Henry IV Part 2

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Original text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings,
Westmerland, Coleuile

What is this Forrest call'd?

'Tis Gualtree Forrest, and't shall please your Grace.

Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth,
To know the numbers of our Enemies.

Wee haue sent forth alreadie.

'Tis well done.
My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires)
I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'd
New-dated Letters from Northumberland:
Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus.
Here doth hee wish his Person, with such Powers
As might hold sortance with his Qualitie,
The which hee could not leuie: whereupon
Hee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes,
To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers,
That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard,
And fearefull meeting of their Opposite.

Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground,
And dash themselues to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.

Now? what newes?

West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie:
And by the ground they hide, I iudge their number
Vpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand.

The iust proportion that we gaue them out.
Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field.
Enter Westmerland.

What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here?

I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland.

Health, and faire greeting from our Generall,
The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster.

Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace:
What doth concerne your comming?

Then (my Lord)
Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresse
The substance of my Speech. If that Rebellion
Came like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs,
Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage,
And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie:
I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare,
In his true, natiue, and most proper shape,
You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords)
Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly forme
Of base, and bloodie Insurrection,
With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop,
Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd,
Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd,
Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd,
Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence,
The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace.
Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe,
Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace,
Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre?
Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood,
Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuine
To a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre.

Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands.
Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd,
And with our surfetting, and wanton howres,
Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer,
And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease,
Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.
But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland)
I take not on me here as a Physician,
Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace,
Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men:
But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre,
To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse,
And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely.
I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd,
What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences.
Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne,
And are enforc'd from our most quiet there,
By the rough Torrent of Occasion,
And haue the summarie of all our Griefes
(When time shall serue) to shew in Articles;
Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King,
And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience:
When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes,
Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person,
Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong.
The dangers of the dayes but newly gone,
Whose memorie is written on the Earth
With yet appearing blood; and the examples
Of euery Minutes instance (present now)
Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes:
Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it,
But to establish here a Peace indeede,
Concurring both in Name and Qualitie.

When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd?
Wherein haue you beene galled by the King?
What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you,
That you should seale this lawlesse bloody Booke
Of forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine?

My Brother generall, the Common-wealth,
I make my Quarrell, in particular.

There is no neede of any such redresse:
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

Why not to him in part, and to vs all,
That feele the bruizes of the dayes before,
And suffer the Condition of these Times
To lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors?

O my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the Times to their Necessities,
And you shall say (indeede) it is the Time,
And not the King, that doth you iniuries.
Yet for your part, it not appeares to me,
Either from the King, or in the present Time,
That you should haue an ynch of any ground
To build a Griefe on: were you not restor'd
To all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories,
Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers?

What thing, in Honor, had my Father lost,
That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me?
The King that lou'd him, as the State stood then,
Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to banish him:
And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and hee
Being mounted, and both rowsed in their Seates,
Their neighing Coursers daring of the Spurre,
Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe,
Their eyes of fire, sparkling through sights of Steele,
And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together:
Then, then, when there was nothing could haue stay'd
My Father from the Breast of Bullingbrooke;
O, when the King did throw his Warder downe,
(His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw)
Then threw hee downe himselfe, and all their Liues,
That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword,
Haue since mis-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke.

You speak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what.
The Earle of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant Gentleman.
Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue smil'd?
But if your Father had beene Victor there,
Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry.
For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,
Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,
Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.
But this is meere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our Princely Generall,
To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,
That hee will giue you Audience: and wherein
It shall appeare, that your demands are iust,
You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,
That might so much as thinke you Enemies.

But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,
And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue.

Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it so:
This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.
For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,
Vpon mine Honor, all too confident
To giue admittance to a thought of feare.
Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours,
Our Men more perfect in the vse of Armes,
Our Armor all as strong, our Cause the best;
Then Reason will, our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then, our Offer is compell'd.

Well, by my will, wee shall admit no Parley.

That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten Case abides no handling.

Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commission,
In very ample vertue of his Father,
To heare, and absolutely to determine
Of what Conditions wee shall stand vpon?

That is intended in the Generals Name:
I muse you make so slight a Question.

Then take (my Lord of Westmerland) this Schedule,
For this containes our generall Grieuances:
Each seuerall Article herein redress'd,
All members of our Cause, both here, and hence,
That are insinewed to this Action,
Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,
And present execution of our wills,
To vs, and to our purposes confin'd,
Wee come within our awfull Banks againe,
And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace.

This will I shew the Generall. Please you Lords,
In sight of both our Battailes, wee may meete
At either end in peace: which Heauen so frame,
Or to the place of difference call the Swords,
Which must decide it.

My Lord, wee will doe so.

There is a thing within my Bosome tells me,
That no Conditions of our Peace can stand.

Feare you not, that if wee can make our Peace
Vpon such large termes, and so absolute,
As our Conditions shall consist vpon,
Our Peace shall stand as firme as Rockie Mountaines.

I, but our valuation shall be such,
That euery slight, and false-deriued Cause,
Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reason,
Shall, to the King, taste of this Action:
That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue,
Wee shall be winnowed with so rough a winde,
That euen our Corne shall seeme as light as Chaffe,
And good from bad finde no partition.

No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearie
Of daintie, and such picking Grieuances:
For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death,
Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life.
And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane,
And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie,
That may repeat, and Historie his losse,
To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes,
Hee cannot so precisely weede this Land,
As his mis-doubts present occasion:
His foes are so en-rooted with his friends,
That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie,
Hee doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this Land, like an offensiue wife,
That hath enrag'd him on, to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his Infant vp,
And hangs resolu'd Correction in the Arme,
That was vprear'd to execution.

