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King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT II - SCENE IV Post by :votekick Category :Plays Author :William Shakespeare Date :May 2011 Read :1137

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King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT II - SCENE IV

Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

(Enter Prince and Poins.)

Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy
hand to laugh a little.

Where hast been, Hal?

With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers
and can call them all by their christen 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
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying 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, clapp'd
even now into my hand by an under-skinker, 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.


Thou art perfect.


(Exit Poins.)

(Enter (Francis, a) Drawer.()

Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

Come hither, Francis.

My lord?

How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-

(within) Francis!

Anon, anon, sir.

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?

O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England
I could find in my heart-

(within) Francis!

Anon, sir.

How old art thou, Francis?

Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-

(within) Francis!

Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.

Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest
me- 'twas a pennyworth, wast not?

O Lord! I would it had been two!

I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when
thou wilt, and, thou shalt have it.

(within) Francis!

Anon, anon.

Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But

My lord?

Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-

O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

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.

What, sir?

(within) Francis!

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. )

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?

Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.

(Exit Vintner.)


(within) Anon, anon, sir.

(Enter Poins.)

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?

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 this twelve o'clock at midnight.

(Enter Francis.)

What's o'clock, Francis?

Anon, anon, sir.

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 kill'd to-day?'
'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 damn'd brawn shall play
Dame Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs,
call in tallow.

( Enter Falstaff, (Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
Francis follows with wine)

Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?

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

( He drinketh.)

Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun!
If thou didst, then behold that compound.

You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing
but roguery to be found in villanous 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
There lives not three good men unhang'd 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!

How now, woolsack? What mutter you?

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?

Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?

Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?

Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
Lord, I'll stab thee.

I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd 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 to-day.

O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou
drunk'st last.

All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all
cowards still say I.

What's the matter?

What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
thousand pound this day morning.

Where is it, Jack? Where is it?

Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four
of us!

What, a hundred, man?

I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
them two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight
times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler
cut through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce
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.

Speak, sirs. How was it?

We four set upon some dozen-

Sixteen at least, my lord.

And bound them.

No, no, they were not bound.

You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
Jew else- an Ebrew Jew.

As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us-

And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

What, fought you with them all?

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-legg'd creature.

Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.

Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd 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.

What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.

Four, Hal. I told thee four.

Ay, ay, he said four.

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.

Seven? Why, there were but four even now.

In buckram?

Ay, four, in buckram suits.

Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

(aside to Poins) Prithee let him alone. We shall have
more anon.

Dost thou hear me, Hal?

Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in
buckram that I told thee of-

So, two more already.

Their points being broken-

Down fell their hose.

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.

O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!

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.

These lies are like their father that begets them-
gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?

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?

Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado
or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on
Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful
as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,
I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge
hill of flesh-

'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath
to utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
bowcase, you vile standing tuck!

Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when
thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Mark, Jack.
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,
outfac'd 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 roar'd for mercy, and
still run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. 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?

Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?

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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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?

Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.

Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

(Enter Hostess.)

O Jesu, my lord the Prince!

How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?

Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.

Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send
him back again to my mother.

What manner of man is he?

An old man.

What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give
him his answer?

Prithee do, Jack.

Faith, and I'll send him packing.


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!

Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hack'd?

Why, he hack'd 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.

Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass 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 blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.

O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
ago and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast
blush'd extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet
thou ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?

My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?

I do.

What think you they portend?

Hot livers and cold purses.

Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

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?

My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
eagle's talent 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?

O, Glendower.

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-

He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.

You have hit it.

So did he never the sparrow.

Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.

Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running!

A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot.

Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n
away to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news;
you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.

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.

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?

Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.

Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou
comest to thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.

Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
particulars of my life.

Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this
dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.

Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden
sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a
pitiful bald crown.

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.

Well, here is my leg.

And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.

O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!

Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.

O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!

For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.

O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players
as ever I see!

Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I
do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how
thou art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is
trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted,
the sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy
mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point:
why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed
sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to
be ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take
purses? A question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou
hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the
name of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth
defile; so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not
speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in
passion; not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a
virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not
his name.

What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a
cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I
think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore;
and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should
be lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in
his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the
fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue
in that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me
now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?

Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and
I'll play my father.

Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically,
both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.

Well, here I am set.

And here I stand. Judge, my masters.

Now, Harry, whence come you?

My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for
a young prince, i' faith.

Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on
me. Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man
is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
humours, that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his
belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian,
that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat
it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in
villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace?

That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
that old white-bearded Satan.

My lord, the man I know.

I know thou dost.

But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to
say more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his
white hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a
fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then
many an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be
hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet
Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant
Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old
Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him
thy Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!

I do, I will.

(A knocking heard.)

(Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.)

(Enter Bardolph, running.)

O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous
watch is at the door.

Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in
the behalf of that Falstaff.

(Enter the Hostess.)

O Jesu, my lord, my lord!

Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
What's the matter?

The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are
come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.

And thou a natural coward without instinct.

I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if
not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man,
a plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
with a halter as another.

Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

Both which I have had; but their date is out, and
therefore I'll hide me.


Call in the sheriff.

(Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.)

( Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.)

Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?

SHERIFF. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.

What men?

One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
A gross fat man.

As fat as butter.

The man, I do assure you, is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
And so let me entreat you leave the house.

I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

Good night, my noble lord.

I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

( Exit (with Carrier)).

This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call
him forth.

Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like
a horse.

Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
What hast thou found?

Nothing but papers, my lord.

Let's see whit they be. Read them.

PETO. (reads)
'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii d.
Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii d.
Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii d.
Item, Anchovies and sack after supper. ii s. vi d.
Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ob.'

O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this
intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close;
we'll read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll
to the court in the morning. We must all to the wars. and thy
place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score.
The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me
betimes in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.

Good morrow, good my lord.


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King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT III - SCENE I King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT III - SCENE I

King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT III - SCENE I
ACT III SCENE I Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower. LORD MORTIMER. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. HOTSPUR. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, Will you sit down? And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. OWEN GLENDOWER. No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur, For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you,

King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT II - SCENE III King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT II - SCENE III

King Henry Iv Part 1 - ACT II - SCENE III
ACT II SCENE III Warkworth Castle.(Enter Hotspur solus, 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 couldbe contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love hebears our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better thanhe loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose youundertake is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my