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And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Morti-
Capitulate against us, and are up.

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough,-through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,-
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To show how much degenerate thou art.

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so;
And God forgive them that have so much sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,

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.
[live long.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 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 bawdy-house, 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 in the poop,-but 'tis in the nose of thee;

Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :-
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein.

Enter BLUNT.

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,-
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met,
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.


K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster)
For this advertisement is five days old:-
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire; by which ac-

Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business; let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's
Head 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

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 Gads-hill 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; Heaven reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! [heart-burned. Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be 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 searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house


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 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; 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, 'faith? must we all march?

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.
Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me.

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 say'st thou, Jack? 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 think to thank God on. Host. I am no thing 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?
Fal. What beast? why an otter.

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?

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, thon whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, 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 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, pr'ythee, be gone. [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 doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord.


P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of 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 them, I praise them. P. Hen. BardolphBard. My lord?

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of
My brother John; this to my lord of Westmore-
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I,
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.-

Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall
At two o'clock i'the afternoon:
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there re-
Money, and order for their furniture. [ceive
The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either they, or we, must lower lie.

[Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. Fal. Rare words! brave world!--Hostess, my breakfast; come:

O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Exit.


SCENE I.-The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, In this fine age, were not thought flattery, Such attribution should the Douglas bave, As not a soldier of this season's stamp Should go so general current through the world. By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy The tongues of soothers; but a braver place In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the Nay, task me to the word; approve me, lord.

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?

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; shall I let them in?

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!

Re-enter POINS.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. 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?

P. Hen. 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.

Re-enter FRANCIS, with wine.

What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! -His industry is-up stairs, and down stairs; 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, -Fy upon this quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; and answers, Some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, 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.



Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Fal. 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? (He drinks.)

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst, then behold that compound.

You are strai,
not who sees you
your friends!
me them tha
sack:-I am

P. Hen. O

since thou dru

Fal. All's
still say I. (F
P. Hen. W.
Fal. What's
here have ta'ei
P. Hen. Whe
Fal. Wher
dred upon poor
P. Hen. W.
Fal. I am a
with a dozen

'scap'd by mir
the doublet; f
cut through ar
hand-saw, ecce
I was a man:
less than trati.


P. Hen. Sper
Gads. We fo
Fal. Sixteen,
Gads. And!
Peto. No, D
Fal. You re

them; or I

Gads. As w
fresh men set up
Fal. And unt
P. Hen. What
Fal. All? I
fought not wit:
radish: if there
upon poor ol

Poins. Pray f
Fal. Nay, t
peppered two of
two rogues in
Hal,-if I tell ti...
horse. Thou kn
and thus I bore n.
ram let drive at m
P. Hen. What,
Fal. Four, Hal.
Poins. Ay, ay,
Fal. These four

P. Hen. Seven? wis
Fal. In buckram.
Poins. Ay, four, in hi
Fal. Seven, by these h
P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let h

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in vil-thrust at me. I ma lainous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of their seven points in sack with lime in it; a villainous coward.-Go thy Jack; die when thou wilt; if manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the a shotten herring. There live not banged in England; and one of ows old: God help the while! a ! I would I were a weaver; I or any thing: A plague of all


wool-sack? what mutter you?
I do not beat thee out of
of lath, and drive all
a flock of wild geese,
ce more. You prince
[the matter?
on round man! what's
d? answer me to that;

paunch, an ye call me

more anon.

Fal. Dost thou hear me
P.Hen. Ay, and mark tie
Fal. Do so, for it is
These nine in buckram, that
P.Hen, So, two more alread,
Fal. Their points being brok
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. Began to give me ground s
me close, came in foot and hand
thought, seven of the eleven I paid.
P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven be
grown out of

Fal. But begotten back

d! I'll see thee damned
but I would give a thou-Hal
run as fast as thou canst.

"would have it,
́al green, cam»
for it was
thy hand.
Father that b


Doug. Thou art the king of honour: No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beard him.


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 The very life-blood of our enterprise; "Tis catching hither, even to our camp.He writes me here,-that inward sicknessAnd 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 :-Were it good, 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.


'Faith, and so we should;
Where now remains a sweet reversion:
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what
Is to come in:

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
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence;
And think, how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction,
And breed a kind of question in our cause:
For, well you know, we of the offering side
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement;

And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence
The eye of reason may pry in upon us:
This absence of your father's draws a curtain,
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.


You strain too far.

I, rather, of his absence make this use;—
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprise,

Than if the earl were here: for men must think,

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The king himself in person is set forth,
And further, I have learn'd,-
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside,
And bid it pass?


All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind;
All furnish'd, all in arms,
Bated like eagles having lately bath'd;
Glittering in golden coats, like images;
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,-
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in

This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come;
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them:
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit,
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,

And yet not ours:-Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt,
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales:
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.
O, that Glendower were come!

There is more news:

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach
Ver. To thirty thousand.

Forty let it be;
My father and Glendower being both away,
The powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us make a muster speedily:
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.
Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year.

SCENE II.-A public Road near Coventry.


Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack': our soldiers shall march through: we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night.

Bard. Will you give me money, captain?
Fal. Lay out, lay out.

Bard. This bottle makes an angel.

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it

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