Besides, the King hath wasted all his Rods,
On late Offenders, that he now doth lacke
The very Instruments of Chasticement:
So that his power, like to a Fanglesse Lion
May offer, but not hold.

'Tis very true:
And therefore be assur'd (my good Lord Marshal)
If we do now make our attonement well,
Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited)
Grow stronger, for the breaking.

Be it so:
Heere is return'd my Lord of Westmerland.
Enter Westmerland.

The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your Lordship
To meet his Grace, iust distance 'tweene our Armies?

Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name then forward.

Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come.
Original text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter Prince Iohn.

You are wel encountred here (my cosin Mowbray)
Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop,
And so to you Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of Yorke, it better shew'd with you,
When that your Flocke (assembled by the Bell)
Encircled you, to heare with reuerence
Your exposition on the holy Text,
Then now to see you heere an Iron man
Chearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme,
Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death:
That man that sits within a Monarches heart,
And ripens in the Sunne-shine of his fauor,
Would hee abuse the Countenance of the King,
Alack, what Mischiefes might hee set abroach,
In shadow of such Greatnesse? With you, Lord Bishop,
It is euen so. Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen?
To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament;
To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it selfe:
The very Opener, and Intelligencer,
Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen;
And our dull workings. O, who shall beleeue,
But you mis-vse the reuerence of your Place,
Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen,
As a false Fauorite doth his Princes Name,
In deedes dis-honorable? You haue taken vp,
Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen,
The Subiects of Heauens Substitute, my Father,
And both against the Peace of Heauen, and him,
Haue here vp-swarmed them.

Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your Fathers Peace:
But (as I told my Lord of Westmerland)
The Time (mis-order'd) doth in common sence
Crowd vs, and crush vs, to this monstrous Forme,
To hold our safetie vp. I sent your Grace
The parcels, and particulars of our Griefe,
The which hath been with scorne shou'd from the Court:
Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleepe,
With graunt of our most iust and right desires;
And true Obedience, of this Madnesse cur'd,
Stoope tamely to the foot of Maiestie.

If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes,
To the last man.

And though wee here fall downe,
Wee haue Supplyes, to second our Attempt:
If they mis-carry, theirs shall second them.
And so, successe of Mischiefe shall be borne,
And Heire from Heire shall hold this Quarrell vp,
Whiles England shall haue generation.

You are too shallow (Hastings) / Much too shallow,
To sound the bottome of the after-Times.

Pleaseth your Grace, to answere them directly,
How farre-forth you doe like their Articles.

I like them all, and doe allow them well:
And sweare here, by the honor of my blood,
My Fathers purposes haue beene mistooke,
And some, about him, haue too lauishly
Wrested his meaning, and Authoritie.
My Lord, these Griefes shall be with speed redrest:
Vpon my Life, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your Powers vnto their seuerall Counties,
As wee will ours: and here, betweene the Armies,
Let's drinke together friendly, and embrace,
That all their eyes may beare those Tokens home,
Of our restored Loue, and Amitie.
I take your Princely word, for these redresses.

I giue it you, and will maintaine my word:
And thereupon I drinke vnto your Grace.

Goe Captaine, and deliuer to the Armie
This newes of Peace: let them haue pay, and part:
I know, it will well please them. High thee Captaine.

To you, my Noble Lord of Westmerland.

I pledge your Grace: And if you knew what paines
I haue bestow'd, To breede this present Peace,
You would drinke freely: but my loue to ye,
Shall shew it selfe more openly hereafter.

I doe not doubt you.

I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord, and gentle Cousin Mowbray.

You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am, on the sodaine, something ill.

Against ill Chances, men are euer merry,
But heauinesse fore-runnes the good euent.

Therefore be merry (Cooze) since sodaine sorrow
Serues to say thus: some good thing comes to morrow.

Beleeue me, I am passing light in spirit.

So much the worse, if your owne Rule be true.

The word of Peace is render'd: hearke how they showt.

This had been chearefull, after Victorie.

A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest:
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither partie looser.

Goe (my Lord)
And let our Army be discharged too:
And good my Lord (so please you) let our Traines
March by vs, that wee may peruse the men
Wee should haue coap'd withall.

Goe, good Lord Hastings:
And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.

I trust (Lords) wee shall lye to night together.
Enter Westmerland.
Now Cousin, wherefore stands our Army still?

The Leaders hauing charge from you to stand,
Will not goe off, vntill they heare you speake.

They know their duties.
Enter Hastings.

Our Army is dispers'd:
Like youthfull Steeres, vnyoak'd, they tooke their course
East, West, North, South: or like a Schoole, broke vp,
Each hurryes towards his home, and sporting place.

Good tidings (my Lord Hastings) for the which,
I doe arrest thee (Traytor) of high Treason:
And you Lord Arch-bishop, and you Lord Mowbray,
Of Capitall Treason, I attach you both.

Is this proceeding iust, and honorable?

Is your Assembly so?

Will you thus breake your faith?

I pawn'd thee none:
I promis'd you redresse of these same Grieuances
Whereof you did complaine; which, by mine Honor,
I will performe, with a most Christian care.
But for you (Rebels) looke to taste the due
Meet for Rebellion, and such Acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these Armes commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Strike vp our Drummes, pursue the scatter'd stray,
Heauen, and not wee, haue safely fought to day.
Some guard these Traitors to the Block of Death,
Treasons true Bed, and yeelder vp of breath.
Original text
Act IV, Scene III
Enter Falstaffe and

What's your Name, Sir? of what Condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?

I am a Knight, Sir: And my Name is Colleuile
of the Dale.

Well then, Colleuile is your Name, a Knight is
your Degree, and your Place, the Dale. Colleuile shall stillbe
your Name, a Traytor your Degree, and the Dungeon
your Place, a place deepe enough: so shall you be still
Colleuile of the Dale.

