Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose! Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, GLENDOWER Speaks some Welsh words, and then the . Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh ; Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical: for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh! ye Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. Lady P. Then be still! Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. Lady P. Now God help thee! Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. Lady P. What's that? Hot. Peace! she sings. A Welsh song sung by Lady M. Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. Hot. 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 God shall mend me; and, As sure as day: And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, A good mouth-filling oath, and leave in sooth, Lady P. 1 will not sing. Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so come in, when you will! [Exit. Glend. 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 Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE II. London. A room in the palace. Must have some conference. But be near at hand, yet let me wonder, At thy affections, which do hold a wing That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, [Exeunt Lords. He was but as the cuckoo is in June, I know not, whether God will have it so, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes, But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, And even as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, Through all the kingdoms, that acknowledge Christ? And shake the peace and safety of our throne. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this. If promises be kept on every hand, by K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; tavern. Enter FALSTAFF and BARDolph. Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me,like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it: come, sing me a bawdy song, make me merry! I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough, swore little, diced, not above seven times a week, went to a bawdyhouse, not above once in a quarter of an hour, paid money that I borrowed, three or four times, lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. A mighty and a fearful head they are, Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, sir John. life. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it, as many a man doth of a death's-head, or a memento mori. I never see thy face, but I think on hell-fire, and Dives, that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning,burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over, and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night, to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no parchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thou sand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack, that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly. Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart burned. * by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. 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! Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound. Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay! Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face! What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks! I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a sealring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not, how oft, that that ring was copper. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him, like a dog, if he would say so. Enter Prince HENRY and POINS, marching. FALSTAFF meets the Prince,playing on his truncheon,like a fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion? P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man. Host. Good my lord, hear me ! Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me! P. Hen. What sayst thou, Jack? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? arras, Fal. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man knows not, where to have her. Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou, or any man knows, where to have me, thou knave thou! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly. Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper. P. Hen. Isay, 'tis copper: darest thou be as good, as thy word now? Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. P. Hen. And why not, as the lion? Fal. The king himself is to be feared, as the lion. Dost thou think, I'll fear thee, as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! P.Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But,sirrah,there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whores on, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket, but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdyhouses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy, to make thee long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?" Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh,than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket? P. Hen. It appears so by the story. Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee! Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests! thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified.-Still?-Nay, Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds pr'ythee, be gone! [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grand-news at court! for the robbery, lad,—how is that father's. P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter! Host. So I told him, my lord; and 1 said, I heard your grace say so. And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man, as he is, and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee, than in a stewed prune, nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go! Host. Say, what thing? what thing? answered? P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour. P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too! Bard. Do, my lord! P. Hen. I have procured thec, Jack, a charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I find one, that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none, but the virtuous; I laud Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. me so. Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast, to say otherwise. Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? P. Hen. An otter, sir John? why an otter? P.Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster! Meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall At two o'clock i'the afternoon! There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet I would, your father had been here. The quality and hair of our attempt Brooks no division. It will be thought By some, that know not, why he is away, That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike [Exit. Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; And think, how such an apprehension May turn the tide of fearful faction, [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. Fal. Rare words! brave world!-Hostess, my breakfast; come: O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. АСТ IV. SCENE I.-The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. The tongues of soothers; but a braver place Hot Do so, and 'tis well: Enter a Messenger, with letters. What letters hast thou there?—I can but thank you. Mess. These letters come from your father, Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not himself? Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick. Hot. 'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick, In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Under whose government come they along? Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Mess. He did, my lord, four days, ere I set forth, And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his physicians. Wor.I would, the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited; His health was never better worth, than now. Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very 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. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, That with our small conjunction, we should on, To see, how fortune is dispos'd to us: For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Because the king is certainly possess'd Of all our purposes. What say you to it? Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off! And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want Seems more, than we shall find it. 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 we read The very bottom and the soul of hope, The very list, the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes. Were it good, Dough. Faith, and so we should; Where now remains a sweet reversion: We may boldly spend upon the hope of what Is to come in; And breed a kind of question in our cause, Hot. You strain too far. 1, rather, of his absence make this use: Enter Sir RICHARD VERNON. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul! Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord! The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm! What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd, Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, bulls. All plum'd, like estridges, that wing the wind; Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. Ver. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, My father and Glendower being both away, SCENE II.A public road near Coventry. Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry, fill me Bard. Will you give me money, captain? Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour! and if it Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, -I know not, where they had that: and for their bareness, — I am sure, they never learned that of me. P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste! Percy is already in the field. Fal. What, is the king encamped? West. He is, sir John; I fear, we shall stay too long. The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, SCENE III.-The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. Doug. You give him then advantage. Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? [Exit. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none, but good householders, yeomens' sons: inquire me out contracted bachelors,such as had been asked twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil, as drum; such as fear the Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. report of a caliver worse, than a struck fowl, or a hurt Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd! stir not to-night! wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and but- Ver. Do not, my lord! ter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger, than pins' Doug. You do not counsel well; heads, and they have bought out their services; and You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. now my whole charge consists, of ancients, corporals, Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas! by my life, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged, (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's If well-respected honour bid me on, dogs licked his sores: and such as, indeed, were never i hold as little counsel with weak fear, soldiers; but discarded unjust servingmen, younger As you, my lord, or any Scot, that lives. sons to younger brothers,revolted tapsters, and ostlers Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm word, and a long Which of us fears! peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged, than an old-faced ancient! and such have I, to fill up rooms of them, that have bought out their services, that you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat: nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There is 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 innkeeper of Daintry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. the Doug. Yea, or to-night. Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, being men of such great leading, [The trumpet sounds a parley. Some of us love you well: and even those some |