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more, than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morrice-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her scepter so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable. O peace, prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king : Question your grace the late ambassadors,— With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception,6 and, withal, How terrible in constant resolution,— And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly. Dauphin. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable, But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems, So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak, and niggardly projection, Doth, like a 'miser, spoil his coat, with scanting A little cloth. French King. Think we king Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain,7 That haunted us in our familiar paths: 6

Render it callous, insensible.

6

In making objections.

7

Lineage.

KING HENRY V.

447

Witness our too much memorable shame, When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire on mountain standing. Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun,— Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him Mangle the work of nature. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. Ambassadors from Henry king of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. French King. We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. [Exeunt MESSENGER and certain LORDS. You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. Dauphin. Turn head, and stop pursuit: for coward dogs Most spend their mouths, wh en what they seem to threaten, Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short; and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter LORDS, with EXETER and TRAIN. French King. From our brother England? Exeter. From him: and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of the Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrowed glories, that, by gift of heaven, By law of nature, and of nations, 'long To him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordinance of times, Unto the crown of France. That you may know, Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim.

448

KING HENKY V.

Pick'd from the worm-holes of long vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper. In every branch truly demonstrative; "Willing you overlook this pedigree: And, when you find him evenly deriv'd From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, Edward the third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him, the native and true challenger. French King. Or else, what follows? Exeter. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove; (That, if requiring fail, he will compel;) And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws: and on your head Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message; Unless the dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. French King. For ns, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. Dauphin. For the dauphin, I stand here for him; What to him from England? Exeter. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king: and, if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer for it,

KING HENHY V.

449

That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass, and return your mook In second accent of his ordnance. Dauphin. Say, if my father render fair reply, I t is against my will: for I desire Nothing but odds with England : to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with those Paris balls. Exeter. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) Between the promise of his greener days, And these he masters now: now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain; which you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. French King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. Exeter. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. French King. You shall be soon despatch'd with fair conditions: A night is but small breath, and little pause, \ExeuvL To answer matters of this consequence.

ACT III. Enter CHORUS. Clwrus. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. Play with your fancies; and in them behold, Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: Here the shrill whistle, which doth order give VOL. in. 2G

450

KING HENRY V.

To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think, You stand upon the rivage,8 and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage9 of this navy; And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Or past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance: For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege: Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes back, Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner, With linstock1 now the dreadful cannon touches, [Alarum; and Chambers2 go off. And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. SCENE

I.—Before

HARFLEUR.

Alarums.

Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, and SOLDIERS, ivith Scaling Ladders. King Henry. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness and humility: 8 1 2

Bank or shore. » Sterns of the ships. The staff which holds the match used in firing cannon. Small pieces of ordnance.

KING HENRY V.

451

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry though the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully, as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty 3 his confounded4 base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height!—On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet5 from fathers of war-proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.0 Dishonour not your mothers; now attest, That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you! Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war!—And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge, Cry—God for Harry! England! and saint George! [Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off. SCENE II.—The same.

Forces pass over; then enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY. Bardolph. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! 3 4

A mole to withstand the encroachment of the tide. 6 6 Worn, wasted. Fetched. Matter, subject.

452

KLNTG HENKT V.

Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pistol. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound; Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. Pistol. And I : If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN. Fluellen. Up to the preaches, you rascals! will you not up to the preaches? [Driving them forward. Pistol. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet chuck! Nym. These be good humours!—your honour wins bad humours. [Exeunt JSTYM, PISTOL, and BAKDOLPH, followed by FLUELLEN.

Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such anticks do not amount to a man. For Bardolph,—he is white-livered, and redfaced ; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol,—he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword: by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym;—he hath heard that

KING HENRY V.

453

men of few words are the best7 men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it—purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence.—Nym, and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching; and in Calais they stole a fireshovel : I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals.8 They would have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchiefs: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villainy goes against my weak stomach. [Exit BOY. Re-enter

FLUELLEN., GOWER

following.

Gower. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak with you. Fluellen. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines: For, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you) is dight9 himself four yards under the countermines: I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not better directions. Gower. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman; a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. Fluetten. I t is captain Macmorris, is it not? Gower. I think it be. Fluellen. He is an ass, as in the 'orld: I will verifyas much in his peard: he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 7

Bravest.

8

Pocket affronts.

9

Digged,

454

KING HENRY V.

Enter MACMORRIS and JAMY, at a distance. Gower. Here'a conies; and the Scots captain, captain Jarny, with him. Fluellen. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition, and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans, Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen, Fluellen. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. Gower. How now, captain Macmorris? have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? Macmorris. Tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town in an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! Fluellen. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sail quit1 you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sail I, marry. Macmorris. It is no time to discourse, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to the breach; and we talk, and do nothing; 'tis shame for us all: 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done. 1

Requite, answer.

KING HENRY V.

455

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile ligge i' the grand for it; ay, or go to death; and aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, that is the breff and the long: Mary, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you tway. Fluellen. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation Macmorris. Of my nation? What ish my nation? ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal ? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? Fluellen. Look you, if you take the mattei otherwise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you; being as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. Macmorris. I do not know you so good a man as myself: I will cut off your head. Gower. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [A Parley sounded. Gower. The town sounds a parley. Fluellen. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. \_Eoceunt. SCENE

III.—Before the Gates O/HARFLEUR.

The GOVERNOR and some Citizens on the Walls; the ENGLISH Forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his Train. King Henry. How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit: Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves: Or, like to men proud of destruction,

4-56

KING HENKY V.

Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; And the flesh'd soldier—rough and hard of heart,— In liberty of bloody hand, shall range. "What is it then to me, if impious war,— Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,— Do, with his smirch'd2 complexion, all fell3 feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause? What rein can hold licentious wickedness, When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless4 spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precepts to the Leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town, and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of deadly murder, spoil, and villainy. If not, why, in a moment, look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand • Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? Governor. Our expectation hath this day an end: The dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, Returns us—that his powers are not yet ready 2

Soiled.

3

Cruel.

4

Without success.

KING HENRY V.

457

To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, "We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy: Enter our gates; dispose of us, and ours; For we no longer are defensible. King Henry. Open your gates.—Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,— The winter coming on, and sickness growing Upon our soldiers,—we'll retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest.5 [Flourish. Tlie KING, cfcc, enter the Town. SCENE IY.—ROUEN.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, DUKE of BOURBON, the CONSTABLE of FRANCE, and Others. French King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Some. Constable. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France: let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dauphin. Shall a few sprays of us,— Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? Bourbon. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie ! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten 6 isle of Albion. Constable. Dieu de battailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns'? Can sodden water, 5

Prepared.

6

Shooting into promontories.

458

KING HENKY V.

A drench for sur-rein'd7 jades, their barley broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; Poor—we may call them, in their native lords. Dauphin. By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us. Bourbon. They bid us—to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos;8 Saying, our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. French King. "Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him hence; Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.— Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, Alencjon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jacques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, For your great seats, now quit you of great shames, Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons9 painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the vallies;— You have power enough,— And in a captive chariot, into Roiien Bring him our prisoner. Constable. This becomes the great. Sorry am I, his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march; For, I am sure when he shall see our army, 7

Over-ridden.

8

Dances.

9

Pendants, small flags.

KING HENRY V.

459

He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear, And, for achievement, offer us his ransome. French King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy: And let him say to England, that we send To know what willing ransome he will give.— Prince dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien. Dauphin. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. French King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.— Now forth, lord constable, and princes all; And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Exeunt. V.—The ENGLISH Camp in PICAEDY. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN. Gower. How now, captain Fluellen ? come you from the bridge? Fluellen. I assure you, there is very excellent service committed at the pridge. Gower. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? Fluellen. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers: he is not, (God be praised, and plessed!) any hurt in the 'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the pridge,—I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the 'orld: but I did see him do gallant service. Gower. What do you call him? Fluellen. He is called—ancient Pistol Gower. I know him not. SCENE

Enter PISTOL. Fluellen. Do you not know him? Here comes the man. Pistol. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours; The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

460

KING HENRY V.

Fluellen. Ay; and I have merited some love at his hands. Pistol Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, Of buxom valour, hath,—by cruel fate, And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone,— Fluellen. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler1 before her eyes, to signify to you that fortune is plind: And she is painted also with a wheel; to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant and variations, and mutabilities; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls;—In good truth the poet is make a most excellent description of fortune: fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. Pistol. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stol'n a pix2 and hanged must 'a be. Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For pix of little price. Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice; And let not Bardolph's vital breath be cut With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. Fluellen. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. Pistol. Why then rejoice therefore. Fluellen. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used. Pistol. A.figo for thy friendship! Fluellen. It is well. [Exit PISTOL. Pistol. The fig of Spain!3 1 2 8

A fold of linen, which partially covered the face. A small box in which were kept the consecrated wafers. An allusion to the custom in Spain and Italy of giving poisoned figs.

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Fluellen. Yery good. Gower. Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I remember him now; a cutpurse. Fluellen. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day: But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. Gower. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names: and they will learn you by rote, where services were done; —at such and such a sconce,4 at such a breach, at such a convoy: who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on: and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new tuned oaths: And what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on! but you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous mistook. Fluellen. I tell you what, captain Gower;—I do perceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the 'orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the king is coming; and I must speak with him from the pridge. Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and Soldiers. Fluellen. Cot pless your majesty! King Henry. How now, Fluellen? earnest thoufrom the bridge? Fluellen. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: The French is gone off, look you; and there is gallant and most prave passages: Marry, th' athversary was have possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. 4

An entrenchment hastily thrown up.

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King Henry. What men liave you lost, Fluellen? Fluellen. The perdition of th? athversary hath been very great, very reasonable great: marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out. King Henry. We would have all such offenders so cut off: and we give express charge, that in our marches through the country, there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language; For when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Enter MONTJOY. Montjoy. You know me by my habit. King Henry. Well then, I know thee; What shall I know of thee ? Montjoy. My master's mind. King Henry. Unfold it. Montjoy. Thus says my king:—Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep; Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur; but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full ripe:—now we speak upon our cue,5 and our voice is imperial: England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransome; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses his exchequer is too poor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and for our 6

In proper time.

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463

disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add—defiance: and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his fo]lowers, whose condemnation is pronounced. So far my king and master; so much my office. King Henry. What is thy name? I know thy quality. Montjoy. Montjoy. King Henry. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king,—I do not seek him now; But could be willing to march on to Calais Without impeachment:6 for, to say the sooth, (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much XJnto an enemy of craft and vantage,) My people are with sickness much enfeebled; My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have Almost no better than so many French; Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, I thought upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen.—Yet, forgive me, heaven, That I do brag thus!—this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am; My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk; My army, but a weak and sickly guard; Yet God before,7 tell him we will come on, Though France himself, and such another neighbour, Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy; Go, bid thy master well advise himself: If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this: We would not seek a battle, as we are; Yet, as we are, we say, we will not shun it; So tell your master. Montjoy. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. [Exit MONTJOY. 6

Hinderance.

7

Then used for—God being my guide.

