Part 48

PRINCE. I know you all, and will awhile 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, glitt’ring 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. The Same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt and others.

KING. 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, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And 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 used on it, And that same greatness too which our own hands Have holp to make so portly.

NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord,—

KING. Worcester, get thee gone, for I do 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.

[_Exit Worcester._]

[_To Northumberland._]

You were about to speak.

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 and 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, 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 smiled and talk’d. 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, amongst the rest demanded My prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, Out of my grief and my impatience To be so pester’d with a popinjay, 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! And telling me the sovereignest thing on Earth Was parmacety for an inward bruise, And that it was great pity, so it was, This villainous saltpetre should be digg’d Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d So cowardly, and but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answered 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 retold, May reasonably die, and never rise To do him wrong, or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now.

KING. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, But with proviso and exception, That we at our own charge shall ransom straight 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 that great magician, damn’d 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 indent with fears When they have lost and forfeited themselves? No, on the barren mountains let him starve; For I shall never hold that man my friend Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransom 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 breathed, and three times did 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 crisp 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 not him be slander’d with revolt.

KING. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him, He never did encounter with Glendower. I tell thee, he durst as well have met the devil alone 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.

[_Exit King Henry, Blunt and train._]

HOTSPUR. An 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, Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

NORTHUMBERLAND. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile. Here comes your uncle.

Enter Worcester.

HOTSPUR. Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, 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 in the dust, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer As high in the air as this unthankful King, As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.

NORTHUMBERLAND. [_To Worcester._] Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.

WORCESTER. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

HOTSPUR. He will forsooth have all my prisoners, And when I urged the ransom 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 not he proclaim’d By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?

NORTHUMBERLAND. He was; I heard the proclamation. And then it was when the unhappy King— Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth Upon his Irish expedition; From whence he, intercepted, did return To be deposed, and shortly murdered.

WORCESTER. And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

HOTSPUR. But soft, I pray you, did King Richard 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 starve. 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 murderous 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 thorn, 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 banish’d 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 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 full of peril and adventurous spirit As to o’er-walk a current roaring loud On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

HOTSPUR. If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim! Send danger from the east unto the west, So honour cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs 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-faced 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-faced 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 God, he shall not have a Scot of them, No, 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: Those prisoners you shall keep—

HOTSPUR. Nay, I will: that’s flat. He said he would not ransom Mortimer, Forbade 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.

HOTSPUR. 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 would 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 scourged 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 Gloucestershire. ’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept, His uncle York, where I first bow’d my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, ’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND. At Berkeley 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.” O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done.

WORCESTER. Nay, if you have not, to it again, We will stay your leisure.

HOTSPUR. I have done, i’faith.

WORCESTER. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners; Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And make the Douglas’ son your only mean For powers in Scotland, which, for divers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assured Will easily be granted.—[_To Northumberland._] You, my lord, Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate well beloved, The Archbishop.

HOTSPUR. Of York, is it 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 it. Upon my life it will do well.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Before the game is 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.

HOTSPUR. 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; 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.

HOTSPUR. He does, he does, we’ll be revenged on him.

WORCESTER. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this Than I by letters shall direct your course. When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, I’ll 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.

HOTSPUR. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short, Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

[_Exeunt._]

ACT II

SCENE I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard.

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.

FIRST CARRIER. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d. Charles’ wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not pack’d.—What, ostler!

OSTLER. [_within._] Anon, anon.

FIRST CARRIER. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier.

SECOND CARRIER. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside down since Robin ostler died.

FIRST CARRIER. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose, it was the death of him.

SECOND CARRIER. I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas. I am stung like a tench.

FIRST CARRIER. Like a tench! By the Mass, there is ne’er a king christen could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.

SECOND CARRIER. Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.

FIRST CARRIER. What, ostler! Come away and be hanged, come away.

SECOND CARRIER. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing Cross.

FIRST CARRIER. God’s body! The turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler! A plague on thee! Hast thou never an eye in thy head? Canst not hear? An ’twere not as good deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged. Hast no faith in thee?

Enter Gadshill.

GADSHILL. Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?

FIRST CARRIER. I think it be two o’clock.

GADSHILL. I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.

FIRST CARRIER. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith.

GADSHILL. I pray thee, lend me thine.

SECOND CARRIER. Ay, when? Canst tell? “Lend me thy lantern,” quoth he! Marry, I’ll see thee hanged first.

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

SECOND 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!

Enter Chamberlain.

CHAMBERLAIN. At hand, quoth pick-purse.

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 layest the plot how.

CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper; a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter. They will away presently.

GADSHILL. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee this neck.

CHAMBERLAIN. No, I’ll none of it. I pray thee, keep that for the hangman, for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

GADSHILL. 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 is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their saint the commonwealth, or rather not pray to her, but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

CHAMBERLAIN. What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water in foul way?

GADSHILL. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. 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 beholding to the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

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.

GADSHILL. Go to; _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 Gads-hill.

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. Stand close.

[_They retire._]

Enter Falstaff.

FALSTAFF. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE. [_Coming forward._] Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a brawling dost thou keep!

FALSTAFF. Where’s Poins, Hal?

PRINCE. He is walked up to the top of the hill. I’ll go seek him.

[_Retires._]

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 square further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the 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 further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another! [_They whistle._] Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues, give me my horse and be hanged!

PRINCE. [_Coming forward._] Peace, you fat guts, lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

FALSTAFF. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not bear my own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?

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

FALSTAFF. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.

PRINCE. Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler?

FALSTAFF. Hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I’ll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison—when a jest is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

Enter Gadshill.

GADSHILL. Stand!

FALSTAFF. So I do, against my will.

POINS. O, ’tis our setter. I know his voice.

Comes forward with Bardolph and Peto.

BARDOLPH. What news?

GADSHILL. Case ye, case ye, on with your visards. There’s money of the King’s coming down the hill, ’tis going to the King’s exchequer.

FALSTAFF. You lie, ye rogue, ’tis going to the King’s tavern.

GADSHILL. There’s enough to make us all.

FALSTAFF. To be hanged.

PRINCE. 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. Zounds, will they not rob us?

PRINCE. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

FALSTAFF. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather, but yet no coward, Hal.

PRINCE. Well, we leave that to the proof.

POINS. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When thou need’st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.

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

PRINCE. [_aside to Poins._] Ned, where are our disguises?

POINS. [_aside to Prince Henry._] Here, hard by. Stand close.

[_Exeunt Prince and Poins._]

FALSTAFF. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man to his business.

Enter the Travellers.

FIRST TRAVELLER. Come, neighbour, the boy shall lead our horses down the hill; we’ll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.

THIEVES. Stand!

SECOND TRAVELLER. Jesu bless us!

FALSTAFF. Strike, down with them, cut the villains’ throats! Ah, whoreson caterpillars, bacon-fed knaves, they hate us youth. Down with them, fleece them!

FIRST TRAVELLER. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!

FALSTAFF. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs, I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We’ll jure ye, faith.

[_Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt_]

Enter Prince Henry and Poins in buckram suits.

PRINCE. 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.

[_They retire._]

Enter the Thieves again.

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.

[_As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them._]

PRINCE. Your money!

POINS. Villains!