The King lying on a bed. Clarence, Gloucester, Warwick and others in
attendance.
KING.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
WARWICK.
Call for the music in the other room.
KING.
Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
CLARENCE.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
WARWICK.
Less noise, less noise!
Enter Prince Henry.
PRINCE.
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
CLARENCE.
I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
PRINCE.
How now, rain within doors, and none abroad?
How doth the King?
GLOUCESTER.
Exceeding ill.
PRINCE.
Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.
GLOUCESTER.
He alt’red much upon the hearing it.
PRINCE.
If he be sick with joy, he’ll recover without physic.
WARWICK.
Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet prince, speak low;
The King your father is disposed to sleep.
CLARENCE.
Let us withdraw into the other room.
WARWICK.
Will’t please your Grace to go along with us?
PRINCE.
No, I will sit and watch here by the King.
[_Exeunt all but the Prince._]
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish’d perturbation! golden care!
That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now;
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scald’st with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord, my father!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood,
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, where it sits,
Which God shall guard; and put the world’s whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as ’tis left to me.
[_Exit._]
KING.
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence and the rest.
CLARENCE.
Doth the King call?
WARWICK.
What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?
KING.
Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
CLARENCE.
We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
KING.
The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.
He is not here.
WARWICK.
This door is open, he is gone this way.
GLOUCESTER.
He came not through the chamber where we stay’d.
KING.
Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?
WARWICK.
When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
KING.
The Prince hath ta’en it hence. Go seek him out.
Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
My sleep my death?
Find him, my Lord of Warwick, chide him hither.
[_Exit Warwick._]
This part of his conjoins with my disease,
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are,
How quickly nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts,
Their brains with care, their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and piled up
The canker’d heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises;
When, like the bee, tolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets,
Our thighs pack’d with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive; and like the bees,
Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste
Yields his engrossments to the ending father.
Enter Warwick.
Now where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determin’d me?
WARWICK.
My lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow
That tyranny, which never quaff’d but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have wash’d his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
KING.
But wherefore did he take away the crown?
Enter Prince Henry.
Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[_Exeunt Warwick and the rest._]
PRINCE.
I never thought to hear you speak again.
KING.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind
That it will quickly drop. My day is dim.
Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours
Were thine without offence, and at my death
Thou hast seal’d up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou loved’st me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head,
Only compound me with forgotten dust.
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Harry the Fifth is crown’d. Up, vanity!
Down, royal state! All you sage counsellors, hence!
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness!
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
England shall double gild his treble guilt,
England shall give him office, honour, might,
For the fifth Harry from curb’d license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
PRINCE.
O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall’d this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more
Than as your honour and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending.
God witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die
And never live to show th’ incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,
I spake unto this crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: “The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
Preserving life in med’cine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honour’d, most renown’d,
Hast eat thy bearer up.” Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it, as with an enemy
That had before my face murder’d my father,
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head
And make me as the poorest vassal is
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
KING.
O my son,
God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou mightst win the more thy father’s love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
By what by-paths and indirect crook’d ways
I met this crown, and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation,
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem’d in me
But as an honour snatch’d with boisterous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances,
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears
Thou seest with peril I have answered;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument. And now my death
Changes the mood, for what in me was purchased,
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear’st successively.
Yet though thou stand’st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanced
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced; which to avoid,
I cut them off, and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive,
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
PRINCE.
My gracious liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be,
Which I with more than with a common pain
’Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
Enter Lord John of Lancaster and others.
KING.
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
LANCASTER.
Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!
KING.
Thou bring’st me happiness and peace, son John,
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare wither’d trunk. Upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my Lord of Warwick?
PRINCE.
My Lord of Warwick!
Enter Warwick and others.
KING.
Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
WARWICK.
’Tis call’d Jerusalem, my noble lord.
KING.
Laud be to God! Even there my life must end.
It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem,
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land.
But bear me to that chamber; there I’ll lie;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s house.
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph and Page.
SHALLOW.
By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away tonight.
What, Davy, I say!
FALSTAFF.
You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.
SHALLOW.
I will not excuse you, you shall not be excused. Excuses shall not be
admitted, there is no excuse shall serve, you shall not be excused.