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Gloster. I hope they will not come upon us now. KingHenry.We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:— Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves; And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. YI.—The FRENCH Camp near AGINCOURT. Enter the CONSTABLE of FRANCE, the LORD RAMBURES, the DUKE OF ORLEANS, DAUPHIN, and Others. Constable. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. —'Would it were day. Orleans. You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due. Constable. It is the best horse of Europe. Orleans. "Will it never be morning? Dauphin. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you talk of horse and armour.— Orleans. You are as well provided of both, as any prince in the world. Dauphin. What a long night is this! 1 will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs!8 le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui a les narines clefeu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he treads the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. Orleans. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. Dauphin. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him: he is, indeed, a horse; and all other jades you may call—beasts. Constable. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. Dauphin. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is SCENE

8 Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which were stuffed with hair.

KING HENEY V.

4G5

like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. Orleans. No more, cousin. Dauphin. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of nature,— Orleans. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. Dauphin. Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser; for my horse is my mistress. Constable. You have good judgment in horsemanship. Rambures. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it? Constable. Stars, my lord. Dauphin. Some of theln will fall to-morrow, I hope. Constable. And yet my sky shall not want. Dauphin. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously; and 'twere more honour, some were away. Constable. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Dauphin. 'Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. Constable. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way: But I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the ears of the English. Rambures. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners? Constable. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them. Dauphin. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself. [Exit. Orleans. The dauphin longs for morning. 2 H VOL. i n .

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liambures. He longs to eat the English. Constable. I think he will eat all he kills. Orleans. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince. Constable. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. Orleans. He is simply, the most active gentleman of France. Constable. Doing is activity: and he will still be doing. Orleans. He never did harm, that I heard of. Constable. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep that good name still. Orleans. I know him to be valiant. Constable. I was told that, by one that knows him better than you. Orleans. What's he? Constable. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he cared not who knew it. Orleans. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. Constable. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and, when it appears, it will bate.9 Orleans. Ill-will never said well. Constable. I will cap that proverb with—There is flattery in friendship. Orleans. And I will take up that with—Give the devil his due. Constable. Well placed; there stands your friend for the devil. Orleans. You are the better at proverbs, by how much —A fool's bolt is soon shot. Constable. You have shot over. Orleans. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. My lord high constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. 9

An equivoque in terms in falconry: he means his valour is hid from everybody but his lackey, and when it appears it will fall off.

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Constable. Who hath measured the ground? Messenger. The lord Grandpre. Constable. A valiant and most expert gentleman.—• Would it were day! Alas, poor Harry of England!— he longs not for the dawning, as we do. Orleans. What a wretched and peevish1 fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge! Constable. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. Orleans. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces. Rambures. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Orleans. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples: You may as well say,—that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. Constable. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives: and then give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. Orleans. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Constable. Then we shall find to-morrow—they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm: Come, shall we about it ? Orleans. I t is now two o'clock: but, let me see,—by ten, We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. 1

Foolish.

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KING HENRY V.

ACT IY. Enter CHORUS. Choi^us. Now entertain conjecture of a time, When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly2 sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch: Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd3 face: Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty4 French Do the low-rated English play at dice; And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Let him cry—Praise and glory on his head! For forth he goes, and visits all his host; Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile; 2 4

Gently, lowly. Over-saucy.

3

Discoloured by the gleam of the fires.

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And calls them—brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army hath enrounded him; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night: But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to every one, Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night: And so our scene must to the battle fly: Where, (0 for pity!) we shall much disgrace— With four or five most vile and ragged foils, Eight ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous,— The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see; Minding 5 true things, by what their mockeries be. \Eodl. SCENE I.—

The ENGLISH Cam}) at AGINCOURT.

Enter KING HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOSTER. King Henry. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great danger; The greater therefore should our courage be.— Good morrow, brother Bedford.—Now we find There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out; For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry: Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all; admonishing, That we should dress us fairly for our end. Thus may we gather honey from the weed And make a moral of the devil himself. 5

Calling to remembrance.

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KING HENRY V.

Enter ERPINGHAM. Good-morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham: A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France. Erpingham. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better, Since I may say—now lie I like a king. King Henry. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains, Upon example; so the spirit is eased: And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move With casted slough6 and fresh legerity.7 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.—Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp; Do my good-morrow to them; and anon, Desire them all to my pavilion. Gloster. We shall, my liege. [Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD. Erpingham. Shall I attend your grace? King Henry. No, my good knight; Go with my brothers to my lords of England: 1 and my bosom roust debate a while, And then I would no other company. Erpingham. The lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry. [Exit ERPINGHAM. King Henry. Worthy old heart! thou speakest cheerfully. Enter PISTOL. Pistol. Qui va la ? King Henry. A friend. Pistol. Discuss unto me; Art thou officer; Or art thou base, common, and popular? King Henry. I am a gentleman of a company. 6 7

Slough is the skin which serpents annually throw off. Lightness, nimblcness.

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Pistol Trailest thou the puissant pike? King Henry. Even so: what are you? Pistol. A.s good a gentleman as the emperor. King Henry. Then you are a better than the king. Pistol. The king's a bawcock,. and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame; Of parents good, of fist most valiant: I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings I love the lovely bully. What's thy name? King Henry. Harry le Boy. Pistol. Le Boy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew? King Henry. No, I am a Welshman. Pistol. Knowest thou Fluellen? King Henry. Yes. Pistol. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, Upon saint David's day. King Henry. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. Pistol. Art thou his friend? King Henry. And his kinsman too. Pistol. Thefigofor th.ee then! King Henry, I thank you: Heaven be with you. Pistol. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. King Henry. It sorts well with your fierceness. Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER, severally. Gower. Captain Fluellen! Fluellen. So! speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the universal 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. Gower. Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him all night.

