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Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity,
Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
Hot. O then the earth shook to see the heavens
And not in fear of your nativity.
Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better
I will to dinner.
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy: you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Why, so it would have done How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?
Glend. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide
According to our three-fold order ta'en?
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:—
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the
By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.—
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil.
No more of this unprofitable chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke
Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye,
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather
Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of't with all my heart : I had rather be a kitten and cry — mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry; "Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
Let me not understand you then,
To any well-deserving friend:
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by
I'll haste the writer, and, withal,
Break with your wives of your departure hence :
Mort. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me,
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
| As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither, have done enough To put him quite beside his patience.
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault : Though sometimes it show greatness, courage,
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,
Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your speed!
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Re-enter GLENDOWER, with the Ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me, — My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you,
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. Mort. Good father, tell her, that she, and my aunt Percy,
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
[GLENDOWER speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry,
One no persuasion can do good upon.
[Lady M. speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens,
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
[Lady M. speaks.
Till I have learn'd thy language: for thy tongue
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
A Welsh SONG, sung by Lady M. Hot. 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 giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
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,
[Exeunt. SCENE II. - London. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, and Lords. K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some conference: But be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.
I know not whether God will have it so,
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,
P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this our book's drawn; we'll but seal, and then And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
To horse immediately.
With all my heart.
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, —
K. Hen. God pardon thee! —yet let me wonder,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
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,
That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, [Exeunt Lords. They surfeited with honey; and began
The skipping king, he ambled up and down
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
For all the world,
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ?
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. Be more myself.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full or speed.
K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ;
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so;
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
[Exeunt. SCENE III.-Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern.
Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.
Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.
Fal. Why, there is it: come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter- of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.
Bard. Why you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John.
Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the
lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; | thou art the knight of the burning lamp.
Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!
Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.
Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound.
Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.
Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark.
Enter PRINCE HENRY and Poiss, marching. FALSTAFF meets the PRINCE, playing on his truncheon, like a fife.
Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper.
Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.
Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march?
Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.
P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man.
Host. Good my lord, hear me.
Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me.
Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets.
P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack?
Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.
P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said he would cudgel you. P Hen. What! he did not?
Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go.
Host. Say, what thing? what thing?
Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.
Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.
Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? Fal. What beast? why an otter.
P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter? Fal. Why? she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.
Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters|ders of them.
Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou!
P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanthee most grossly.
Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound.
P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you.
Fal. Did I, Bardolph ?
Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.
P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as good as thy word now?
Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.
P. Hen. And why not, as the lion?
Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break !