ACT III. SCENE I.-Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's House. 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. Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLENO! while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. DOWER. Doth speak of you, His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glen. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been born. Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose as fearing you it shook. Glend. The heavens were all on fire; the earth did tremble. Hot. O! 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 Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving, Glend. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 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,— Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to dinner. Mort. Peace, cousin Percy! you will make him mad. Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come, when you do call for them? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, Mort. Come, come; No more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scap'd he agues, in the devil's name? Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we divide our right, According to our three-fold order ta'en? Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, [To Glendower. Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here, It shall not wind with such a deep indent, Glend. Not wind? it shall; it must: you see, it doth. Mort. Yea, but mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side; Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, Hot. I'll have it so: a little charge will do it. Glend. No, nor you shall not. Glend. Why, that will I. Will not you? Who shall say me nay? Let me not understand you then: Speak it in Welsh. Glend. 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. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, my heart. Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 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? Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night: I'll haste the writer, and withal, I'll break With your young wives of your departure hence. I am afraid my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father. A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff But mark'd him not a word. O! he's as tedious Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; Wor. In faith, my wilful lord, you are to 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: Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [GLENDOWER speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; A peevish self-will'd harlotry, and one [She speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. [She speaks again. 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. Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she e'en run mad. [She speaks again. Mort. O! I am ignorance itself in this. down, And rest your gentle head upon her lap, Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing: And those musicians that shall play to you Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy lap. Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [The Music plays. Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel, he is so humorous. By'r lady, he's a good musician. Lady P. 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. Hot. I had rather hear, lady, my brach, howl in Irish. Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken? Lady P. Then be still. Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. ла Hot. Peace? she sings. [A Welsh Song by Lady M. So stale and cheap to vulgar company, Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Not yours, in good sooth; and, as true as I live ; Lady P. I will not sing. Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- Mort. Must have some private conference: but be near at For we shall presently have need of you.— Opinion, that did help me to the crown, That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little I know not whether God will have it so, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself. K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, K. Hen. God pardon thee!—yet let me wonder, Harry, He hath more worthy interest to the state, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Of all the court, and princes of my blood: Than thou the shadow of succession: And military title capital, And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? P. Hen. Do not think so; you shall not find it so : Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this! How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury. A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. Our hands are full of business: let's away; 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. Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern not 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 upon 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, that's God's angel: 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 wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O! 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: God 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 heartburned. Enter Hostess. How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet who picked my pocket? Host. Why, sir John, what do you think, sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day, searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; Our meeting is Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, 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? No. I defy thee: God's light! 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 seal-ring 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; 'Sblood! an 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. Fal. The other night I fell asleep, here, behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal ring of my grandfather's. P. Hen. A trifle; some eight-penny matter. Host. 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. 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? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Host. I am nothing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it: I am an honest man's wife; and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call 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? 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. I say, '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 whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdyhouses, 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 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, pr'ythee begone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad,-how is that 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 dost, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord. |