The Hollow Crown (2012) s01e02 Episode Script

Sorry! SNORING SNORING GETS LOUDER LAUGHS Now, Hal What time of day is it, lad? What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Hang yourself, you muddy conger My liege, the noble Mortimer, leading the men of Herefordshire to fight against the irregular and wild Glendower was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken.
A thousand of his people butchered.
Upon his dead corpse there was such misuse, such beastly shameless transformation, by those Welshwomen done as may not be without much shame retold or spoken of It seems then that the tidings of this broil break off our business for the Holy Land.
This, matched with other does, my gracious lord, For more uneven and unwelcome news comes from the north and thus it does import.
The gallant Hotspur there, young Harry Percy and the brave Douglas, that ever-valiant and approved Scot, at Holmedon met - where they did spend a sad and bloody hour.
Despite discharge of their artillery, and shape of likelihood, the news is told, for he that brought it, in the very heat and pride of their contention did take horse, uncertain of the issue any way.
Here is a dear, true, industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, hath brought us welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited.
10,000 bold Scots, two and twenty knights, balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see.
Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake, the Earl of Fife, the Earls of Athol, of Murray, Angus and Menteith.
Is not this an honourable spoil? Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin in envy that my Lord Northumberland should be the father to so blest a son.
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, see riot and dishonour stain the brow of my young Harry.
O that it could be proved that some night-tripping fairy did exchange in cradle-clothes our children where they lay and called mine Percy, his Plantagenet.
Then would I have his Harry and he mine.
But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief? Er, no, thou shalt.
Oh! Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
Thou judgest false already.
I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
Well, Hal, well, and in some sort it jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.
But, I prithee, trouble me no more with vanity.
I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought.
An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not.
And yet he talked very wisely but I regarded him not.
And yet he talked wisely and in the street too.
Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the street and no man regards it.
O, let him from my thoughts.
Well, what think you, coz, of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners, which he in this adventure hath surprised, to his own use he keeps, and sends me word I shall have none but Mordake, Earl of Fife.
This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester.
Malevolent to you in all aspects, which makes him prune himself and bristle up the crest of youth against your dignity.
Well, we will send for him to answer this.
Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it.
Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked.
I must give over this life and I will give it over by the Lord.
And I do not, I'm a villain.
Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, and I'll make one.
An I do not, call me villain and baffle me.
I see a good amendment of life in thee - from praying to purse-taking.
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal, 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.
Ah, Poins! Hey, good morning! Good morrow, sweet.
What says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Tomorrow morning, by four o'clock, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings and traders riding to London.
If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns.
If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.
Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going.
You will, chops? Hal, wilt thou make one? Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.
Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
- Why, that's well said.
- Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
- By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
- I care not.
I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.
Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears of profiting.
Farewell, thou latter spring.
Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow.
I've a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone.
Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto shall rob these men.
Yourself and I will not be there.
When they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.
Yea, but 'tis like they will know us by our habits and by every other appointment to be ourselves.
I have buckram cloaks to mask our noted outward garments.
Yea, but they will be too hard for us.
Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back, and for the third, if he fights longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms.
The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper.
Provide us all things necessary and meet me here tomorrow night.
Farewell.
Farewell, my lord.
I know you all and will awhile uphold the unyoked humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun, who doth permit the base contagious clouds to smother up his beauty from the world, that, when he please again to be himself, being wanted, he may be more wondered at, by breaking through the foul and ugly mists of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work.
But when they seldom come, they wished for come, and nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off and pay the debt I never promised, by how much better than my word I am, by so much shall I falsify men's hopes.
And like bright metal on a sullen ground, my reformation, glittering o'er my fault, shall show more goodly and attract more eyes than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill, redeeming time when men think least I will.
Our blood hath been too cold and temperate, unapt to stir at these indignities.
So have you found us, for accordingly You tread upon our patience.
But be sure I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty and to be feared, than my condition, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves This scourge of greatness to be used on it, That same greatness too which our own hands Have helped to make so portly.
- My lord - Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see danger and disobedience in thine eye.
- My Lord - O, sir, your presence here is too bold and peremptory.
And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us.
When we need your use and counsel, we will send for you.
You were about to speak.
Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took - Were, as he says, not with such strength denied As is delivered to your majesty.
- Well? - Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reaped Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home.
With many holiday and lady terms He questioned me.
Amongst the rest, demanded My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, To be so pestered with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answered neglectingly - I know not what - He should or he should not.
For he made me mad To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns and drums and wounds - God save the mark - And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise And but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answered indirectly, as I said.
And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
The circumstance considered, good my lord, Whatever Lord Harry Percy then had said To such a person and in such a place, At such a time, with all the rest retold, May reasonably die and never rise To do him wrong or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now.
Why, yet he does deny his prisoners, But with proviso and exception, That we at our own cost shall ransom straight His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer.
On the barren mountains let him starve.
I will never hold that man my friend Who asks me for one penny cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
- Revolted Mortimer? - Sir! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war.
