See, how this river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I'll have the current in this place damn'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:

It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, want of government, Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain:

Mort. Yea,

With like advantage on the other side;
Gelding' the opposed continent as much,
As on the other side it takes from you.

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here,

And on this north side win this cape of land;
And then he runs straight and even.

Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it.
Glend. I will not have it alter'd.
Hot.

Glend. No, nor you shall not.
Hot.

Glend. Why that will I.
Hot.

Will not you?

Who shall say me nay?

Let me not understand you then, Speak it in Welsh.

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well,

And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;

A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart:

I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew,

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers:
1 had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree;

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;

But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night:

I'll haste the writer, and, withal,

Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your

speed!

Here comes our wives, and let us take our leave.

Re-enter GLENDOWER, with the Ladies. Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you, She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

Mort. Good father, tell her,-that she, and my aunt Percy,

Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

[GLENDOWER speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry,

One no persuasion can do good upon.

[LADY M. speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks; that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from those swelling

heavens,

I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
In such a parley would I answer thee.

[LADY MORTIMER speaks.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[LADY MORTIMER speaks again.
Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.
Glend. She bids you

Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,

[Exit.

I am afraid, my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer.
Mort. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cross my
father!

Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me,
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies;
And of a dragon and a finless fish,

A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,-
He held me, but last night, at least nine hours,
In reckoning up the several devils' names,
There were his lacqueys: I cried, humph,-and
well, go to,-

But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious
As is a tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house:-I had rather live
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,
And wondrous affable: and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humor; faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive,
Might so have tempted him as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
And since your coming hither have done enough

And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep,
The hour before the heavenly harness'd team
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
Begins his golden progress in the east.

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing:

By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so;

And those musicians that shall play to you,
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend."

Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:

lap.

Lady. P. Go, ye giddy goose.

GLENDOWER speaks some Welsh words, and then the Music plays.

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. By'r lady, he's a good musician.

Lady. P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are altogether governed by humors. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

Lady. P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? Hot. No.

Lady. P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.
Lady. P. Now God help thee!
Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady. P. What's that?"

Hot. Peace! she sings.

2 Candlestick. 4 Mole.

For every honor sitting on his helm,

"Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shame 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-
day:

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-
count,

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 grown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart, shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it:-come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a 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; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness.-When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my

horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time these two-and-thirty years; Heaven reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.

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 keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have enquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house

before.

Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go.

Host. Who, I? 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 also, 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, i'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

7 In the story-book of Reynard the Fox.

8 A term of contempt frequently used by Shakspeare.

fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. thing, go.

may be Go, you

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? Fal. What thing? why, a thing 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?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion?

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: Dost thou think, I'll fear as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break!

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 Falstall do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?

P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified.Still?-Nay, pr'ythee, begone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad.How is that answered?

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:-The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.

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 foot. 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! Í am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them.

P. Hen. Bardolph

Bard. My lord.

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster,

My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland,

Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I,
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.-
Jack,

Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall
At two o'clock i'the afternoon:
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
Money, and order for their furniture.
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:

SCENE I.-The Rebel Canıp 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' have, 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: Nay, task me to the word; approve me, lord. Doug. Thou art the king of honor: No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beard him. Hot. 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?

A female character, who attends morris-dancers; generally a man dressed like a woman. 1 Swoln, puffy. This expression is applied by way of pre-eminence to the head of the Douglas family.

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
infect

The very life-blood of our enterprize;
'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.-
He writes me here,-that inward sickness-
And 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?

3

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd offAnd 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 3 Languishing.

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.
Doug.

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 atlairs.

Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here,
The quality and hairs 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.

Hot.

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 enterprize,

Than if the earl were here: for men must think,
If we, without his help, can make a head
To push against the kingdom; with his help,
We shall o'erturn it, topsy-turvy down.-
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.
Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a
word

Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.

Enter Sir RICHARD VERNON.

Ver. To thirty thousand.

Forty let it be;

Hot.
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. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-A public Road near Coventry.

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.

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 labor; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain: farewell.

[Exit.

Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome,

lord.

The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hitherward; with him, prince John.
Hot. No harm: what more?
Ver.
And further, I have
The king himself in person is set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot. He shall be welcome, too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales,
And his comráds that daff'd the world aside,
And bid it pass?

Ver.
All furnish'd, all in arms,
All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind;
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 Pagasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in
March,

This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come;
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed 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!

Limit, boundary. 5 The complexion, the character.
Threw contemptuously. 7 Ostriches.
Fresh.

9 Armor for the thighs.

of a calm world, and a long peace; ten times more dishonorably ragged than an old-faced ancient: Iand such have I to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat:-Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my company: and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the rednose inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and WESTMORELAND. P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt? Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire?-My good lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy; I thought your honor had already been at Shrewsbury.

West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that 1 were there, and you too; but my powers are there already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must away all night.

Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

P. Hen. I think to steal cream, indeed; for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But, tell me, Jack; Whose fellows are these that come after? Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.