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Fluellen. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb; in your own conscience now? Gower. I will speak lower. Fluellen. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN. King Henry. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter BATES, COURT, and WILLIAMS. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder? Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. Williams. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.—Who goes there? King Henry. A friend. Williams. Under what captain serve you? King Henry. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. Williams. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? King Henry. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? King Henry. No: nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth tome; all his senses have but human conditions:8 his ceremonies laid by, he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. 8

Qualities.

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473

Bates. He may show what outward courage he will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the neck: and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here. King Henry. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any where but where he is. Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved. King Henry. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone: howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die any where so contented, as in the king's company; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Williams. That's more than we know. Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. Williams. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all—We died at such a place; some swearing; some, crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor behind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some, upon their children rawly1 left. I am afeard there are few die well, that die in battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. King Henry. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandize, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a ser1

Suddenly.

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vant, under his master's command, transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's perdition:—But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant: for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment,2 though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God: war is his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel: where they feared the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish: Then if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of it, than he was before guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teuch others how they should prepare. Williams* 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 2

i. e. Punishment in their native country.

KING HENRY V.

475

King Henry. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed. Williams. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. King Henry. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Williams. 'Mass, you'll pay3 him then! That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying. King Henry. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient. Williams. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. King Henry. I embrace it. Williams. How shall I know thee again ? King Henry. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Williams. Here's my glove; give me another of thin£. King Henry. There. Williams. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. King Henry. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. Williams. Thou darest as well be hanged. King Henry. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company. Williams. Keep thy word, fare thee well. Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon. King Henry. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their shoulders: But it is no English treason to 3

To pay here signifies to bring to account, to punish.

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KING HENRY V.

cut French crowns; and, to-morrow the king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt SOLDIERS* Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and Our sins, lay on the king;— we must bear all. O hard condition! twin-born with greatness, Subjected to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy? And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou. that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? 0 ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is the soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation ? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; 1 am a king, that find thee; and I know. 'Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced5 title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 5

Farced, is stuffed. The tumid puffy titles with which a king's name is introduced.

KING HENKY V.

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That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night, Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Doth rise, and help Hyperion6 to his horse; And follows so the ever-running year With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. Enter EKPINGHAM. Erpingham. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you. Ring Henry. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent: I'll be before thee. Erpingham. I shall do't my lord. [Exit King Henry. 0 God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them!—Not to-day, 0 Lord, 0 not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! 1 Richard's body have interred new; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 6

The sun.

478

KING HENRY V.

Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, "Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter GLOSTER. Gloster. My liege! King Henry. My brother Gloster's voice ?—Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee:— The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exeunt. SCENE

II.—Tlie

FRENCH Cam]).

Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BAMBURES, and Others. Orleans. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords, Dauphin. Montez a cheval:—My horse! valet! looquay! ha! Orleans. O brave spirit! Dauphin. Via!7—les eaux et la terreOrleans. Rien puis ? Fair et lefeu Dauphin, del! cousin Orleans. Enter

CONSTABLE.

Now, my lord constable! Constable. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! Dauphin. Mount them, and make incision in their hides y That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout8 them with superfluous courage: Ha! 7 8

Ah old encouraging exclamation. Do them out, extinguish them.

KING HENRY V.

479

Rambures. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we then behold their natural tears? Enter a MESSENGER. Messenger. The English are embattled, you French peers. Constable. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, To give each naked curtle-ax a stain, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,— Who, in unnecessary action, swarm About our squares of battle,—were enough To purge this field of such a hilding9 foe; Though we, upon this mountain's basis by, Took stand for idle speculation: But that our honours must not. What's to say? A very little Little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount: For our approach shall so much dare the field, That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. Enter GRANDPRE. Orandpre. Why do you stay so long, my lords ofFrance? Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favour'dly become the morning field: Their ragged curtains2 poorly are let loose, 9 1

Mean, despicable. The name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet.

2

Colours,

480

KING HENRY V.

And our air shakes them passing scornfully, Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips; The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes; And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal3 bit Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly oet them all, impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words, To demonstrate the life of such a battle In life so lifeless as it shows itself. Constable. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. Dauphin. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them? Constable. I stay but for my guard; On, to the field: I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt. SCENE

Enter the

III.—The

ENGLISH

Camp.

ENGLISH HOST, GLOSTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.

Gloster. Where is the king? Bedford. The king himself is rode to view their battle. Westmoreland. Of fighting men they have fall threescore thousand. Exeter. There'sfiveto one; besides, they all are fresh. Salisbury. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds* God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then joyfully,—my noble lord of Bedford,— 3

Ring.

KING HENRY V.

481

My dear lord Gloster,—and my good lord Exeter,— And my kind kinsman,—warriors all, adieu! Bedford. Farewell, good Salisbury: and good luck go with thee! Exeter. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day: And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. [Exit SALISBURY. Bedford. He is as full of valour as of kindness; Princely in both. Westmorelcmd. O that we now had here Enter KING HENRY. But one ten thousand of those men in England, That do no work to-day! King Henry. What's he, that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland?—No, my fair cousin: If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 0 no, I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns4 me not, if men my garments wear; Such outer things dwell not in my desires: But, if it be a sin to covet honour, 1 am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: By heaven! I would not lose so great an honour, As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more: Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company, That fears bis fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd—the feast of Crispian i 4

VOL. Ill,

Grieves. 2 I

482

KING HENRY V.

He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian: He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, And say—to-morrow is saint Crispian: Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day. Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day: Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words,—> Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,— Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd: This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition:5 And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day. Enter SALISBURY. Salisbury. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us. King Henry. All things are ready, if our minds be so, Westmoreland. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now! King Henry. Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin? 5

i. c. Thia clay shall advance him to the rank of a gentleman.

KING HENRY V.