Why, Davy!
Enter Davy.
DAVY.
Here, sir.
SHALLOW.
Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, Davy, let me see, Davy, let me see.
Yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not
be excused.
DAVY.
Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and again, sir—shall
we sow the hade land with wheat?
SHALLOW.
With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook, are there no young pigeons?
DAVY.
Yes, sir. Here is now the smith’s note for shoeing and plough-irons.
SHALLOW.
Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused.
DAVY.
Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had. And, sir, do you
mean to stop any of William’s wages, about the sack he lost the other
day at Hinckley fair?
SHALLOW.
He shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens,
a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William
cook.
DAVY.
Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?
SHALLOW.
Yea, Davy, I will use him well: a friend i’ th’ court is better than a
penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy, for they are arrant knaves, and
will backbite.
DAVY.
No worse than they are backbitten, sir, for they have marvellous foul
linen.
SHALLOW.
Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, Davy.
DAVY.
I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot against
Clement Perkes o’ th’ hill.
SHALLOW.
There is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That Visor is an
arrant knave, on my knowledge.
DAVY.
I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir, but yet, God forbid, sir,
but a knave should have some countenance at his friend’s request. An
honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. I
have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years; and if I cannot
once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I
have but a very little credit with your worship. The knave is mine
honest friend, sir; therefore I beseech your worship let him be
countenanced.
SHALLOW.
Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about, Davy.
[_Exit Davy._]
Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off with your boots.
Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.
BARDOLPH.
I am glad to see your worship.
SHALLOW.
I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph; and welcome, my
tall fellow [_to the Page_]. Come, Sir John.
FALSTAFF.
I’ll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow.
[_Exit Shallow._]
Bardolph, look to our horses.
[_Exeunt Bardolph and Page._]
If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four dozen of such
bearded hermits’ staves as Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to
see the semblable coherence of his men’s spirits and his. They, by
observing of him, do bear themselves like foolish justices: he, by
conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like serving-man. Their
spirits are so married in conjunction with the participation of society
that they flock together in consent, like so many wild-geese. If I had
a suit to Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of
being near their master: if to his men, I would curry with Master
Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is certain
that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, as men take
diseases, one of another. Therefore let men take heed of their company.
I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow to keep Prince Harry in
continual laughter the wearing out of six fashions, which is four
terms, or two actions, and he shall laugh without intervallums. O, it
is much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest with a sad brow will
do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall
see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!
SHALLOW.
[_Within_.] Sir John!
FALSTAFF.
I come, Master Shallow, I come, Master Shallow.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. Westminster. The palace.
Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief Justice, meeting.
WARWICK.
How now, my Lord Chief Justice, whither away?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
How doth the King?
WARWICK.
Exceeding well. His cares are now all ended.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I hope, not dead.
WARWICK.
He’s walk’d the way of nature,
And to our purposes he lives no more.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I would his Majesty had call’d me with him.
The service that I truly did his life
Hath left me open to all injuries.
WARWICK.
Indeed I think the young King loves you not.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I know he doth not, and do arm myself
To welcome the condition of the time,
Which cannot look more hideously upon me
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.
Enter Lancaster, Clarence, Gloucester and others.
WARWICK.
Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry.
O that the living Harry had the temper
Of he the worst of these three gentlemen!
How many nobles then should hold their places,
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!
CHIEF JUSTICE.
O God, I fear all will be overturn’d.
LANCASTER.
Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.
GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE.
Good morrow, cousin.
LANCASTER.
We meet like men that had forgot to speak.
WARWICK.
We do remember, but our argument
Is all too heavy to admit much talk.
LANCASTER.
Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!
GLOUCESTER.
O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed;
And I dare swear you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow; it is sure your own.
LANCASTER.
Though no man be assured what grace to find,
You stand in coldest expectation.
I am the sorrier; would ’twere otherwise.
CLARENCE.
Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair,
Which swims against your stream of quality.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Sweet Princes, what I did I did in honour,
Led by th’ impartial conduct of my soul;
And never shall you see that I will beg
A ragged and forestall’d remission.
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
I’ll to the King my master that is dead,
And tell him who hath sent me after him.
WARWICK.
Here comes the Prince.