Are not you Sir Iohn Falstaffe?

As good a man as he sir, who ere I am: doe
yee yeelde sir, or shall I sweate for you? if I doe sweate,
they are the drops of thy Louers, and they weep for thy
death, therefore rowze vp Feare and Trembling, and do
obseruance to my mercy.

I thinke you are Sir Iohn Falstaffe, & in that
thought yeeld me.

I haue a whole Schoole of tongues in this belly
of mine, and not a Tongue of them all, speakes anie other
word but my name: and I had but a belly of any
indifferencie, I were simply the most actiue fellow in Europe:
my wombe, my wombe, my wombe vndoes mee. Heere
comes our Generall.
Enter Prince Iohn, and Westmerland.

The heat is past, follow no farther now:
Call in the Powers, good Cousin Westmerland.
Now Falstaffe, where haue you beene all this while?
When euery thing is ended, then you come.
These tardie Tricks of yours will (on my life)
One time, or other, breake some Gallowes back.

I would bee sorry (my Lord) but it should bee
thus: I neuer knew yet, but rebuke and checke was the
reward of Valour. Doe you thinke me a Swallow, an Arrow,
or a Bullet? Haue I, in my poore and olde Motion, the
expedition of Thought? I haue speeded hither with the
very extremest ynch of possibilitie. I haue fowndred nine
score and odde Postes: and heere (trauell-tainted as I am)
haue, in my pure and immaculate Valour, taken Sir Iohn
Colleuile of the Dale, a most furious Knight, and valorous
Enemie: But what of that? hee saw mee, and yeelded:
that I may iustly say with the hooke-nos'd fellow of
Rome, I came, saw, and ouer-came.

It was more of his Courtesie, then your

I know not: heere hee is, and heere I yeeld him:
and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd, with the rest
of this dayes deedes; or I sweare, I will haue it in a
particular Ballad, with mine owne Picture on the
top of it (Colleuile kissing my foot:) To the which course,
if I be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the cleare Skie of Fame, o're-shine
you as much as the Full Moone doth the Cynders of the
Element (which shew like Pinnes-heads to her) beleeue not
the Word of the Noble: therefore let mee haue right, and
let desert mount.

Thine's too heauie to mount.

Let it shine then.

Thine's too thick to shine.

Let it doe something (my good Lord) that may
doe me good, and call it what you will.

Is thy Name Colleuile?

It is (my Lord.)

A famous Rebell art thou, Colleuile.

And a famous true Subiect tooke him.

I am (my Lord) but as my Betters are,
That led me hither: had they beene rul'd by me,
You should haue wonne them dearer then you haue.

I know not how they sold themselues, but
thou like a kinde fellow, gau'st thy selfe away; and I
thanke thee, for thee.
Enter Westmerland.

Haue you left pursuit?

Retreat is made, and Execution stay'd.

Send Colleuile, with his Confederates,
To Yorke, to present Execution.
Blunt, leade him hence, and see you guard him sure.
Exit with Colleuile.
And now dispatch we toward the Court (my Lords)
I heare the King, my Father, is sore sicke.
Our Newes shall goe before vs, to his Maiestie,
Which (Cousin) you shall beare, to comfort him:
And wee with sober speede will follow you.

My Lord, I beseech you, giue me leaue to goe
through Gloucestershire: and when you come to Court,
stand my good Lord, 'pray, in your good report.

Fare you well, Falstaffe: I, in my condition,
Shall better speake of you, then you deserue.

I would you had but the wit: 'twere better then
your Dukedome. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded
Boy doth not loue me, nor a man cannot make
him laugh: but that's no maruaile, hee drinkes no Wine.
There's neuer any of these demure Boyes come to any
proofe: for thinne Drinke doth so ouer-coole their blood,
and making many Fish-Meales, that they fall into a kinde of
Male Greene-sicknesse: and then, when they marry, they
get Wenches. They are generally Fooles, and Cowards;
which some of vs should be too, but for inflamation.
A good Sherris-Sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it
ascends me into the Braine, dryes me there all the foolish,
and dull, and cruddie Vapours, which enuiron it: makes it
apprehensiue, quicke, forgetiue, full of nimble, fierie, and
delectable shapes; which deliuer'd o're to the Voyce, the
Tongue, which is the Birth, becomes excellent Wit. The
second propertie of your excellent Sherris, is, the warming
of the Blood: which before (cold, and setled) left the
Liuer white, and pale; which is the Badge of Pusillanimitie,
and Cowardize: but the Sherris warmes it, and makes it
course from the inwards, to the parts extremes: it
illuminateth the Face, which (as a Beacon) giues warning
to all the rest of this little Kingdome (Man) to Arme: and
then the Vitall Commoners, and in-land pettie Spirits,
muster me all to their Captaine, the Heart; who great, and
pufft vp with his Retinue, doth any Deed of Courage:
and this Valour comes of Sherris. So, that skill in the
Weapon is nothing, without Sack (for that sets it a-worke:)
and Learning, a meere Hoord of Gold, kept by a Deuill, till
Sack commences it, and sets it in act, and vse. Hereof
comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood
hee did naturally inherite of his Father, hee hath, like leane,
stirrill, and bare Land, manured, husbanded, and tyll'd,
with excellent endeauour of drinking good, and good
store of fertile Sherris, that hee is become very hot, and
valiant. If I had a thousand Sonnes, the first
Principle I would teach them, should be to forsweare
thinne Potations, and to addict themselues to Sack.
Enter Bardolph.
How now Bardolph?

The Armie is discharged all, and gone.

Let them goe: Ile through Gloucestershire, and
there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire: I
haue him alreadie tempering betweene my finger and my
thombe, and shortly will I seale with him. Come away.
Original text
Act IV, Scene IV
Enter King, Warwicke,
Clarence, Gloucester.

Now Lords, if Heauen doth giue successefull end
To this Debate, that bleedeth at our doores,
Wee will our Youth lead on to higher Fields,
And draw no Swords, but what are sanctify'd.
Our Nauie is addressed, our Power collected,
Our Substitutes, in absence, well inuested,
And euery thing lyes leuell to our wish;
Onely wee want a little personall Strength:
And pawse vs, till these Rebels, now a-foot,
Come vnderneath the yoake of Gouernment.

Both which we doubt not, but your Maiestie
Shall soone enioy.

Humphrey (my Sonne of Gloucester)
where is the Prince, your Brother?

I thinke hee's gone to hunt (my Lord) at Windsor.

And how accompanied?

I doe not know (my Lord.)

Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

No (my good Lord) hee is in presence heere.

What would my Lord, and Father?

Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince, thy Brother?
Hee loues thee, and thou do'st neglect him (Thomas.)
Thou hast a better place in his Affection,
Then all thy Brothers: cherish it (my Boy)
And Noble Offices thou may'st effect
Of Mediation (after I am dead)
Betweene his Greatnesse, and thy other Brethren.
Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue,
Nor loose the good aduantage of his Grace,
By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will.
For hee is gracious, if hee be obseru'd:
Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a Hand
Open (as Day) for melting Charitie:
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint,
As humorous as Winter, and as sudden,
As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day.
His temper therefore must be well obseru'd:
Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently,
When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth:
But being moodie, giue him Line, and scope,
Till that his passions (like a Whale on ground)
Confound themselues with working. Learne this Thomas,
And thou shalt proue a shelter to thy friends,
A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in:
That the vnited Vessell of their Blood
(Mingled with Venome of Suggestion,
As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in)
Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strong
As Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder.

I shall obserue him with all care, and loue.

Why art thou not at Windsor with him (Thomas?)

Hee is not there to day: hee dines in London.

And how accompanyed? Canst thou tell that?

With Pointz, and other his continuall followers.

Most subiect is the fattest Soyle to Weedes:
And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth)
Is ouer-spread with them: therefore my griefe
Stretches it selfe beyond the howre of death.
The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe shape
(In formes imaginarie) th'vnguided Dayes,
And rotten Times, that you shall looke vpon,
When I am sleeping with my Ancestors.
For when his head-strong Riot hath no Curbe,
When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counsailors,
When Meanes and lauish Manners meete together;
Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections flye
Towards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay?

My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite:
The Prince but studies his Companions,
Like a strange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language,
'Tis needfull, that the most immodest word
Be look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd,
Your Highnesse knowes, comes to no farther vse,
But to be knowne, and hated. So, like grosse termes,
The Prince will, in the perfectnesse of time,
Cast off his followers: and their memorie
Shall as a Patterne, or a Measure, liue,
By which his Grace must mete the liues of others,
Turning past-euills to aduantages.

'Tis seldome, when the Bee doth leaue her Combe
In the dead Carrion.
Enter Westmerland.
Who's heere? Westmerland?

Health to my Soueraigne, and new happinesse
Added to that, that I am to deliuer.
Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kisse your Graces Hand:
Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroope, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the Correction of your Law.
There is not now a Rebels Sword vnsheath'd,
But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where:
The manner how this Action hath beene borne,
Here (at more leysure) may your Highnesse reade,
With euery course, in his particular.

O Westmerland, thou art a Summer Bird,
Which euer in the haunch of Winter sings
The lifting vp of day.
Enter Harcourt.
Looke, heere's more newes.

From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maiestie:
And when they stand against you, may they fall,
As those that I am come to tell you of.
The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe,
With a great Power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the Sherife of Yorkeshire ouerthrowne:
The manner, and true order of the fight,
This Packet (please it you) containes at large.

And wherefore should these good newes / Make me sicke?
Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full,
But write her faire words still in foulest Letters?
Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode,
(Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast,
And takes away the Stomack (such are the Rich,
That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.)
I should reioyce now, at this happy newes,
And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie.
O me, come neere me, now I am much ill.

Comfort your Maiestie.

Oh, my Royall Father.

My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, looke vp.

Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these Fits
Are with his Highnesse very ordinarie.
Stand from him, giue him ayre: / Hee'le straight be well.

No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs,
Th' incessant care, and labour of his Minde,
Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in,
So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out.

The people feare me: for they doe obserue
Vnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature:
The Seasons change their manners, as the Yeere
Had found some Moneths asleepe, and leap'd them ouer.

The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene:
And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles)
Say it did so, a little time before
That our great Grand-sire Edward sick'd, and dy'de.

Speake lower (Princes) for the King recouers.

This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end.

I pray you take me vp, and beare me hence
Into some other Chamber: softly 'pray.
Original text
Act IV, Scene V

Let there be no noyse made (my gentle friends)
Vnlesse some dull and fauourable hand
Will whisper Musicke to my wearie Spirit.

Call for the Musicke in the other Roome.

Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here.

His eye is hollow, and hee changes much.

Lesse noyse, lesse noyse.
Enter Prince Henry.

Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

I am here (Brother) full of heauinesse.

How now? Raine within doores, and none
abroad? How doth the King?

Exceeding ill.

Heard hee the good newes yet? Tell it him.

Hee alter'd much, vpon the hearing it.

If hee be sicke with Ioy, / Hee'le recouer
without Physicke.

Not so much noyse (my Lords) Sweet Prince speake lowe,
The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleepe.

Let vs with-draw into the other Roome.

Wil't please your Grace to goe along with vs?