483

Westmoreland. By heaven, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more help, might fight this battle out! King Henry. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; Which likes me better, than to wish us one.— You know your places: God be with you all! Tucket. Enter MONTJOY. Montjoy. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow: For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The constable desires thee—thou wilt mind9 Thy followers of repentance; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor bodies Must lie and fester. King Henry. Who hath sent thee now? Montjoy. The constable of France. King Henry. I pray thee, bear my former answer back; Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. Good Heaven! why should they mock poor fellows thus ? The man, that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, Find native graves; upon the which, I trust, Shall witness live in brass of this day's work; And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven. Let me speak proudly:—Tell the constable, We are but warriors for the working-day: Our gayness, and our gilt,1 are all besmirch'd2 9

Remind.

l

Gilding.

2

Soiled.

484

KING HENRY V.

With rainy marching in the painful field; There's not a piece of feather in our host, (Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) And time hath worn us into slovenry: But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim: And my poor soldiers tell me—yet ere night They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, And turn them out of service. If they do this, (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then "Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, Shall yield them little, tell the constable. Mont joy. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well: Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. King Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for ransome. Enter the DUKE OF YORK, York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.3 King Henry. Take it, brave York,—Now, soldiers, march away:— And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Eoceunt. SCENE

XV.—The Field of Battle.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter FRENCH and BOY. Pistol. Yield, cur.

SOLDIER, PISTOL,

French Soldier. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilJwmme de bonne qualite.

Pistol Quality, call you me?—Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. French Soldier. 0 seigneur Dieu ! Pistol. O signieur Dew should be a gentleman:— 3

Vanguard.

KIKG HEKRY V.

485

Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark;— O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,4 Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransome. French Soldier. 0, prennez misericorde ! ayezpitiede moy. Pistol. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty raoys; For I will fetch thy rim5 out at thy throat, In drops of crimson blood. French Soldier. JEst it impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras.

Pistol. Brass, cur! Offer'st me brass? French Soldier. 0, pardonnez moy ! Pistol. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?— Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, What is his name. Boy. Escoutez; Comment estes vous appelle?

French Soldier. Monsieur le Fer. Boy. He says, his name is—master Fer. P'istol. Master Fer, I'll fer him, and ferk6 him, and ferret him:—discuss the same in French unto him. Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. Pistol. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. French Soldier. Que dit-il, Monsieur ? Boy. II Die commande de vous dire que vousfaites vous prest; car ce soldat icy est dispose toute a cette Jwure de couper vostre gorge. Pistol. Ouy, couper gorge, par may foy, pesant. Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. French Soldier. O,je vous suppliepour Vamour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, etje vous donneray deux cents escus. Pistol. What are his words? Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentle4

An old cant word for a sword, so called from a famous 6sword-cutler 5 of the name of Fox. The diaphragm. Chastise.

486

KING HENRY V.

man of a good house; and, for his ransome, he will give you two hundred crowns. Pistol. Tell him,—my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take. French Soldier. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les escus que vous Vavez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. French Soldier. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille o*emerciemens: et je mestime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingue' seigneur d'Angleterre. Pistol. Expound unto me, boy. Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England. Pistol. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.— Follow me, cur. [Exit PISTOL. Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. [Exit French Soldier. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true,—The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil 1 the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal any tiling adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys. [EodL SCENE

V.—Another Part of the Field of Battle.

Alarums.

Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BOURBON, CONSTABLE, KAMBURES, and Others. Constable. 0 diable! Orleans. 0 seigneur!—le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

KING HENRY V.

487

Dauphin. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.—0 meschante fortune ! Do not run away. [A short Alwrum. Constable. Why all our ranks are broke. Dauphin. O perdurable7 shame!—Let's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? Orleans. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome? Bourbon. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let us die instant: Once more back again; And he that will not follow Bourbon nowr Let him go hence, with shame and infamy. Constable. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives Unto these English, or else die with fame. Orleans. We are enough, yet living in the field, To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. Bourbon. The devil take order now; I'll to the throng; Let life be short; else, shame will be too long. [Exeunt. SCENE

VI.—Anotlier Part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter KING HENRY, and Forces; EXETER, and Others. King Henry. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen : But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. Exeter. The duke of York commends him to your majesty. King Henry. Lives he, good uncle? thrice, within this hour, I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting; From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. Exeter. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie, Larding the plain: and by his bloody side, 7

Lasting,

488

KING HENRY V.

(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) The noble earl of Suffolk also lies, Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes, That bloodily did yawn upon his face; And cries aloud,—Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, thenjly a-breast; As, in this glorious and well-foughten field, We kept together in our chivalry I Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up: He smil'd me in the face, raught 8 me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says,—Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me, which I would have stopped, But I had not so much of man in me, But all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears. King Henry. I blame you not; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.— \Alarum. But, hark! what new alarum is this same? The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:— Then every soldier kill his prisoner; Give the word through. \Eoceanl. SCENE

VII.

Alarums.

Anotlier Part of the Field.

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER.

Fluellen. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, 8

Reached.

KING HENRY V.