Enter King Henry the Fifth, attended.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Good morrow, and God save your Majesty!
KING.
This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
Sits not so easy on me as you think.
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear.
This is the English, not the Turkish court;
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
For, by my faith, it very well becomes you.
Sorrow so royally in you appears
That I will deeply put the fashion on
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured,
I’ll be your father and your brother too;
Let me but bear your love, I’ll bear your cares.
Yet weep that Harry’s dead, and so will I;
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears
By number into hours of happiness.
PRINCES.
We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.
KING.
You all look strangely on me. And you most;
You are, I think, assured I love you not.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I am assured, if I be measured rightly,
Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
KING.
No?
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
Th’ immediate heir of England? Was this easy?
May this be wash’d in Lethe and forgotten?
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me;
And in the administration of his law,
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
The majesty and power of law and justice,
The image of the King whom I presented,
And struck me in my very seat of judgement;
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority
And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought?
To pluck down justice from your awful bench?
To trip the course of law and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person?
Nay more, to spurn at your most royal image,
And mock your workings in a second body?
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father and propose a son,
Hear your own dignity so much profaned,
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
Behold yourself so by a son disdain’d,
And then imagine me taking your part
And in your power soft silencing your son.
After this cold considerance, sentence me;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state
What I have done that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege’s sovereignty.
KING.
You are right, justice, and you weigh this well.
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword.
And I do wish your honours may increase
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father’s words:
“Happy am I, that have a man so bold
That dares do justice on my proper son;
And not less happy, having such a son
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice.” You did commit me,
For which I do commit into your hand
Th’ unstained sword that you have used to bear,
With this remembrance: that you use the same
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit
As you have done ’gainst me. There is my hand.
You shall be as a father to my youth,
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear,
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practised wise directions.
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you,
My father is gone wild into his grave,
For in his tomb lie my affections;
And with his spirit sadly I survive
To mock the expectation of the world,
To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flow’d in vanity till now.
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament,
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best-govern’d nation;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us;
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
Our coronation done, we will accite,
As I before remember’d, all our state:
And, God consigning to my good intents,
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,
God shorten Harry’s happy life one day!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s orchard.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Davy, Bardolph and the Page.
SHALLOW.
Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last
year’s pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish of caraways, and so
forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed.
FALSTAFF.
Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich.
SHALLOW.
Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John. Marry, good
air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy. Well said, Davy.
FALSTAFF.
This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving-man and your
husband.
SHALLOW.
A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir John. By the
mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good varlet. Now sit
down, now sit down. Come, cousin.
SILENCE.
Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, we shall [_Singing._]
_Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,
And praise God for the merry year,
When flesh is cheap and females dear,
And lusty lads roam here and there
So merrily,
And ever among so merrily._
FALSTAFF.
There’s a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I’ll give you a health for
that anon.
SHALLOW.
Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
DAVY.
Sweet sir, sit. I’ll be with you anon. Most sweet sir, sit. Master
page, good master page, sit. Proface! What you want in meat, we’ll have
in drink, but you must bear; the heart’s all.
[_Exit._]
SHALLOW.
Be merry, Master Bardolph, and, my little soldier there, be merry.
SILENCE.
[_Singing._]
_Be merry, be merry, my wife has all,
For women are shrews, both short and tall.
’Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,
And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
Be merry, be merry._
FALSTAFF.
I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this mettle.
SILENCE.
Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.
Enter Davy.
DAVY.
[_To Bardolph_.] There’s a dish of leather-coats for you.
SHALLOW.
Davy!
DAVY.
Your worship? I’ll be with you straight.
[_To Bardolph_] A cup of wine, sir?
SILENCE.
[_Singing._]
_A cup of wine that’s brisk and fine,
And drink unto thee, leman mine,
And a merry heart lives long-a._
FALSTAFF.
Well said, Master Silence.
SILENCE.
An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o’ th’ night.
FALSTAFF.
Health and long life to you, Master Silence.
SILENCE.
[_Singing._]
_Fill the cup, and let it come,
I’ll pledge you a mile to th’ bottom._
SHALLOW.
Honest Bardolph, welcome! If thou want’st anything and wilt not call,
beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief, [_to the Page_] and
welcome indeed too. I’ll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all the
cabileros about London.
DAVY.
I hope to see London once ere I die.
BARDOLPH.
An I might see you there, Davy,—
SHALLOW.
By the mass, you’ll crack a quart together, ha! will you not, Master
Bardolph?
BARDOLPH.
Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.
SHALLOW.
By God’s liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by thee, I can
assure thee that. He will not out, he. ’Tis true bred.
BARDOLPH.
And I’ll stick by him, sir.
SHALLOW.
Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing! Be merry.
[_Knocking within._]
Look who’s at door there, ho! Who knocks?
[_Exit Davy._]
FALSTAFF.
[_To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper_.] Why, now you have done me
right.
SILENCE.
[_Singing._]
_Do me right,
And dub me knight:
Samingo._
Is’t not so?
FALSTAFF.
’Tis so.
SILENCE.
Is’t so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.
Enter Davy.
DAVY.
An’t please your worship, there’s one Pistol come from the court with
news.
FALSTAFF.
From the court? Let him come in.
Enter Pistol.
How now, Pistol?
PISTOL.
Sir John, God save you!
FALSTAFF.
What wind blew you hither, Pistol?
PISTOL.
Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, thou art now
one of the greatest men in this realm.
SILENCE.
By’r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of Barson.
PISTOL.
Puff!
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee,
And tidings do I bring and lucky joys,
And golden times, and happy news of price.
FALSTAFF.
I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.
PISTOL.
A foutre for the world and worldlings base!
I speak of Africa and golden joys.
FALSTAFF.
O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.
SILENCE.
[_Singing_.] _And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John._
PISTOL.
Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies’ lap.
SHALLOW.
Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
PISTOL.
Why then, lament therefor.
SHALLOW.
Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take
it there’s but two ways, either to utter them, or conceal them. I am,
sir, under the King, in some authority.
PISTOL.
Under which king, Besonian? Speak, or die.
SHALLOW.
Under King Harry.
PISTOL.
Harry the Fourth, or Fifth?
SHALLOW.
Harry the Fourth.
PISTOL.
A foutre for thine office!
Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King;
Harry the Fifth’s the man. I speak the truth.
When Pistol lies, do this, and fig me, like
The bragging Spaniard.
FALSTAFF.
What, is the old King dead?
PISTOL.
As nail in door. The things I speak are just.
FALSTAFF.
Away, Bardolph, saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, choose what
office thou wilt in the land, ’tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge
thee with dignities.
BARDOLPH.
O joyful day!
I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.
PISTOL.
What! I do bring good news.
FALSTAFF.
Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what
thou wilt; I am Fortune’s steward! Get on thy boots, we’ll ride all
night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!
[_Exit Bardolph._]
Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal devise something to do
thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow. I know the young King is sick
for me. Let us take any man’s horses. The laws of England are at my
commandment. Blessed are they that have been my friends, and woe to my
Lord Chief Justice!
PISTOL.
Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
“Where is the life that late I led?” say they:
Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. London. A street.
Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly and Doll Tearsheet.
HOSTESS.
No, thou arrant knave. I would to God that I might die, that I might
have thee hanged. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint.
FIRST BEADLE.
The constables have delivered her over to me, and she shall have
whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been a man or two
lately killed about her.
DOLL.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie! Come on, I’ll tell thee what, thou damned
tripe-visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert
better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
HOSTESS.
O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a bloody day to
somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry!
FIRST BEADLE.
If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have but eleven
now. Come, I charge you both go with me, for the man is dead that you
and Pistol beat amongst you.
DOLL.
I’ll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you as
soundly swinged for this, you bluebottle rogue, you filthy famished
correctioner, if you be not swinged, I’ll forswear half-kirtles.
FIRST BEADLE.
Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
HOSTESS.
O God, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes
ease.
DOLL.
Come, you rogue, come, bring me to a justice.
HOSTESS.
Ay, come, you starved bloodhound.
DOLL.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
HOSTESS.
Thou atomy, thou!
DOLL.
Come, you thin thing, come, you rascal!
FIRST BEADLE.
Very well.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. A public place near Westminster Abbey.
Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes.
FIRST GROOM.
More rushes, more rushes.