No: I will sit, and watch here, by the King.
Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow,
Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow?
O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!
That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide,
To many a watchfull Night: sleepe with it now,
Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete,
As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound)
Snores out the Watch of Night. O Maiestie!
When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sit
Like a rich Armor, worne in heat of day,
That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath,
There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not:
Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlne
Perforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father,
This sleepe is sound indeede: this is a sleepe,
That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'd
So many English Kings. Thy due, from me,
Is Teares, and heauie Sorrowes of the Blood,
Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tendernesse,
Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteously.
My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne,
Which (as immediate from thy Place, and Blood)
Deriues it selfe to me.
Loe, heere it sits,
Which Heauen shall guard: And put the worlds whole strength
into one gyant Arme, / It shall not force
this Lineall Honor from me. / This, from thee,
will I to mine leaue, / As 'tis left to me.

Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence.
Enter Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence.

Doth the King call?

What would your Maiestie? how fares your Grace?

Why did you leaue me here alone (my Lords?)

We left the Prince (my Brother) here (my Liege)
Who vndertooke to sit and watch by you.

The Prince of Wales? where is hee?
let mee see him.

This doore is open, hee is gone this way.

Hee came not through the Chamber where wee stayd.

Where is the Crowne? who tooke it from
my Pillow?

When wee with-drew (my Liege) wee left it heere.

The Prince hath ta'ne it hence: / Goe seeke him out.
Is hee so hastie, that hee doth suppose
My sleepe, my death?
Finde him (my Lord of Warwick) / Chide him hither:
this part of his conioynes / With my disease,
and helpes to end me. / See Sonnes, what things you are:
How quickly Nature falls into reuolt,
When Gold becomes her Obiect?
For this, the foolish ouer-carefull Fathers
Haue broke their sleepes with thoughts,
Their braines with care, their bones with industry.
For this, they haue ingrossed and pyl'd vp
The canker'd heapes of strange-atchieued Gold:
For this, they haue beene thoughtfull, to inuest
Their Sonnes with Arts, and Martiall Exercises:
When, like the Bee, culling from euery flower
The vertuous Sweetes, our Thighes packt with Wax, / Our Mouthes withHoney,
wee bring it to the Hiue; And like the Bees,
are murthered for our paines. / This bitter taste
yeelds his engrossements, / To the ending Father.
Enter Warwicke.
Now, where is hee, that will not stay so long,
Till his Friend Sicknesse hath determin'd me?

My Lord, I found the Prince in the next Roome,
Washing with kindly Teares his gentle Cheekes,
With such a deepe demeanure, in great sorrow,
That Tyranny, which neuer quafft but blood,
Would (by beholding him) haue wash'd his Knife
With gentle eye-drops. Hee is comming hither.

But wherefore did hee take away the Crowne?
Enter Prince Henry.
Loe, where hee comes. Come hither to me (Harry.)
Depart the Chamber, leaue vs heere alone.

I neuer thought to heare you speake againe.

Thy wish was Father (Harry) to that thought:
I stay too long by thee, I wearie thee.
Do'st thou so hunger for my emptie Chayre,
That thou wilt needes inuest thee with mine Honors,
Before thy howre be ripe? O foolish Youth!
Thou seek'st the Greatnesse, that will ouer-whelme thee.
Stay but a little: for my Cloud of Dignitie
Is held from falling, with so weake a winde,
That it will quickly drop: my Day is dimme.
Thou hast stolne that, which after some few howres
Were thine, without offence: and at my death
Thou hast seal'd vp my expectation.
Thy Life did manifest, thou lou'dst me not,
And thou wilt haue me dye assur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand Daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stonie heart,
To stab at halfe an howre of my Life.
What? canst thou not forbeare me halfe an howre?
Then get thee gone, and digge my graue thy selfe,
And bid the merry Bels ring to thy eare
That thou art Crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the Teares, that should bedew my Hearse
Be drops of Balme, to sanctifie thy head:
Onely compound me with forgotten dust.
Giue that, which gaue thee life, vnto the Wormes:
Plucke downe my Officers, breake my Decrees;
For now a time is come, to mocke at Forme.
Henry the fift is Crown'd: Vp Vanity,
Downe Royall State: All you sage Counsailors, hence:
And to the English Court, assemble now
From eu'ry Region, Apes of Idlenesse.
Now neighbor-Confines, purge you of your Scum:
Haue you a Ruffian that will sweare? drinke? dance?
Reuell the night? Rob? Murder? and commit
The oldest sinnes, the newest kinde of wayes?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England, shall double gill'd, his trebble guilt.
England, shall giue him Office, Honor, Might:
For the Fift Harry, from curb'd License pluckes
The muzzle of Restraint; and the wilde Dogge
Shall flesh his tooth in euery Innocent.
O my poore Kingdome (sicke, with ciuill blowes)
When that my Care could not with-hold thy Ryots,
What wilt thou do, when Ryot is thy Care?
O, thou wilt be a Wildernesse againe,
Peopled with Wolues (thy old Inhabitants.)