489

mark you now, as can be offer'd in the 'orld: In your conscience now, is it not? Gower. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the king's tent; wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king! Fluellen. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower. "What call you the town's name, where Alexander the pig was born? Gower. Alexander the great. Fluellen. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. Goiver. I think, Alexander the great was born in Macedon; his father was called—Philip of Macedon; as I take it. Fluellen. I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain,—If you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth: it is called Wye, at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and hischolers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. Gower. Our king is not like him in that; he never killed any of his friends. Fluellen. It is not well done, mark you now, to take

490

KING HENRY V.

tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and finished, I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his goot judgments, is turn away the fat knight with the great pelly-doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I am forget his name. Gower. Sir John Falstaff. Fluellen. That is he: I can tell you there is goot men born at Monmouth. Gower. Here comes his majesty. Alarum. Enter KING HENKY, with a Part of the ENGLISH Forces; WARWICK, GLOSTER, EXETER, and Others. King Henry. I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant.—Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horseman on yon hill; If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field; they do offend our sight: If they'll do neither, we will come to them; And make them skirr9 away as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have; And not a man of them, that we shall take, Shall taste our mercy:—Go, and tell them so. Enter MONTJOY. Exeter. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. Gloster. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. King Henry. How now, what means this, herald] know'st thou not, That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransome ? Com'st thou again for ransome? Montjoy. No, great king: I come to thee for charitable licence, That we may wander o'er this bloody field, To book our dead, and then to bury them; 9

Scour.

KING HENRY V.

491

To sort our nobles from our common men; For many of our princes (woe the while!) Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. 0, give us leave, great king, To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies. King Henry. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not, if the day be ours or no; For yet a many of your horsemen peer, And gallop o'er the field. Montjoy. The day is yours. King Henry. Praised be God, and not our strength for it!— What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by? Montjoy. They call it—Agincourt. King Henry. Then call we this—thefieldof Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. Fluellen. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward, the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. King Henry. They did, Fluellen. Fluellen. Your majesty says very true: If your majesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your majesty knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the service; and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon saint Tavy's day. King Henry. I wear it for a memorable honour : For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. Fluellen. All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too!

492

KING HENRY V.

King .Henry. Thanks, good my countryman. Fluellen. I am your majesty's countryman, I care not who know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not be ashamed of your majesty, so long as your majesty is an honest man. King Henry. God keep me so—our heralds go with him. Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts.—Call yonder fellow hither. [Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt MONTJOY and Others.

Exeter. Soldier, you must come to the king. King Henry. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap? Williams. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. King Henry. An Englishman? Williams. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that swagger'd with me last night: who, if 'a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. King Henry. What think you, captain Fluellen ? is it fit this soldier keep his oath? Fluellen. He is a craven1 and a villain else, an't please your majesty, in my conscience. Kvng Henry. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,2 quite from the answer of his degree. Fluellen. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself, it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce,3 as ever his plack shoe trod upon the earth, in my conscience. King Henry. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the fellow. Williams. So I will, my liege, as I live. 1

Coward.

2

High rank.

3

For saucy Jack*

KING HENRY V.

493

King Henry. Who servest thou under? Williams. Under captain Gower, my liege. Fluellen. Gower is a goot captain: and is good knowledge and literature in the wars. King Henry. Call him hither to me, soldier. Williams. I will, my liege. [Exit. King Henry. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in thy cap; "When Alen§on and myself were down together, I plucked this glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alen<;on, and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost love me. Fluellen. Your grace does me as great honours as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all; but I would fain see it once. King Henry. Knowest thou Gower ? Fluellen. He is my dear friend, an please you. King Henry. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent. Fluellen. I will fetch him, [Exit King Henry. My lord of Warwick,—and my brother Gloster, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: The glove, which I have given him for a favour, May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear; It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should .Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick; If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) Some sudden mischief may arise of it; For I do know Fluellen valiant, And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly will return an injury: Follow, and see there be no harm between them.— Go you with me. uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt.

494

KING HENRY V.

VIII.—Before KING HENRY'S Pavilion. Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS. Williams. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. Enter FLUELLEN. Muellen. Captain, I peseech you now, come apace to the king: there is more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge to dream of. Williams. Sir, know you this glove ? Muellen. Know the glove; I know the glove is a glove. Williams. I know this ; and thus I challenge it. [Strikes him. Fluellen. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the universal 'orld, or in France, or in England Gower. How now, sir? you villain! Williams. Do you think I'll be forsworn? Fluellen. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant yoru Williams. I am no traitor. Fluellen. That's a lie in thy throat.—I charge you in his majesty's name, apprehend him; he's a friend of the duke of Alentjon's* SCENE

Enter WARWICK and GLOSTER. Warwick. How now, how now! what's the matter? Fluellen. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is his majesty. Enter KING HENRY and EXETER. King Henry. How now. what's the matter? Fluellen. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alen^on. Williams. My liege, this was my glore; here is the fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike him,

KING HENRY V.

495

if he did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. Fluellen. Your majesty hear now, (saving your majesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, knave it is: I hope your majesty is pear me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is give me, in your conscience now. King Henry. Give me thy glove, soldier; Look, here is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. Fluellen. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. King Henry. How canst thou make me satisfaction? Williams. All offences, my liege, come from the heart: never came any from mine, that might offend your majesty. King Henry. It was ourself thou didst abuse. Williams. Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me* King Henry. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow.—Keep it, fellow; And wear it for an honour in thy cap, Till I do challenge it.—Give him the crowns:— And, captain, you must needs be friends with him* Fluellen. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his pelly:—Hold, there is twelve pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. Williams. I will none of your money. Fluellen. It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore should

496

KING HENRY V.

you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. Enter an ENGLISH HERALD. King Henry. Now, herald; are the dead number'd? Herald. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French, [Delivers a paper.

King Henry. "What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle ? Exeter. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. King Henry. This note doth tell me often thousand French, That in the field lie slain; of princes in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead, One hundred twenty-six: added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; The rest are—princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead,— Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France; The master of the cross-bows, lord Kambures; Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dauphin; John duke of Alen^on; Antony duke of Brabant, The brother to the duke of Burgundy; And Edward duke of Bar; of lusty earls, Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, Beaumont, and Marie, Yaudemont, and Lestrale, Here was a royal fellowship of death! "Where is the number of our English dead? [HERALD

presents anotlier paper.