To prove that true Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer! Send me your prisoners with the speediest means Or you shall hear in such a kind from us As will displease you.
My Lord Northumberland, We licence your departure with your son.
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it! An if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them! I will after straight And tell him so, for I will ease my heart, Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
What, drunk with choler? Stay and pause awhile.
Here comes your uncle.
Speak of Mortimer? 'Zounds, I will speak of him and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him! Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.
Who struck this heat up after I was gone? He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners, And when I urged the ransom once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale, And on my face he turned an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
I cannot blame him.
Was not he proclaimed By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? He was.
I heard the proclamation.
Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wished him on the barren mountains starve.
But shall it be that you that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man Shall be fooled, discarded and shook off? Say no more.
FOOTSTEPS Now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I'll read you matter deep and dangerous.
Send danger from the east unto the west, So honour cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple! Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon.
He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend.
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
I cry you mercy.
Those same noble Scots That are your prisoners I'll keep them all.
By God, he shall not have a Scot of them! You start away And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Nay, I will, that's flat.
Hear you, cousin, a word.
All studies here I solemnly defy Save how to gall and pinch this thankless king And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales.
Farewell, cousin.
I'll talk to you When you are better tempered to attend.
Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou to break into this woman's mood, Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own.
- I have done, i' faith.
- BELL RINGS Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight And make the Douglas' son your only mean For powers in Scotland.
You, my lord, Your son in Scotland being thus employed, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, The Archbishop of York, the Lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation Of what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted and set down.
I smell it.
Upon my life, it will do well.
Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st slip.
Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.
And then the power of Scotland and of York, To join with Mortimer, ha? POINS: Come, shelter, shelter.
FALSTAFF: Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal.
Poins! I have removed his horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.
A plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto! WHISTLES Give me my horse, you rogues.
Give me my horse and be hanged! BARDOLPH: On with your vizards! There's money of the King's coming down the hill.
'Tis going to the King's Exchequer.
You lie, ye rogue, 'tis going to the king's tavern.
- PETO: There's enough to make us all - To be hanged.
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I.
Every man to his business.
The boy shall lead our horses down the hill.
We'll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.
(Now they're for it.
) SHOUTING Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day.
If the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring.
There's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck! YELLING Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! THEY LAUGH Got with much ease.
Were it not for laughing, I should pity him.
THEY LAUGH HOTSPUR: "I could be well contented to be there, "in respect of the love I bear your house.
" He could be contented.
Why is he not, then? In respect of the love he bears our house? He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house.
"The purpose you undertake is dangerous.
" Why, that's certain, it 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink, but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
"The purpose you undertake is dangerous, "The friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, "and your whole plot too light to compete with so great an opposition.
" Say you so? I say, you are a shallow cowardly hind and you lie.
What a brain is this? Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid, our friends true and constant.
A good plot, good friends and full of expectation.
An excellent plot, very good friends.
What a frosty-spirited rogue is this.
Ah! If I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan.
What a pagan rascal is this.
Hang him.
How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.
For what offence have I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth And start so often when thou sit'st alone? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not.
What, ho! Is Gilliams with the packet gone? He is, my lord, an hour ago.
- Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? - One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not? - It is, my lord.
- That roan shall be my throne! Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
But hear you, my lord.
What say'st thou, my lady? What is it carries you away? - Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
- Out, you mad-headed ape, A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen As you are tossed with.
In faith, I'll know thy business, Harry, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir About his title and hath sent for you - To line his enterprise but if you go - So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Come, you paraquito, answer me Directly unto this question that I ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Away! Away, you trifler.
Love? I love thee not.
I care not for thee, Kate.
This is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns And pass them current too.
God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? Hmm? What would'st thou have with me? Do you not love me? Do you not, indeed? Well, do not then, for since you love me not, I will not love myself.
Do you not love me? Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am on horseback I will swear I love thee infinitely.
But hark you, Kate, I must not have you henceforth question me Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must.
And, to conclude, This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise but yet no farther wise Than Harry Percy's wife.
Constant you are, But yet a woman, and for secrecy No lady closer, for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
- How! So far? - Not an inch further.
But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too.
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
Will this content you, Kate? It must of force.
CHEERING LAUGHTER DOOR OPENS Where hast been, Hal? With three or four blockheads amongst three or four score hogsheads.
I am sworn brother to a leash of tapsters and can call them all by their Christian names - as Tom, Dick and Francis.
I am so proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language.
Come on, you.
- Hang yourself! - But, sweet Ned - to sweeten which name of Ned I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker One that never spake other English in his life than "Anon, anon, sir!" Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, do thou stand in some by-room while I question my puny drawer To what end he gave me the sugar and do thou never leave calling "Francis" - That his tale to me may be nothing but "Anon.
" - Francis! - Thou art perfect.
- FRANCIS: Anon, anon, sir.
Francis! - Anon, anon, sir.
- Come hither, Francis.
- My lord? - How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Oh, umforsooth, five years, and as much as to say - POINS: Francis! - Anon, anon, sir.
Five year? It's a long lease for the clinking of pewter.
But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture and run from it? Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England - Francis! - Anon, sir! How old art thou, Francis? Let me see about Michaelmas next I shall be Francis! Anon, sir! Pray stay a little, my lord! Nay, but hark you, Francis.
The sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? O Lord, sir, I would it were two.
I will give thee for it a thousand pound.
Ask me when thou wilt and thou shalt have it.
Francis! Anon, anon! Anon, Francis? No Francis, but to-morrow, Francis, or Francis, on Thursday or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt.
But Francis My lord? Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue and Spanish-pouch - O Lord, who do you mean? Francis! KNOCKING Francis! Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? Standest thou still and hearest such a calling? Look to the guests within.
My Lord, old Sir John with half-a-dozen more are at the door.
Shall I let them in? Open the door.
KNOCKING Anon, anon, sir.
What's o'clock, Francis? Anon, anon, sir.
I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and says to his wife "Fie upon this quiet life! "I want to work.
" "O my sweet Harry," says she, "how many hast thou killed to-day?" "Some fourteen," he answers an hour after.
Ho ho! Welcome, Jack.
Where hast thou been? A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry, and amen.
Give me a cup of sack, boy - a plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue! Is there no virtue extant? Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt.
If manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring.
There live not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old.
A bad world, I say.
A plague of all cowards, I say still.
Now, wool-sack, what mutter you? A king's son? You Prince of Wales? You whoreson round man, what's the matter? Are not you a coward? Answer me to that.
And Poins there? 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, and I'll stab I call thee coward? I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward.
But I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst.
What's this? What's the matter? What's the matter? There be three of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning.
Well - well, where is it, Jack? Where is it? - Where is it? Taken from us it is.
A hundred upon poor three of us.
What, a hundred, man? I've 'scaped by miracle.
I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through.
My sword hacked like a hand-saw - ecce signum! - A plague of all cowards! - Speak, sirs, how was it? We three set upon some dozen - Sixteen at least, my lord.
- And bound them.
No, no, they were not bound.
You rogue, they were bound, every man of them.
And then we were sharing some six or seven fresh men set upon us.
And unbound the rest and then come in the other.
Fought you with them all? All? Well, I don't know what you call all but if I fought not with fifty of them, I'm a bunch of radish.
Pray God you've not murdered some of them.
That's past praying for.
I've peppered two of them.
Two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram cloaks.
I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me a horse.
Four rogues in buckram cloaks let drive at me.
What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
Four, Hal.
I told thee four.
Ay, ay, he said four.
These four came all a-front, mainly thrust at me.
I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus.
Seven? There were but four even now.
- In buckram? - Ay, ay, four in buckram cloaks.
Seven, or I am a villain else.
Prithee, let him alone, we shall have more anon.
Dost thou hear me, Hal? Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Do so, for it's worth listening to.
These nine in buckram that I told thee of So, two more already.
- .
.
their points being broken - Down fell their hose.
- .
.
began to give me ground.
But I followed me close, came in foot and hand and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.
Monstrous, 11 buckram men grown out of two.
But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal Green came at my back and let drive at me.
For it was so dark, Hal, thou couldst not see thy hand.
These lies are like their father that begets them - gross as a mountain.
LAUGHTER Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-catch.
What, art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?! Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal Green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come on, tell us your reason.
What sayest thou to this? Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
What, upon compulsion? 'Zounds an I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion.
I'll be no longer guilty of this sin.
This sanguine coward! This horseback-breaker! This huge hill of flesh! 'Sblood, you starveling! You dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! For breath to utter what it's like thee.
You tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase, you vile standing-tuck! RAUCOUS LAUGHTER Well, well, breathe awhile, and then to it again.
Yet hear me speak but this.
Mark, Jack.
We two saw you three set on two.
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.
Then did we two set on you three and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy and still run and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf! What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword and say it was in fight.
Ssh! BANGING What trick canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Come, come, let's hear, Jack.
What trick hast thou now? By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye! LAUGHTER BANGING Was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I'm as valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct! The lion will not touch the true prince.
(Oh, Jesu!) Instinct is a great matter.
I was now a coward on instinct.
But, by the Lord, lads, I'm glad you have the money.
My lord, the Prince.
There's a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you.
He says he comes from your father.
Give him as much as will make him a royal man and send him back again to my mother.
What manner of man is he? An old man.
What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? - Shall I give him his answer? - Prithee do, Ned.
Faith, send him packing.
Now, sirs! By your lady, you fought fair! You're lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince - no, fie! I ran when I saw others run.
How came Falstaff's sword so hacked? Why, he hacked it with his dagger.
He told us to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make them bleed and then beslubber our clothes with it.
I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.
Oh, villain! Thou stolest a cup of sack 18 years ago and ever since, thou hast blushed extempore.
LAUGHTER Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold.
Shall we be merry? ALL: Yeah! There's villanous news abroad.
Here was Sir John Bracy from your father.
The Earl of Worcester is stolen away tonight.
Thy father's beard is turned white with the news.
HE BANGS THE TABLE Shall we have a play extempore? Thou will be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father.