O pardon me (my Liege) / But for my Teares,
The most Impediments vnto my Speech,
I had fore-stall'd this deere, and deepe Rebuke,
Ere you (with greefe) had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so farre. There is your Crowne,
And he that weares the Crowne immortally,
Long guard it yours. If I affect it more,
Then as your Honour, and as your Renowne,
Let me no more from this Obedience rise,
Which my most true, and inward duteous Spirit
Teacheth this prostrate, and exteriour bending.
Heauen witnesse with me, when I heere came in,
And found no course of breath within your Maiestie,
How cold it strooke my heart. If I do faine,
O let me, in my present wildenesse, dye,
And neuer liue, to shew th' incredulous World,
The Noble change that I haue purposed.
Comming to looke on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost (my Liege) to thinke you were)
I spake vnto the Crowne (as hauing sense)
And thus vpbraided it. The Care on thee depending,
Hath fed vpon the body of my Father,
Therefore, thou best of Gold, art worst of Gold.
Other, lesse fine in Charract, is more precious,
Preseruing life, in Med'cine potable:
But thou, most Fine, most Honour'd, most Renown'd,
Hast eate the Bearer vp. / Thus (my Royall Liege)
Accusing it, I put it on my Head,
To try with it (as with an Enemie,
That had before my face murdred my Father)
The Quarrell of a true Inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with Ioy,
Or swell my Thoughts, to any straine of Pride,
If any Rebell, or vaine spirit of mine,
Did, with the least Affection of a Welcome,
Giue entertainment to the might of it,
Let heauen, for euer, keepe it from my head,
And make me, as the poorest Vassaile is,
That doth with awe, and terror kneele to it.

O my Sonne! / Heauen put it in thy minde to take it hence,
That thou might'st ioyne the more, thy Fathers loue,
Pleading so wisely, in excuse of it.
Come hither Harrie, sit thou by my bedde,
And heare (I thinke, the very latest Counsell
That euer I shall breath: Heauen knowes, my Sonne)
By what by-pathes, and indirect crook'd-wayes
I met this Crowne: and I my selfe know well
How troublesome it sate vpon my head.
To thee, it shall descend with better Quiet,
Better Opinion, better Confirmation:
For all the soyle of the Atchieuement goes
With me, into the Earth. It seem'd in mee,
But as an Honour snatch'd with boyst'rous hand,
And I had many liuing, to vpbraide
My gaine of it, by their Assistances,
Which dayly grew to Quarrell, and to Blood-shed,
Wounding supposed Peace. / All these bold Feares,
Thou seest (with perill) I haue answered:
For all my Reigne, hath beene but as a Scene
Acting that argument. And now my death
Changes the Moode: For what in me, was purchas'd,
Falles vpon thee, in a more Fayrer sort.
So thou, the Garland wear'st successiuely.
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure, then I could do,
Thou art not firme enough, since greefes are greene:
And all thy Friends, which thou must make thy Friends
Haue but their stings, and teeth, newly tak'n out,
By whose fell working, I was first aduanc'd,
And by whose power, I well might lodge a Feare
To be againe displac'd. Which to auoyd,
I cut them off: and had a purpose now
To leade out many to the Holy Land;
Least rest, and lying still, might make them looke
Too neere vnto my State. / Therefore (my Harrie)
Be it thy course to busie giddy Mindes
With Forraigne Quarrels: that Action hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former dayes.
More would I, but my Lungs are wasted so,
That strength of Speech it vtterly deni'de mee.
How I came by the Crowne, O heauen forgiue:
And grant it may, with thee, in true peace liue.

My gracious Liege: / You wonne it, wore it: kept it, gaue it me,
Then plaine and right must my possession be;
Which I, with more, then with a Common paine,
'Gainst all the World, will rightfully maintaine.
Enter Lord Iohn of Lancaster, and Warwicke

Looke, looke, / Heere comes my Iohn of Lancaster:

Health, Peace, and Happinesse, / To my Royall Father.

Thou bring'st me happinesse and Peace / (Sonne Iohn:)
But health (alacke) with youthfull wings is flowne
From this bare, wither'd Trunke. Vpon thy sight
Where is my Lord of Warwicke?

My Lord of Warwicke.

Doth any name particular, belong
Vnto the Lodging, where I first did swoon'd?

'Tis call'd Ierusalem, my Noble Lord.

Laud be to heauen: / Euen there my life must end.
It hath beene prophesi'de to me many yeares,
I should not dye, but in Ierusalem:
Which (vainly) I suppos'd the Holy-Land.
But beare me to that Chamber, there Ile lye:
In that Ierusalem, shall Harry dye.
Modern text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter the Archbishop, Mowbray, and Hastings, with
their forces, within the Forest of Gaultree

What is this forest called?

'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your grace.

Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth
To know the numbers of our enemies.

We have sent forth already.

'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have received
New-dated letters from Northumberland,
Their cold intent, tenor, and substance, thus:
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance with his quality,
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retired to ripe his growing fortunes
To Scotland, and concludes in hearty prayers
That your attempts may overlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of their opposite.

Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
And dash themselves to pieces.
Enter a Messenger

Now, what news?

West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy,
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.

The just proportion that we gave them out.
Let us sway on and face them in the field.
Enter Westmorland

What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

I think it is my Lord of Westmorland.

Health and fair greeting from our general,
The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.

Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace,
What doth concern your coming.

Then, my lord,
Unto your grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage,
And countenanced by boys and beggary;
I say, if damned commotion so appeared
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and these noble lords
Had not been here to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
Whose see is by a civil peace maintained,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touched,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutored,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war,
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
To a trumpet and a point of war?

Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.
Briefly, to this end: we are all diseased,
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late King Richard being infected died.
But, my most noble lord of Westmorland,
I take not on me here as a physician,
Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men,
But rather show awhile like fearful war
To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weighed
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run
And are enforced from our most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion,
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to show in articles,
Which long ere this we offered to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wronged, and would unfold our griefs,
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood, and the examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms,
Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.

Whenever yet was your appeal denied?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
What peer hath been suborned to grate on you,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine?

My brother general, the commonwealth,
I make my quarrel in particular.

There is no need of any such redress,
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

Why not to him in part, and to us all
That feel the bruises of the days before,
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?

O, my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet for your part, it not appears to me
Either from the King or in the present time
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restored
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories,
Your noble and right well-remembered father's?