SECOND GROOM.
The trumpets have sounded twice.
FIRST GROOM.
’Twill be two o’clock ere they come from the coronation. Dispatch,
dispatch.
[_Exeunt._]
Trumpets sound, and the King and his train pass over the stage. Enter
Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph and Page.
FALSTAFF.
Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow. I will make the King do you
grace. I will leer upon him as he comes by, and do but mark the
countenance that he will give me.
PISTOL.
God bless thy lungs, good knight!
FALSTAFF.
Come here, Pistol, stand behind me. O, if I had had time to have made
new liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of
you. But ’tis no matter, this poor show doth better. This doth infer
the zeal I had to see him.
SHALLOW.
It doth so.
FALSTAFF.
It shows my earnestness of affection—
SHALLOW.
It doth so.
FALSTAFF.
My devotion—
SHALLOW.
It doth, it doth, it doth.
FALSTAFF.
As it were, to ride day and night, and not to deliberate, not to
remember, not to have patience to shift me—
SHALLOW.
It is best, certain.
FALSTAFF.
But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with desire to see him,
thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if
there were nothing else to be done but to see him.
PISTOL.
’Tis _semper idem_, for _obsque hoc nihil est;_ ’tis all in every part.
SHALLOW.
’Tis so, indeed.
PISTOL.
My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver,
And make thee rage.
Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
Is in base durance and contagious prison,
Haled thither
By most mechanical and dirty hand.
Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto’s snake,
For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.
FALSTAFF.
I will deliver her.
[_Shouts within. The trumpets sound._]
PISTOL.
There roar’d the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.
Enter the King and his train, the Lord Chief Justice among them.
FALSTAFF.
God save thy Grace, King Hal, my royal Hal!
PISTOL.
The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!
FALSTAFF.
God save thee, my sweet boy!
KING.
My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Have you your wits? Know you what ’tis you speak?
FALSTAFF.
My King! My Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
KING.
I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
How ill white hairs becomes a fool and jester!
I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell’d, so old, and so profane;
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest.
Presume not that I am the thing I was;
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn’d away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evils.
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
To see perform’d the tenor of our word.
Set on.
[_Exeunt King with his train._]
FALSTAFF.
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.
SHALLOW.
Yea, marry, Sir John, which I beseech you to let me have home with me.
FALSTAFF.
That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve at this; I shall
be sent for in private to him. Look you, he must seem thus to the
world. Fear not your advancements; I will be the man yet that shall
make you great.
SHALLOW.
I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your doublet and stuff me out
with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred of
my thousand.
FALSTAFF.
Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard was but a
colour.
SHALLOW.
A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.
FALSTAFF.
Fear no colours. Go with me to dinner. Come, Lieutenant Pistol; come,
Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night.
Enter the Lord Chief Justice and Prince John, Officers with them.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet.
Take all his company along with him.
FALSTAFF.
My lord, my lord,—
CHIEF JUSTICE.
I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon.
Take them away.
PISTOL.
_Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta._
[_Exeunt all but Prince John and the Lord Chief Justice._]
LANCASTER.
I like this fair proceeding of the King’s.
He hath intent his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for,
But all are banish’d till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
And so they are.
LANCASTER.
The King hath call’d his parliament, my lord.
CHIEF JUSTICE.
He hath.
LANCASTER.
I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,
We bear our civil swords and native fire
As far as France. I heard a bird so sing,
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the King.
Come, will you hence?
[_Exeunt._]
EPILOGUE.
First my fear; then my curtsy; last my speech. My fear is your
displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If
you look for a good speech now, you undo me, for what I have to say is
of mine own making; and what indeed I should say will, I doubt, prove
mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be it
known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the end of a
displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to promise you a
better. I meant indeed to pay you with this; which, if like an ill
venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors,
lose. Here I promised you I would be, and here I commit my body to your
mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some, and, as most debtors
do, promise you infinitely.
If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to
use my legs? And yet that were but light payment, to dance out of your
debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so
would I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven me; if the gentlemen
will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which
was never seen before in such an assembly.
One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloyed with fat
meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in it,
and make you merry with fair Katharine of France; where, for anything I
know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with
your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the
man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid you good
night.