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,

KING HENRY V.

497

Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: None else of name: and, of all other men, But five-and-twenty. 0 God, thy arm was here, And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all.—When, without stratagem, But in plain shock, and even play of battle, Was ever known so great and little loss, On one part and on the other?—Take it, Lord, For it is only thine! Exeter. 'Tis wonderful! King Henry. Come, go we in procession to the village: And be it death proclaimed through our host, To boast of this, or take that praise from God, Which is his only. Fluellen. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed? King Henry. Yes, captain, but with this acknowledgment, That God fought for us, Fludlen. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. King Henry. Do we all holy rites; Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum, The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, We'll then to Calais; and to England then > Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. [Exeunt. ACT V. Enter CHORUS. Chorus. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story That I may prompt them: and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit the excuse Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the king Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach VOL. III.

2K

498

KING HENKY V,

Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, Which, like a mighty whiffler4 'fore the king. Seems to prepare his way: so let him land; And, solemnly, see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought, that even now You may imagine him upon Blackheath: Where that his lords desire him, to have5 borne His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, Before him, through the city: he forbids it, Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought. How London doth pour out her citizens! The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,— Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels,— Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in: As, by a lower but by loving likelihood,6 Were now the general of our gracious empress7 (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached8 on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him? much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry. ]STow in London place him, (As yet the lamentation of the French Invites the king of England's stay at home: The emperor's coming in behalf of France, To order peace between them;) and omit All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, Till Harry's back return again to France; There must we bring him; and myself have play'd The interim, by remembering you—'tis past. Then brook abridgement; and your eyes advance After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

\Exit.

1

An officer who walks first in processions. 5 ff i. e. To order it to be borne. 7 The Earl of Essex in the reign of Elizabeth.

8

Similitude. Spitted, transfixed.

KING HENRY V,

SCENE I.—FRANCE.

499

A N ENGLISH COURT OF GUARD,

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER. Gower. Nay, that's right; but wiry wear you your leek to-day? Saint Davy*s day is past* Fluellen. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things; I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower. The rascally, beggarly, pragging knave, Pistol,—which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, —he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. Enter PISTOL. Gower. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkeycock. Fluellen. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.—Pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy knave, pless you! Pistol. H a ! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. Fluellen. I peseech you heartily, scurvy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. Pistol. ]STot for Cadwallader and all his goats. Fluellen. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] Will be so goot, scald knave, as eat it? Pistol. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Fluellen. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and

500

KING HENRY V.

eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, mountain-squire;> but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek, Gower. Enough, captain; you have astonish'd him. Fluellen. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days:—Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb, Pistol Must I bite? Fluellen. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities. Pistol. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat, and eke I swear— Fluellen. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek to swear by% Pistol. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat. Fluellen. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. ISTay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at them; that is all. Pistol. Good. Fluellen. Ay, leeks is goot:—Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. Pistol Me a groat. Fluellen. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. Pistol. I take thy groat, in earnest qf revenge. Fluellen. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wf you, and keep you, and heal your pate, \Exit. Pistol All hell shall stir for this. Gower. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition,—begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour,—and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking9 and gall9

ScoffiDg, sneering.

KING HENRY V.

501

ing at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition.1 Fare ye well. [Exit. Pistol. Doth fortune play the huswife2 with me now? News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital,3 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs Honour is cudgell'd. Well, pimp will I turn, And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand* To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: And patches will I get unto these scars, And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. SCENE II.—TROYES IN CHAMPAGNE. An the FRENCH KING'S Palace.

Apartment in

Enter at one door, KING HENRY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other LORDS ; at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the PRINCESS KATHARINE, LORDS, LADIES, cfcc., the DUKE OF BURGUNDY, and his TRAIN.

King Henry. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met! Unto our brother France,—and to our sister, Health and fair time of day:—joy and good wishes To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; And (as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) We do salute you, duke of Burgundy;— And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! French King. Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met:— So are you, princes English, every one. Queen Isabel. So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, As we are now glad to behold your eyes; 1

Temper.

2

For jilt.

3

Hospital

502

KING HENRY V.

Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French, that met them in their bent, The fatal balls of murdering basilisks; The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality; and that this day Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. King Henry. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. Queen Isabel. You English princes all, I do salute you. Burgundy. My duty to you both, on equal love, Great kings of France and England! That I have labour'd With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, To bring your most imperial majesties Unto this bar4 and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness, Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, That face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted; let it not disgrace me, If I demand, before this royal view, What rub, or what impediment, there is, Why, that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, j)lenties, and joyful births, Should not, in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd; And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in its own fertility, Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached,— Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas, The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts, That should deracinate5 such savagery: The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems, But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 4

Barrier.

6

Force up by the roots,.

KING HENRY V.

503

Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness; Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, The sciences that should become our country; But grow, like savages,—as soldiers will, That nothing do but meditate on blood,— To swearing, and stern looks, diffuse!6 attire, And every thing that seems unnatural, Which to reduce into our former favour/ You are assembled: and my speech entreats, That I may know the let,8 why gentle peace Should not expel these inconveniences, And bless us with her former qualities. King Henry. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, Whose want gives growth to the imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peace With full accord to all our just demands; Whose tenours and particular effects You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. Burgundy. The king hath heard them; to the which, as yet, There is no answer made. King Henry. Well then, the peace, Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. French King. I have but with a cursory eye O'er-gianc'd the articles: pleaseth your grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will, suddenly, Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. King Henry. Brother, we shall.—Go, uncle Exeter,—. And brother Clarence,—and you, brother Gloster,— Warwick,—and Huntingdon,—go with the king: And take with you free power to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 6

Extravagant.