What thing, in honour, had my father lost
That need to be revived and breathed in me?
The King that loved him, as the state stood then,
Was force perforce compelled to banish him,
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together,
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stayed
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the King did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw.
Then threw he down himself and all their lives
That by indictment and by dint of sword
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.

You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Who knows on whom fortune would then have smiled?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him, and all their prayers and love
Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,
And blessed, and graced, indeed more than the King.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely general
To know your griefs, to tell you from his grace
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them, everything set off
That might so much as think you enemies.

But he hath forced us to compel this offer,
And it proceeds from policy, not love.

Mowbray, you overween to take it so.
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
For lo, within a ken our army lies,
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then our offer is compelled.

Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.

That argues but the shame of your offence;
A rotten case abides no handling.

Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?

That is intended in the general's name.
I muse you make so slight a question.

Then take, my lord of Westmorland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances.
Each several article herein redressed,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are ensinewed to this action
Acquitted by a true substantial form
And present execution of our wills –
To us and to our purposes confined
We come within our awful banks again
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
In sight of both our battles we may meet,
At either end in peace – which God so frame! –
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.

My lord, we will do so.
Exit Westmorland

There is a thing within my bosom tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.

Fear you not that. If we can make our peace
Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.

No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances,
For he hath found to end one doubt by death
Revives two greater in the heirs of life;
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
And keep no tell-tale to his memory
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance. For full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this land
As his misdoubts present occasion.
His foes are so enrooted with his friends
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife
That hath enraged him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolved correction in the arm
That was upreared to execution.

Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement,
So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.

'Tis very true;
And therefore be assured, my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.

Be it so.
Here is returned my Lord of Westmorland.
Enter Westmorland

The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies?

Your grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.

Before, and greet his grace! My lord, we come.
They go forward
Modern text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter Prince John of Lancaster and his army

You are well encountered here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My lord of York, it better showed with you
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text,
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king?
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
How deep you were within the books of God?
To us the speaker in His parliament,
To us th' imagined voice of God himself,
The very opener and intelligencer
Between the grace, the sanctities, of heaven
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the reverence of your place,
Imply the countenance and grace of heaven
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of His substitute, my father,
And both against the peace of heaven and him
Have here upswarmed them.

Good my lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace,
But, as I told my lord of Westmorland,
The time misordered doth, in common sense,
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court,
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charmed asleep
With grant of our most just and right desires,
And true obedience, of this madness cured,
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.

And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt.
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them,
And so success of mischief shall be born,
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
Whiles England shall have generation.

You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.

Pleaseth your grace to answer them directly
How far forth you do like their articles.

I like them all, and do allow them well,
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redressed,
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
Of our restored love and amity.

I take your princely word for these redresses.

I give it you, and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.

Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain!
Exit a captain

To you, my noble lord of Westmorland!

I pledge your grace – and if you knew what pains
I have bestowed to breed this present peace
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.

I do not doubt you.

I am glad of it.
Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.

You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.

Against ill chances men are ever merry,
But heaviness foreruns the good event.

Therefore be merry, coz, since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus, ‘Some good thing comes tomorrow.'

Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.

So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
Shouts within

The word of peace is rendered. Hark how they shout!

This had been cheerful after victory.

A peace is of the nature of a conquest,
For then both parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser.

Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too.
Exit Westmorland
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have coped withal.

Go, good Lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.
Exit Hastings

I trust, lords, we shall lie tonight together.
Enter Westmorland
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?

The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.

They know their duties.
Enter Hastings

My lord, our army is dispersed already.
Like youthful steers unyoked they take their courses
East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.

Good tidings, my Lord Hastings – for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.

Is this proceeding just and honourable?

Is your assembly so?

Will you thus break your faith?

I pawned thee none.
I promised you redress of these same grievances
Whereof you did complain, which, by mine honour,
I will perform with a most Christian care.
But, for you rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
Strike up our drums, pursue the scattered stray;
God, and not we, hath safely fought today.
Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.
Modern text
Act IV, Scene III
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Sir John

What's your name, sir? Of what condition are
you, and of what place?

I am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile
of the Dale.

Well then, Colevile is your name, a knight is
your degree, and your place the Dale. Colevile shall be
still your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place – a place deep enough; so shall you be still
Colevile of the Dale.

Are not you Sir John Falstaff?

As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do
ye yield, sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat,
they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death. Therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.

I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
He kneels

I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other
word but my name. An I had but a belly of any
indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe;
my womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. Here
comes our general.
Retreat sounded
Enter Prince John, Westmorland, and Blunt, with

The heat is past; follow no further now.
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmorland.
Exit Westmorland
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When everything is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.

I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be
thus. I never knew yet but rebuke and check was the
reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow,
or a bullet? Have I in my poor and old motion the
expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the
very extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered ninescore
and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am,
have in my pure and immaculate valour taken Sir John
Colevile of the Dale, a most furious knight and valorous
enemy. But what of that? He saw me, and yielded;
that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of
Rome, three words, ‘ I came, saw, and overcame.’

It was more of his courtesy than your

I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him.
And I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the rest
of this day's deeds, or by the Lord I will have it in a
particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the
top on't, Colevile kissing my foot – to the which course
if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt twopences
to me, and I in the clear sky of fame o'ershine
you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the
element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not
the word of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and
let desert mount.

Thine's too heavy to mount.

Let it shine, then.

Thine's too thick to shine.

Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.

Is thy name Colevile?

It is, my lord.

A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

And a famous true subject took him.

I am, my lord, but as my betters are
That led me hither. Had they been ruled by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.