If thou love me, practise an answer.
Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my life.
Shall I? Content.
CHEERING This chair shall be my state.
This dagger, my sceptre.
This cushion, my crown.
Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion.
CHEERING LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE Stand aside, nobility.
Harry, I not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied! The father! How he holds his countenance! For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen.
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.
Jesu! He doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see.
Peace, good pint-pot.
That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a foolish-hanging of thy nether lip that doth warrant me.
If then thou be son to me, here lies the point - why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? GASPING There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of and it is known to many by the name of pitch.
This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile.
So doth the company thou keepest.
CROWD: Oooh! And yet there is a virtuous man whom I've often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.
What manner of man, an like your majesty? A goodly portly man LAUGHTER i' faith, and a corpulent Of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble carriage.
And, as I think, his age some 50 LAUGHTER or, by'r lady, inclining to three score.
Now I remember me, his name is - ALL: Falstaff! If that man be lewdly given, he deceiveth me.
For Harry, I see virtue in his looks.
Him keep with, the rest .
.
banish.
BOOING Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE Depose me? CROWD: Ooh! CHEERING Well Here I am set.
And here I stand.
Judge, my masters.
LAUGHTER Now, Harry, whence come you? My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
CHEERING The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
'Sblood, my lord, they are false! There is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man.
A ton of man is thy companion.
Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly but to carve a capon and eat it? Wherein cunning but in craft? Wherein crafty but in villany? Wherein villanous, but in all things? Wherein worthy but in nothing? I would your grace would take me with you.
Whom means your grace? LAUGHTER That villanous abominable misleader of youth ALL: Falstaff! My lord, the man I know! I know thou dost.
But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know.
That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it, but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny.
BANGING AT DOOR If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked.
BANGING CONTINUES If to be old and merry be a sin, there's many an old host that I know is damned.
If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved.
No, my good lord, banish Peto.
Banish Bardolph, banish Poins.
But for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff.
valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore the more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company.
Banish not him thy Harry's company.
Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
I do.
I will.
My lord, my lord! My lord! The Sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door! Play out the play! I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff! Come! Come on! My lord, my lord! They are come to search the house! PERSISTENT KNOCKING CONTINUES Hide thee! Now for a true face and good conscience! Both which I had but their date is out and therefore I'll hide me.
Ah, my lord.
KNOCKING AT DOOR Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me? First, pardon me, my lord.
A hue and cry hath followed certain men unto this house.
What men? One of them is well known, my gracious lord.
A gross fat man.
As fat as butter.
Ah! The man, I do assure you, is not here.
For I myself at this time have employed him.
And, Sheriff, I will engage my word to thee that I will, by tomorrow dinner-time, send him to answer thee, or any man, for anything he shall be charged withal.
And so let me entreat you - Leave the house.
I will, my lord.
These are two gentlemen have in this robbery lost 300 marks.
It may be so.
If he have robbed these men, he shall be answerable.
And so farewell.
Good night, my noble lord.
I think it is good morrow, is it not? Indeed, my lord.
I think it be two o'clock.
SNORING Hark how hard he fetches breath.
Search his pockets.
Nothing but papers, my lord.
Well, let's see what they be.
Read them.
Item: a capon, two shillings and tuppence.
Item: sauce, four pence.
Item: sack, two gallons.
Five shillings and eight pence.
Item: anchovies and sack after supper, two shillings and sixpence.
Item: bread, a ha'penny.
Monstrous! But one halfpenny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack.
HE SNORES What there is else keep close, we'll read it at more advantage.
There let him sleep till day.
I'll to the court.
We must all to the wars.
So good morrow, Ned.
Good morrow, my lord.
Lords, give us leave.
The Prince of Wales and I must have some private conference.
No, stay.
I know not whether God will have it so for some displeasing service I have done that in his secret doom, out of my blood he'll breed revengement and a scourge for me to punish my mistreadings.
Tell me else, could such inordinate and low desires, such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, such barren pleasures, rude society, as thou art matched withal and grafted to, accompany the greatness of thy blood and hold their level with thy princely heart? So please your majesty Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, which by thy younger brother is supplied, and art almost an alien to the hearts of all the court and princes of my blood.
The hope of thy time is ruined, and the soul of every man prophetically doth forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been, so stale and cheap to vulgar company, opinion, that did help me to the crown, had left me in reputeless banishment, a fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir but like a comet I was wondered at, that men would tell their children, "This is he!" And then I stole all courtesy from heaven.
Dressed myself in such humility, that I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts.
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down with shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, mingled his royalty with capering fools, enfeifed himself to popularity.
So when he had occasion to be seen, he was but as the cuckoo is in June, heard, not regarded.
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou.
For thou has lost thy princely privilege with vile communication.
Not an eye but is a-weary of thy common sight, save mine, which hath desired to see thee more.
Which now doth that I would not have it do, make blind itself with foolish tenderness! I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, be more myself.
For all the world as thou art to this hour was Richard then when I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, and even as I was then is Percy now.
