So is it in the music of men's lives. Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; With much ado, at length have gotten leave How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. 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, Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer 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. SCENE VI.-Windsor. A room in the castle. Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire Welcome, my lord: What is the news? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is,-I have to London sent [Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 2 G Enter FITZWATER. Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of CARLISLE. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Boling. They love not poison, that do poison Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, And never show thy head by day nor light.- KING HENRY IV. PART I. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. King HENRY the Fourth. HENRY, prince of WALES, of I FOINS. GADSHILL. sons to the king. PETO. BARDOLPH. Earl of WESTMORELAND, friends to the king. Lady PERCY, wife to HOTSPUR, and sister to Sir WALTER BLUNT, THOMAS PERCY, earl of V WORCESTER. Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. MORTIMER. Lady MORTIMER, daughter to GLENDOWER, 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. ACT I. SCENE I.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Others. K. Hen. 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 afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys 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, Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' | In envy, that my lord Northumberland womb, To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, Brake off our business for the Holy Land. For more uneven and unwelcome news Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. Should be the father of so blest a son : you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects; K.Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Another room in the palace. Enter HENRY prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata; I see no reason why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. 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 wasdering knight so fuir. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,) P. Hen. What! none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly. roundly. Fal. 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. P. Hen. 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 swearing-lay by; and spent with crying-bring in now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. 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. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? Fal. 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 would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter POINS, at a distance. Fal. 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. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned. Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal.-What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sackand-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. Poins. But, 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 tonight in Rochester; I have bespoke supper tomorrow 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. |