I know not how they sold themselves, but
thou like a kind fellow gavest thyself away gratis, and I
thank thee for thee.
Enter Westmorland

Now, have you left pursuit?

Retreat is made and execution stayed.

Send Colevile with his confederates
To York, to present execution.
Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure.
Exit Blunt with Colevile
And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords.
I hear the King my father is sore sick.
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him,
And we with sober speed will follow you.

My lord, I beseech you give me leave to go
through Gloucestershire, and when you come to court,
stand my good lord in your good report.

Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
Exeunt all but Falstaff

I would you had the wit; 'twere better than
your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded
boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot make
him laugh – but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine.
There's never none of these demure boys come to any
proof, for thin drink doth so overcool their blood, and
making many fish meals, that they fall into a kind of
male green-sickness; and then when they marry they
get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards –
which some of us should be too, but for inflammation.
A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It
ascends me into the brain, dries me there all the foolish
and dull and crudy vapours which environ it, makes it
apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and
delectable shapes, which delivered o'er to the voice, the
tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The
second property of your excellent sherris is the warming
of the blood, which before, cold and settled, left the
liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity
and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, and makes it
course from the inwards to the parts' extremes. It
illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning
to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and
then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits,
muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and
puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage;
and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the
weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work,
and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till
sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof
comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood
he did naturally inherit of his father he hath like lean,
sterile, and bare land manured, husbanded, and tilled,
with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good
store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and
valiant. I had a thousand sons, the first human
principle I would teach them should be to forswear
thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack.
Enter Bardolph
How now, Bardolph?

The army is discharged all and gone.

Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and
there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I
have him already tempering between my finger and my
thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.
Modern text
Act IV, Scene IV
Enter the King, carried in a chair, Warwick, Thomas
Duke of Clarence, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, and
attendant lords

Now, lords, if God doth give successful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
Our navy is addressed, our power collected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested,
And everything lies level to our wish;
Only we want a little personal strength,
And pause us till these rebels now afoot
Come underneath the yoke of government.

Both which we doubt not but your majesty
Shall soon enjoy.

Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
Where is the Prince your brother?

I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

And how accompanied?

I do not know, my lord.

Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him?

No, my good lord, he is in presence here.

What would my lord and father?

Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
Thou hast a better place in his affection
Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
By seeming cold or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observed;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity;
Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he is flint,
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper therefore must be well observed.
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When thou perceive his blood inclined to mirth;
But, being moody, give him time and scope,
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As force perforce the age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum or rash gunpowder.

I shall observe him with all care and love.

Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

He is not there today; he dines in London.

And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?

With Poins, and other his continual followers.

Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds,
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them:; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape
In forms imaginary th' unguided days
And rotten times that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!

My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
The Prince but studies his companions
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be looked upon and learnt, which, once attained,
Your highness knows, comes to no further use
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers, and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live
By which his grace must mete the lives of other,
Turning past evils to advantages.

'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.
Enter Westmorland
Who's here? Westmorland?

Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver!
Prince John your son doth kiss your grace's hand.
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all
Are brought to the correction of your law.
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed,
But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere.
The manner how this action hath been borne
Here at more leisure may your highness read,
With every course in his particular.

O Westmorland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day.
Enter Harcourt
Look, here's more news.

From enemies heaven keep your majesty,
And, when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of!
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English and of Scots
Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.
The manner and true order of the fight
This packet, please it you, contains at large.

And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But wet her fair words still in foulest terms?
She either gives a stomach and no food –
Such are the poor, in health – or else a feast
And takes away the stomach – such are the rich
That have abundance and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news,
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
O me! Come near me. Now I am much ill.

Comfort, your majesty!

O my royal father!

My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.

Be patient, Princes. You do know these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.

No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs.
Th' incessant care and labour of his mind
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
So thin that life looks through and will break out.

The people fear me, for they do observe
Unfathered heirs and loathly births of nature.
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep and leaped them over.

The river hath thrice flowed, no ebb between,
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
Say it did so a little time before
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sicked and died.

Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.

This apoplexy will certain be his end.

I pray you take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber. Softly, pray.
Modern text
Act IV, Scene V
They take up the King and lay him on a bed

Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends,
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

Call for the music in the other room.

Set me the crown upon my pillow here.

His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

Less noise, less noise!
Enter Prince Henry

Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

How now, rain within doors, and none
abroad? How doth the King?

Exceeding ill.

Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.

He altered much upon hearing it.

If he be sick with joy, he'll recover
without physic.

Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;
The King your father is disposed to sleep.

Let us withdraw into the other room.

Will't please your grace to go along with us?

No, I will sit and watch here by the King.
Exeunt all but Prince Henry
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polished perturbation! Golden care!
That keepest 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 scaldest 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.
He puts the crown on his head
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.

Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, and attendant

Doth the King call?

What would your majesty?

Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?

We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

The Prince of Wales? Where is he?
Let me see him. He is not here.

This door is open; he is gone this way.

He came not through the chamber where we stayed.

Where is the crown? Who took it from
my pillow?

When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

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 overcareful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts,
Their brains with care, their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and pilled up
The cankered 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,
Our thighs packed 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 determined me?

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 quaffed but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have washed his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.

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 all except King Henry IV and Prince Henry

I never thought to hear you speak again.

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 seekest 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 sealed up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hidest 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 crowned! 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 curbed licence 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!

O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestalled 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 medicine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honoured, most renowned,
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 murdered 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!

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 crooked 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 seemed in me
But as an honour snatched 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 wearest successively.
Yet though thou standest 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!

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 Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, and
attendant lords

Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.

Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!

Thou bringest me happiness and peace, son John,
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare withered trunk. Upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my lord of Warwick?

My lord of Warwick!

Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?

'Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord.

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.