He hath more worthy interest to the state than thou the shadow of succession.
For of no right, nor colour like to right, he doth fill fields with harness in the realm, and being no more in debt to years than thou, leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on to bloody battles and to bruising arms.
Thrice hath this Hotspur.
Mars in swaddling clothes.
This infant warrior, in his enterprises discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once, enlarged him, made a friend of him, to fill the mouth of deep defiance up and shake the peace and safety of our crown.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes? .
.
which art my near'st and dearest enemy? Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, base inclination and the start of spleen, to fight against me under Percy's pay! Do not think so! You shall not find it so.
I will redeem all this on Percy's head and, in the closing of some glorious day, be bold to tell you that I am your son.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, that this same child of honour and renown, this gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, and your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.
Then will I make this northern youth exchange his glorious deeds for my indignities.
This, in the name of God, I promise here.
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
A hundred thousand rebels die in this.
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust .
.
herein.
Lord Mortimer and cousin Glendower, will you sit down? And Uncle Worcester.
Ah! Plague upon it, I have forgot the map.
No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy, sit, good cousin Hotspur, for by that name as oft as King Henry doth mention you, his cheek looks pale and with a rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven.
And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
I cannot blame him.
At my nativity the frame and huge foundation of the Earth shaked like a coward.
Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother's cat had but kittened, though yourself had never been born.
I say the Earth did shake when I was born.
And I say the Earth was not of my mind, if you suppose as fearing you it shook.
The heavens were all on fire.
The Earth did tremble.
Oh, then the Earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity.
Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings.
Give me leave to tell you once again that at my birth, the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.
The goats ran from the mountains and the herds were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
All these signs mark me extraordinary! All the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.
I think there's no man speaks better Welsh! I'll to dinner.
Peace, cousin Percy.
You will make him mad! I can call spirits from the vasty deep! Why so can I or so can any man! But will they come when you do call for them? Why I can teach you, cousin, to dance with the devil.
And I can teach thee, cousin, to shame the devil By telling truth.
Tell truth and shame the devil! Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat! Three times hath King Henry made head against my power.
Thrice have I sent him bootless home and weather-beaten back.
Home without boots, and in foul weather too.
How 'scapes he agues in the devil's name(!) Come, here is the map.
Shall we divide our right according to our threefold order ta'en? The archdeacon hath divided it into three limits very equally.
Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here, in quantity equals not one of yours.
See how this river comes me cranking in and cuts me from the best of all my land.
It shall not wind with such a deep indent, to rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Not wind? It shall, it must.
You see it doth.
I'll not have it altered.
Will not you? No, nor you shall not.
Who shall say me nay? Why, that will I.
Let me not understand you, then.
Speak it in Welsh.
I can speak English, lord, as well as you, for I was trained 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! Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart.
I'd rather be a kitten and cry mew than one of these same metre ballad-mongers.
Come, you shall have Trent turned! I do not care! Shall we be gone? The moon shines fair, you may away by night.
I'll tell your wives of your departure hence.
I'm afraid my daughter will run mad.
So much she doteth on her Mortimer.
Fie, cousin Percy, how you cross my father! I cannot choose.
Sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, And of a dragon and a finless fish.
In faith, he is a worthy gentleman.
Shall I tell you, cousin? 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.
In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame And as your coming hither has done enough To put him quite beside his patience You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault.
Well, I am schooled.
Good manners be your speed.
Fi m iawn ddymchwel a ddylasech ad 'm heb unrhyw yn rhybuddio.
Gwisga t cari 'm? This is the deadly spite that angers me.
My wife can speak no English and I no Welsh.
My daughter weeps.
She will not part with you.
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Good father, tell her that she and my lady Percy Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
Sydd ddawr, fy march.
Rhaid I filwr ateb si alwad.
Cei ddilyn yn fy ngofal I gyda'th Fodryb Persi, so fe weli dy Fortimer annwyl fusn.
Ond pwy wyr na welaf mohono byth.
O, fy nhad, gadewich I mi fynd gydag ef.
Nid oesarnag ofn yn wir.
She is desperate here.
Syll f'annwyld, I ddwfn fy llygaid SHE CONTINUES SPEAKING IN WELSH I understand thy looks.
SHE SPEAKS IN WELSH That pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee.
Hi angen 'ch at chreinia acha 'r babwyr a bwyso 'ch ben ynddi lapia.
Hi ll byncio 'ch anwylyn songand chysgi.
She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down And rest your gentle head upon her lap, And she will sing the song that pleaseth you And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.
HOTSPUR GROANS With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing.
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Do so, and those musicians that shall play to you Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, And straight they shall be here! APPLAUSE DOG BARKS HE WHISTLES AND DOG GROWLS Sit and attend.
GENTLE MUSIC PLAYS HOTSPUR: Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down.
Come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
Go, ye giddy goose.
Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh 'Tis no marvel he is so humorous.
By'r lady, he is a good musician.
Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.
I had rather hear Lady, my hound, howl in Irish.
Wouldst thou have thy head broken? No.
Then be still.
