The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

Mort. With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing.

By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do so,

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

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

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

The music plays.

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh; And ‘tis no marvel, be is so humorous.

By’r Lady, he is a good musician.

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are altogether govern’d by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither! ‘Tis a woman’s fault.

Lady P. Now God help thee!

Hot. To the Welsh lady’s bed.

Lady P. What’s that?

Hot. Peace! she sings.

Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.

Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth? Heart! you swear like a comfit-maker’s wife. ‘Not you, in good sooth!’ and ‘as true as I live!’ and ‘as God shall mend me!’ and ‘as sure as day!’

And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths As if thou ne’er walk’st further than Finsbury.

Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath; and leave ‘in sooth’

And such protest of pepper gingerbread To velvet guards and Sunday citizens. Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. ‘Tis the next way to turn tailor or be redbreast-teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so come in when ye will. Exit.

Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer. You are as slow As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book is drawn; we’ll but seal, And then to horse immediately.

Mort. With all my heart.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I Must have some private conference; but be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.

Exeunt Lords.

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; But thou dost in thy passages of life Make me believe that thou art only mark’d For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven 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 match’d withal and grafted to, Accompany the greatness of thy blood

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could Quit all offences with as clear excuse As well as I am doubtless I can purge Myself of many I am charged withal.

Yet such extenuation let me beg

As, in reproof of many tales devis’d, Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers, I may, for some things true wherein my youth Hath faulty wand’red and irregular,

And pardon on lily true submission.

King. God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing, Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

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 and expectation of thy time

Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man

Prophetically do forethink thy fall.

Had I so lavish of my presence been,

So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men, So stale and cheap to vulgar company, Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Had still kept loyal to possession

And 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 wond’red at; That men would tell their children, ‘This is he!’

Others would say, ‘Where? Which is Bolingbroke?’

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress’d myself in such humility

That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths Even in the presence of the crowned King.

Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, My presence, like a robe pontifical,

Ne’er seen but wond’red at; and so my state, Seldom but sumptuous, show’d like a feast And won by rareness such solemnity.

The skipping King, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state; Mingled his royalty with cap’ring fools; Had his great name profaned with their scorns And gave his countenance, against his name, To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push Of every beardless vain comparative;

Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoff’d himself to popularity;

That, being dally swallowed by men’s eyes, They surfeited with honey and began

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much.

So, when he had occasion to be seen,

He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

Heard, not regarded-seen, but with such eyes As, sick and blunted with community,

Afford no extraordinary gaze,

Such as is bent on unlike majesty

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; But rather drows’d and hung their eyelids down, Slept in his face, and rend’red such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries, Being with his presence glutted, gorg’d, and full.

And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; For thou hast lost thy princely privilege With vile participation. Not an eye

But is aweary of thy common sight,

Save mine, which hath desir’d to see thee more; Which now doth that I would not have it do-Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself.

King. 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.

Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 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, Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws, And, Being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on To bloody battles and to bruising arms.

What never-dying honour hath he got

Against renowmed Douglas! whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions and great name in arms Holds from all soldiers chief majority And military title capital

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.

Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas; ta’en him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deep defiance up And shake the peace and safety of our throne.

And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer Capitulate against us and are up.

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my nearest 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, To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns, To show how much thou art degenerate.

Prince. Do not think so. You shall not find it so.

And God forgive them that so much have sway’d Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!

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, When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it.

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.

For every honour sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes, and on my head My shames redoubled! For the time will come That I shall make this Northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities.

Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; And I will call hall to so strict account That he shall render every glory up,

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.

This in the name of God I promise here; The which if he be pleas’d I shall perform, I do beseech your Majesty may salve

The long-grown wounds of my intemperance.

If not, the end of life cancels all bands, And I will die a hundred thousand deaths Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this!

Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

Enter Blunt.

How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.

Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word That Douglas and the English rebels met The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.

A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept oil every hand,

As ever off’red foul play in a state.

King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old.

On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting Is Bridgenorth; and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; by which account, Our business valued, some twelve days hence Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.

Our hands are full of business. Let’s away.

Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. Exeunt.

Scene III.

Eastcheap. The Boar’s Head Tavern.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fall’n away vilely since this last action?

Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s loose gown! I am withered like an old apple John.

Well, I’ll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking.

I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer’s horse. The inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me.

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

Fal. Why, there is it! Come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough: swore little, dic’d not above seven times a week, went to a bawdy house not above once in a quarter-of an hour, paid money that I borrowed-three or four times, lived well, and in good compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass-out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou