# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare ## Part 49 Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md [_Falstaff after a blow or two, and the others run away, leaving the booty behind them._] PRINCE. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. The thieves are all scatter’d, and possess’d 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. Were’t not for laughing, I should pity him. POINS. How the fat rogue roared! [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. HOTSPUR. “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 undertake is dangerous”—Why, that’s certain. ’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my 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 an 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! By the Lord, 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. Zounds, 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 Glendower? 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 skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King, we are prepared. I will set forward tonight.— Enter Lady Percy. How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours. LADY PERCY. O 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 sit’st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, And given my treasures and my rights of thee To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? 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! 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’ ransom, 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-disturbed stream, And in thy face strange motions have appear’d, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. HOTSPUR. What, ho! Enter a Servant. Is Gilliams with the packet gone? SERVANT. He is, my lord, an hour ago. HOTSPUR. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? SERVANT. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. HOTSPUR. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 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 thou, my lady? LADY PERCY. What is it carries you away? HOTSPUR. Why, 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, 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 line his enterprise. But if you go— HOTSPUR. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. LADY PERCY. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly unto this question that I ask. In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, 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 and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns, And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!— What say’st thou, Kate? 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 a-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 further. But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too. Today will I set forth, tomorrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY. It must, of force. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. Enter Prince Henry. PRINCE. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Enter Poins. POINS. Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore 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 Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,—by the Lord, so they call me—and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, “dyeing scarlet,” and when you breathe in your watering, they cry “Hem!” and bid you “Play it off!” 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 into my hand by an underskinker, 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 prithee, 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 I’ll show thee a precedent. [_Exit Poins._] POINS. [_Within_] Francis! PRINCE. Thou art perfect. POINS. [_Within_] Francis! Enter Francis. FRANCIS. Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegarnet, Ralph. PRINCE. Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS. My lord? PRINCE. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to— POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE. Five year! 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 show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? FRANCIS. O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart— POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, sir. PRINCE. How old art thou, Francis? FRANCIS. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be— POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord. PRINCE. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a pennyworth, was’t not? FRANCIS. O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE. 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. Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— FRANCIS. My lord? PRINCE. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch— FRANCIS. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? PRINCE. Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink, for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much. FRANCIS. What, sir? POINS. [_within._] Francis! PRINCE. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? [_Here they both call him; the 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. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [_Exit Vintner._] Poins! Enter Poins. POINS. Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE. 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. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight. Enter Francis. What’s o’clock, Francis? FRANCIS. Anon, anon, sir. [_Exit Francis._] PRINCE. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of 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, “Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.” “O my sweet Harry,” says she, “how many hast thou killed today?” “Give my roan horse a drench,” says he; and answers, “Some fourteen,” an hour after; “a trifle, a trifle.” I prithee, call in Falstaff. I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. _Rivo!_ says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow. Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto; followed by Francis with wine. 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, I’ll sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [_Drinks._] PRINCE. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter (pitiful-hearted Titan!), that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? 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 villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack. Die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the Earth, then am I a shotten herring. There lives not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help the while, a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE. 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 subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You, Prince of Wales! PRINCE. Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter? FALSTAFF. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that—and Poins there? POINS. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab thee. FALSTAFF. I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned 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 today. PRINCE. O villain! Thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last. FALSTAFF. All is one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. [_Drinks._] PRINCE. What’s the matter? FALSTAFF. What’s the matter? There be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound this day morning. PRINCE. Where is it, Jack, where is it? FALSTAFF. Where is it? Taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE. 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 ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hacked like a handsaw. _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. Speak, sirs, how was it? GADSHILL. We four set upon some dozen. FALSTAFF. Sixteen at least, my lord. GADSHILL. And bound them. 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. What, fought you with them all? FALSTAFF. All? I know not what you 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 am I no two-legged creature. PRINCE. Pray God you have not murdered some of them. FALSTAFF. Nay, that’s past praying for. I have peppered two of them. Two I am sure I have paid, two 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. 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 afront, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE. 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. [_aside to Poins._] Prithee let him alone, we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE. 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. So, two more already. FALSTAFF. Their points being broken— POINS. 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. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two! FALSTAFF. But as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me, for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. PRINCE. These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene greasy tallow-catch— FALSTAFF. What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth? PRINCE. 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? Zounds, an I were 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 plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. PRINCE. I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh— FALSTAFF. ’Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish—O, for breath to utter what is like thee! You tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck— PRINCE. 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. We two saw you four set on four, and 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, outfaced you from your prize, and have it, yea, and can show it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard 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 hast thou now? FALSTAFF. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear you, 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 now 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, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.—Hostess, clap to the doors. Watch tonight, 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. Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter the Hostess. HOSTESS. O Jesu, my lord the Prince— PRINCE. How now, my lady the hostess! What say’st 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. PRINCE. Give him as much as will make him 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. Prithee do, Jack. FALSTAFF. Faith, and I’ll send him packing. [_Exit._] PRINCE. 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, fie! BARDOLPH. Faith, I ran when I saw others run. PRINCE. Faith, 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 spear-grass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it, and 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. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away. What instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE. I do. BARDOLPH. What think you they portend? PRINCE. Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE. No, if rightly taken, halter. Enter Falstaff. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is’t ago, Jack, since thou 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 villanous 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 Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague call you him? POINS. O, Glendower. FALSTAFF. Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular— PRINCE. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF. You have hit it. PRINCE. So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him, he will not run. PRINCE. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF. A-horseback, ye cuckoo, but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. FALSTAFF. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away tonight; thy father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE. Why then, it is like if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds. FALSTAFF. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true. It is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? Thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it? PRINCE. Not a whit, i’faith. I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father. If thou love me practise an answer. PRINCE. 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 sceptre, and this cushion my crown. PRINCE. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre 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 my 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’ vein. PRINCE. Well, here is my leg. FALSTAFF. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. HOSTESS. O Jesu, 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 God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen, For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. HOSTESS. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see!