Neither.
'Tis a woman's fault.
Now God help thee.
To the Welsh lady's bed.
- What's that? - SHE STARTS TO SING IN WELSH Peace, she sings.
LADY PERCY SIGHS Come Kate .
.
sing.
I will not sing.
I'll away within these two hours, and so come in.
Bardolph .
.
am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? Do I not dwindle? Why my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown.
Well, I'll repent.
I shall be out of heart shortly and then I shall have no strength to repent.
If I have not forgotten the inside of a church, I'm a peppercorn.
The inside of a church Company, villainous company, hath been the death of me.
Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.
Why, there is it.
HE SIGHS HE YAWNS 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 once in a quarter.
Of an hour.
Paid money that I borrowed.
Three of four times.
Lived well and in good compass.
And now I'm out of all order, out of all compass.
Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass.
Out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
Do thou amend thy face and I'll amend my life.
Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.
A good sherry sack hath a two-fold operation in it.
It ascends me into the brain, dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy vapours which environ it, makes it apprehensive, quick, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes, which, delivered o'er to the voice - the tongue - becomes excellent wit.
The second property of your excellent sherry 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 sherry warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme.
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.
LAUGHTER And this valour comes of sherry.
So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work.
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 sherry, that he is become very hot and valiant.
Rah! If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them would be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
How now, have you inquired yet who picked my pocket? Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, 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.
I'll be sworn my pocket was picked.
Go to, you are a woman, go.
Who I? No, I defy thee.
God's light, I was never called so in mine own house before.
Go to, I know you well enough.
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.
You owe money here, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings and money lent you, four and twenty pound.
- He had his part of it, let him pay.
- He? Alas, he's poor, he hath nothing.
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 penny.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I've lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth 40 mark.
O Jesu, I've heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that ring was copper.
How? The prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup.
'Sooth, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, - if he would say so.
- DOOR CREAKS How now, lad.
- Lad, must we all march? - My lord, I pray you, hear me.
- What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? - Good my lord, hear me.
- Prithee, let her alone and list' to me.
- What sayest thou, Jack? The other night I fell asleep here and had my pocket picked.
What didst thou lose, Jack? Wilt thou believe me, Hal, three or four bonds of forty pound apiece - and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.
- A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
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.
- What? He did not.
There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, go, you thing, go! Say, what thing? What thing? What thing? Why, a thing to thank God for.
I am no thing to thank God for, I would thou shouldst know it.
I am an honest man's wife and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.
Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.
- Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? - What beast? Whyan otter.
An otter, Sir John? Why an otter? Why, she's neither fish nor flesh, a man knows not where to have her.
Thou art an unjust man in saying so.
Thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou! Thou sayest true, Mistress Quickly, and he slanders thee most grossly.
So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you owest him a thousand pound.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? A thousand pound? Ha.
A million.
Thy love is worth a million.
Thou owest me thy love.
Nay, but my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.
Did I, Bardolph? Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Yea, if he said my ring was copper.
I say 'tis copper.
Darest thou be as good as thy word now? 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 a lion's whelp.
And why not as the lion? Well, the King is to be feared as the lion.
Dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine, it's all filled up with guts and midriff.
Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou whoreson, impudent rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee longwinded then I'm a villain.
Art thou not ashamed? Thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell, what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty.
Ah.
You confess then, you picked my pocket? It appears so by the story.
Mistress Quickly, I forgive thee.
Go, make ready supper.
Love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests.
Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason.
Thou seest I'm pacified still.
Nay, prithee, be gone.
Now, Hal, to the news at court.
For the robbery, lad, how is that answered? O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.
The money is paid back again.
THEY GROAN O, I like not that paying back, 'tis a double labour.
I am good friends with my father and may do anything.
- Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest.
- Do, my lord.
I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
- I would it had been of horse.
- Bardolph? - My lord? Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster.
To my brother John.
This to my Lord of Westmoreland.
Go, Poins, to horse.
To horse! For thou and I have 30 miles to ride yet ere supper time.
Jack? Meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two o'clock in the afternoon.
The land is burning.
Percy stands on high and either we or they must lower lie.
DOOR BANGS Rare words.
Brave world.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry.
Fill me a bottle of sack.
Will you give me money for it, captain? Lay out, lay out.
I'll answer the coinage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town's end.
I will, captain.
Farewell.
If I be not ashamed of my soldiers I'm a soused gurnet.
I've misused the king's press damnably.
I've got, in exchange of a 150 soldiers, 300 and odd pounds.
I press me none but good house-holders .
.
such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the devil as a drum.
They have bought out their services and now my whole charge consists of slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace.
A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I'd unload all the gibbets and press the dead bodies.
The villains march wide betwixt the legs as if they had shackles on.
For indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.
How now, blown Jack! Hal! How now, mad wag! What a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy, I thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there and you, too.
My powers are there already.
The king, I can tell you, looks for us all.
We must away all night.
Tut, never fear me, I'm as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
I think to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee butter.
Tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after? Mine, Hal, mine.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Food for powder, food for powder.
