North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divorced?-Bad man, ye violate A twofold marriage,-'twixt my crown and me, And then, betwixt me and my married wife.— Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France, from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. [short, K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the DUKE OF YORK'S Palace. Enter YORK and his DUCHESS. Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, Of our two cousins coming into London. York. Where did I leave? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,- While all tongues cried "God save thee, Bolingbroke!" Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while? Even so, or with much more contempt. men's eyes That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. York. No matter then who sees it: I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. Which for some reasons I would not have seen. Duch. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not shew it. God for his mercy! what treachery is here! York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. Duch. What's the matter? York. Peace, foolish woman. [Exit Servant. Duch. I will not peace.-What is the matter, son? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. Duch. Thy life answer! Re-enter Servant with boots. York. Bring me my boots; I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed. Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.- York. Give me my boots, I say. Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? Duch. He shall be none; We'll keep him here: then what is that to him? Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou 'dst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed, And that he is a bastard, not thy son: Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind. Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. SCENE III.-WINDSOR. A Room in the Castle. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, and other Lords. Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last: If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found: Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the stews, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Boling. As dissolute as desperate; yet, through both I see some sparkles of a better hope, Which elder days may happily bring forth.- Enter AUMERLE, hastily. Aum. Where is the king? Boling. What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your maTo have some conference with your grace alone. [jesty Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.[Exeunt PERCY and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, [Kneels. Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Boling. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear. [Drawing. Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me shew. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past: I do repent me; read not my name there, York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy !— O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current, and defiled himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry? Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door; A beggar begs that never begg'd before. Boling. Our scene is alter'd, from a serious thing, And now changed to "The Beggar and the King."— My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; I know she's come to pray for your foul sin. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter DJCHESS. Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can. York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here! Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient.-[Kneels.] Hear me, Boling. Rise up, good aunt.. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: [gentle liege [knee. For ever will I kneel upon my knees, We pray with heart and soul, and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up; But, pardon first; and afterwards, stand up. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shali pardon me. Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, Boling. With all my heart I pardon him. Duch. A god on earth thou art. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the With all the rest of that consorted crew, [abbot, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell,-and cousin too, adieu: Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Duch. Come, my old son-I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt. And, for because the world is populous, A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort- As thus,-"Come, little ones;" and then again,- [Music To check time broke in a disorder'd string; Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Groom. Hail, royal prince! The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee. Since thou, created to be awed by man, Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Eart Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude [assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then ESTON strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear ;- SOENE VI.-WINDSOE. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is-that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Welcome, my lord: what is the news? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is,-I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: [Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter PEROY, with the BISHOP OF CARLISLE. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. АСТ Г. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. LADY PERCY, Wife to HOTSPUR, and Sister to MORTIMER. LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to GLENDOWER, and Wife to MORTIMER. MRS QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE,-ENGLAND. SCENE I.-LONDON. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious For more uneven and unwelcome news [lord; Came from the north, and thus it did import. Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, On Holmedon's plains of prisoners, Hotspur took To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; [me sin Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved, To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester Malevolent to you in all aspects; Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this: And, for this cause, a while we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Than out of anger can be uttered. West. I will, my liege. SCENE II.-The same. [Exeunt. Another Room in the Palace. Enter HENRY, Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, -I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, "that wandering knight so fair." And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,) P. Hen. What, none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: and let men say, we be men of good government: being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing"lay by;" and spent with crying-"bring in:" now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-but, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou sbalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. F. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melantholy of Moor-ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,-sweet young prince; but, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, Sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not; and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou 'didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am 1, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee: from praying to purse-taking. Enter POINS, at a distance. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried "Stand!" to a true man. P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs-he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. Fal. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the bloodroyal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P. Hen. Well, then once in my days I'll be a madcap. Fal. Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. P. Hen. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Fal. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persuasion. and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, Allhallown summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. Porns. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from Y shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appoinsment, to be ourselves. |