7

Appearance.

8

Hinderance.

504

KING HE1STKY V.

Shall see advantageable for our dignity, Any thing in, or out of, our demands; And we'll consign thereto.—Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? Queen Isabel. Our gracious brother, I will go with them ; Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. King Henry. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us; She is our capital demand, compris'd Within the fore-rank of our articles. Queen Isabel. She hath good leave. [Exeunt all but HENRY, KATHARINE, and her GENTLEWOMAN.

King Henry. Fair Katharine, and most fair! Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, Such as will enter at a lady's ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? Katharine. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England. King Henry. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tomgue. Do you like me, Kate? Katharine. Pa/rdonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is—like me. King Henry. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are like an angel. Katharine. Que dit-il? queje suis semblable a les anges? Alice. Ouy, vrayinent, (sauf vostre grace) ainsi dit-il.

King Henry. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it. Katharine. 0! les langues des homines sont pleines des tromperies.

King Henry. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits? Alice. Ouy; dat de topgues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de princess. King Henry. The princess is the better English-

KING HENKY V.

505

woman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding : I am glad, thou canst speak no better English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think, I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say—I love you: then, if you urge me further than to say—Do you, in faith? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain: How say you, lady? Katharine. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. King Henry. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure; and for the other, I have no strength in measure,9 yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leapfrog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap for a wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off: but, I cannot look greenly,1 nor grasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee—that I shall die, is true; but—for thy love, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined2 constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours—they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme 9

1 In dancing. i. e. Like a young lover, awkwardly. He means, resembling a plain piece of metal, which has not yet received any impression. 2

506

KIXG HENRY V.

is but a ballad. A good leg will fall;3 a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and moon; or rather the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me: And take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. Katharine. Is it possible that I should love de enemy of France? King Henry. No; it is not possible, you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well, that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. Katharine. I cannot tell vat is dat. King Henry. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a newmarried wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Quandfay la possession de France, et quand vous avez la possession de moi, (let me see, what then? Saint Dennis be my speed!)—done vostre est France, et vous estes mienne. I t is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak so much more French: I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. Katharine. Sauf vostre honneur, le Frangois que vous parlez, est meilleur que VAnglois lequel je parle.

King Henry. No, 'faith, is't not, Kate: but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me? Katharine. I cannot tell. King Henry. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 3

FalJ away.

KING HENRY V.

507

Til ask them. Come, I know tbou loyest me: and at night when you come into your closit, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her, dispraise those parts in me, that you love with your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. How answer you, la plus belle Catharine du inonde, mon tres chere et divine deesse? Katharine, Your majeste'&vefausse French enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. King Henry. Now, fye upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate: by which honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition! he was always thinking of civil wars; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better 1 shall appear: my comfort is, that old age, that ill-layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say— Harry of England, I am thine: which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud—England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his faoe, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken musick; for thy voice is musick, and thy English broken: therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English, "Wilt thou have me? Katharine. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mm fere.

508

KING HENRY V.

King Henry. Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate. Katharine. Den it shall also content me. King Henry. Upon that I will kiss your hand> and I call you—my queen. Katharine. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: ma f°y> j e ne vvuft point que vous abbaissez vostre grandewr, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne serviteur; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur. King Henry. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Katharine. Les dames, et demoiselles, pour estre boAsees devant leur nopces, il nest pas la coutume de France. King Henry. Madam my interpreter, what says she? A lice. Dat it is not be de fashion powr les ladies of France,—I cannot tell what is baiser, en English. King Henry. To kiss. Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moy. King Henry. It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say? Alice. Ouy, vrayment. King Henry. O, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list 4 of a country's fashion: we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. FRENCH KING and QUEEN, BURGUNDY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, WESTMORELAND, and oilier FRENCH and ENGLISH LORDS.

Enter the

Burgundy. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you our princess English? 4

Slight barrier.

KING HENRY V.

509

Kmg Henry. I "would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is good English. Burgundy. Is she not apt? King Henry. Our tongue is rough, coz; and my condition5 is not smooth: so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness. Shall Kate be my wife? French King. So please you:—we have consented to all terms of reason. King Henry. Is't so, my lords of England? Westmoreland. The king hath granted every article: His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all, According to their firm proposed natures. Exeter. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this:— Where your majesty demands,—That the king of France having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your highness in this form, and with this addition, in French,—Notre tres clier filz Henry roy d'Angleterre, heritier de France; and thus in Latin,—Prceclarissimus fiiius noster Henricus, rex Anglice, et hceres Francice.

French King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, But your request shall make me let it pass. King Henry. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance, Let that one article rank with the rest: And, thereupon, give me your daughter. French King. Take her, fair son; and from her blood raise up Issue to me: that the contending kingdoms Of France and England, whose very shores look pale "With envy of each other's happiness, May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. All. Amen! 5

Temper.

510

KING HENRY V.

King Henry. Now welcome, Kate:—and b6ar me witness all, That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. \Flowrish. Queen Isabel. God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two^ are one in love, So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporate league; That English may as French, French Englishmen, Receive each other!—God speak this Amen; All. Amen! King Henry. Prepare we for our marriage:—on which day, My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.— Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me! And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be! [Exeunt

.

511

Enter CHOBUS. Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen, Our bending6 author hath pursu'd the story; In little room confining mighty men, Mangling by starts the fall course of their glory. Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd This star of England: fortune made his sword; By which the world's best garden7 he achiev'd, And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king Of France and England, did this king succeed; Whose state so many had the managing, That they lost France, and made his England bleed: Which oft our stage hath shown; and for their sake, In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Eadt. 6

i. e. Unequal to the weight of the subject.

END OF VOLUME THIRD.

7

France.