They'll fill a pit as well as better.
Tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they look exceeding poor and bare, they're too beggarly.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that, for their bareness, I'm sure they never learned that of me.
Sirrah, make haste.
Percy is already in the field.
CHEERING Well said, my noble Scot! By God I cannot flatter, but a braver place in my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
Nay, task me to my word.
Approve me, lord.
- Thou art the king of honour.
- I can but thank you.
- These letters come from your father.
- Why comes he not himself? He cannot come, my lord, he's grievous sick.
'Zounds! How has he the leisure to be sick in such a rustling time? Who leads his power? His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.
Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect the very life-blood of our enterprise.
Yet I would your father had been here.
This absence of your father's draws a curtain that shows the ignorant a kind of fear before not dreamt of.
You strain too far.
I rather of his absence make this use - it lends a lustre and more great opinion, Than if the earl were here.
There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
CHEERING My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.
The king himself in person is set forth, With strong and mighty preparation.
No harm.
What more? Where is his son, the nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales that daffed the world aside and bid it pass? I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, his cuisses on his thighs, gallantly armed rise from the ground like feathered Mercury.
No more, no more.
Doomsday is near! Die all, die merrily! 'What need I be so forward with him 'that calls not on me? 'Well, 'tis no matter, honour pricks me on.
'Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? 'Can honour set to a leg? No.
Or an arm? No.
'Or take away the grief of a wound? No.
'Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No.
'What is honour? A word.
'What is in that word honour? What is that honour? 'Air.
A trim reckoning.
'Who hath it? He that died o'Wednesday.
Doth he feel it? No.
'Doth he hear it? No.
''Tis insensible, then.
Yea, to the dead.
'But will it not live with the living? No.
Why? 'Detraction will not suffer it.
Therefore I'll none of it.
'Honour is a mere scutcheon.
'And so ends my catechism.
' - We'll fight with him tonight.
- It may not be.
You give him then the advantage.
- Not a whit.
- Why say you so? - Looks he not for supply? - So do we.
His is certain, ours is doubtful.
- Good cousin, be advised.
Stir not tonight.
- Do not, my lord.
You do not counsel well.
You speak it out of fear and cold heart.
Do me no slander, Douglas.
By my life, let it be seen tomorrow in the battle which of us fears.
- Yea, or tonight.
- Content.
Tonight, say I.
Come, come, it may not be.
I wonder much, being men of such great leading as you are, That you foresee not what impediments drag back our expedition.
Certain horse of my cousin are not yet come up.
Your uncle Worcester's came but today, and now their pride and mettle is asleep, that not a horse is half the half of himself.
So are the horses of the enemy.
The number of the king exceedeth ours.
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
I come with gracious offers from the king.
Sir Walter Blunt, welcome, and would to God you were of our determination.
God defend but still I should stand so, so long as out of limit and true rule you stand against anointed majesty.
But to my charge.
The king hath sent to know the nature of your griefs and whereupon you conjure from the breast of civil peace such bold hostility.
If that the king have any way your good deserts forgot, he bids you name your griefs and with all speed you shall have your desires with interest, and pardon absolute for yourself and these herein misled by your suggestion.
The king is kind.
And well we know the king knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father and my uncle and myself did give him that same royalty he wears.
And when he was not six and twenty strong, sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, a poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, my father gave him welcome to the shore.
And when he heard him swear and vow to God he came but to be Duke of Lancaster, My father, in kind heart and pity moved, swore him assistance and performed it too.
Now when the lords and barons of the realm perceived my father did lean to him, the more and less came in with cap and knee.
He presently, as greatness knows itself, steps me a little higher than the vow made to my father, takes on him to reform his country's wrongs.
And by this face, this seeming brow of justice, did he win the hearts of all that he did angle for.
I came not to hear this.
Then to the point.
In short time after, he deposed the king.
Soon after that deprived him of his life, and in the neck of that tasked the whole state, disgraced me in my happy victories, sought to entrap me by intelligence, rated mine uncle from the council-board, in rage dismissed my father from the court, broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong, and in conclusion drove us to seek out this head of safety.
And withal to pry into his title, the which we find too indirect for long continuance.
Shall I return this answer to the king? Not so, Sir Walter, we'll withdraw awhile and in the morning - early - shall my uncle bring him our purposes.
And so farewell.
I would you would accept of grace and love.
And maybe so we shall.
Pray God you do.
How bloodily the sun begins to peer above yon busky hill.
The day looks pale at his distemperature.
The southern wind doth play the trumpet to his purposes, foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
Then with the losers let it sympathise, for nothing can seem foul to those that win.
How now, my Lord of Worcester.
'Tis not well that you and I should meet upon the terms that now we meet.
You have deceived our trust, and made us doff our easy robes of peace to crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
This is not well, my lord.
My liege, I do protest - I have not sought the day of this dislike.
You have not sought it? How comes it, then? Rebellion lay in his way and he found it.
Peace, chewet, peace! I must remember you, my lord, we were the first and dearest of your friends.
It was myself, my brother and his son, that brought you home and boldly did outdare the dangers of the time.
But in short space such a flood of sudden greatness fell on you you took occasion to be quickly wooed, forget your oath to us at Doncaster, and being fed by us you used us so as that ungentle hull, the cuckoo's bird, useth the sparrow.
Tell your nephew the Prince of Wales doth join with all the world in praise of Henry Percy.
I do not think a braver gentleman, more daring or more bold, is now alive.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry, yet this before my father's majesty - I will, to save the blood on either side, try fortune with him in a single fight.
We love our people well - even those we love that are misled upon your cousin's part, But, will they take the offer of our grace, both he and they and you, yea every man will be my friend again and I'll be his.
We offer fair, take it advisedly.
It will not be accepted, on my life.
Well, God befriend us, as our cause is just! My nephew must not know, Sir Richard, the liberal and kind offer of the king.
'Twere best he did.
Then are we all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be the king should keep his word in loving us.
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot - it hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood - but all his offences live upon my head and on his father's.
We did train him on, we, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.
Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.
Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, bestride me, so, 'tis a point of friendship.
Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.
Say thy prayers and farewell.
I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well.
Why, thou owest God a death.
'Tis not due yet.
I'd be loath to pay him before his day.
Uncle, what news? The king will bid you battle presently.
There is no seeming mercy in the king.
Did you beg any? God forbid.
The Prince of Wales stepped forth before the king, and, cousin, challenged you to single fight.
How showed his tasking? Seemed it in contempt? No, by my soul.
I never in my life did hear a challenge urged more modestly.
Cousin, I think thou art enamoured on his follies.
Arm, arm with speed and fellows, soldiers, friends, better consider what you have to do than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, can lift your blood up with persuasion.
Let each man do his best! Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse! Who are you? Sir Walter Blunt.
There's honour for you.
I am as hot as moulten lead and as heavy too.
Lend me thy sword.
God keep lead out of me, I need no more weight than mine own bowels.
What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword.
Hal, I prithee, give me leave to breathe awhile.
Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day.
I've paid Percy, I've made him sure.
He is indeed and living to kill thee.
I prithee, lend me thy sword.
Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my sword, - but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
- Give it to me.
What, is it in the case? Ay, Hal, 'tis hot, 'tis hot this.
That will sack a city.
What, is it a time to jest and dally now? Harry, withdraw thyself, thou bleed'st too much.
- Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.
- Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
I beseech your majesty, move forward, lest your retirement do amaze your friends.
I will do so.
Lead him to his tent.
Onward! Only If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.
My name is Harry Percy.
Why, then I see a very valiant rebel of a name.
I am the Prince of Wales and think not, Percy, to share with me in glory any more.
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
Well said, Hal.
The hour is come to end the one of us, and would to God thy name in arms were now as great as mine.
I'll make it greater ere I part from thee, and all the budding honours on thy crest I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
I can no longer brook thy vanities.
Thou hast robbed me of my youth.
Percy Thou art Dust and food For worms, brave Percy.
Fare thee well, great heart.
Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk.
When that this body did contain a spirit a kingdom for it was too small a bound, and now, two paces of the vilest earth is room enough.
Adieu.
What, old acquaintance .
.
could not all this flesh keep in a little life? I could have better spared a better man.
Poor Jack.
Farewell.
Embowelled will I see thee by and by.
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie.
Embowelled? If thou embowel me today, I'll give you leave to powder me and eat me too tomorrow.
The better part of valour is discretion .
.
in the which better part I've saved my life.
'Zounds, I'm afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead.
How, if he should counterfeit too and rise? By my faith, I'm afraid he would prove the better counterfeit.
Therefore I'll make him sure, yea, and I'll swear I killed him.
Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me.
Therefore, sirrah, with a new wound - come you along with me.
Ill-spirited Worcester, did not we send grace, pardon and terms of love to all of you? A noble earl and many a creature else had been alive this hour, if like a Christian thou hadst truly borne betwixt our armies true intelligence.
What I have done my safety urged me to.
Bear Worcester to the death.
And Vernon too.
Other offenders we will pause upon.
Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? I did.
I saw him dead.
Art thou alive? Thou art not what thou seem'st.
No, that's certain, I'm not a double man but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack.
There is Percy.
If your father will do me any honour, so.
If not, let him kill the next Percy himself.
I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.
Why, Percy I killed myself and saw thee dead.
Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying.
I grant you I was down and out of breath and so was he, but we rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock.
If I may be believed, so.
If not, let them that should reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads.
I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh.
If the man were alive and would deny it, 'zounds, I would make him eat a piece of my sword.
This is the strangest tale that ever I heard.
This is the strangest fellow, brother John.
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back.
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, to see what friends are living, who are dead.
Full bravely hast thou fleshed thy maiden sword.
I'll follow, as they say, for reward.
He that rewards me, God reward him.
If I do grow great, I'll grow less, for I'll purge and leave sack, and live cleanly as a nobleman should do.
How goes the field? The day is ours! CHEERING Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke! Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.