The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

two-and-twenty knights, Balk’d in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon’s plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son

To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an honourable spoil?

A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?

West. In faith,

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

King. Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sin In envy that my Lord Northumberland

Should be the father to so blest a son-A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue, Amongst a grove the very straightest plant; Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride; 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 prov’d That some night-tripping fairy had exchang’d In cradle clothes our children where they lay, And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet!

Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.

But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy’s pride? The prisoners Which he in this adventure hath surpris’d To his own use he keeps, and sends me word I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

West. This is his uncle’s teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects,

Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

King. But I have sent for him to answer this; And for this cause awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords; But come yourself with speed to us again; For more is to be said and to be done Than out of anger can be uttered.

West. I will my liege. Exeunt.

 

Scene II.

London. An apartment of the Prince’s.

 

Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff.

 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldest truly know. 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.

Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon And the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none-Prince. What, none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty. Let us be Diana’s Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatch’d on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing ‘Lay by,’

and spent with crying ‘Bring in’; now ill as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad-and is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle-and is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast call’d her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal. No; I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so us’d it that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent-But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fubb’d as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

Prince. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.

Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

Prince. For obtaining of suits?

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. ‘Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg’d bear.

Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor Ditch?

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, 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 mark’d him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and yet he talk’d wisely, and in the street too.

Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. 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, an I do not, I am a villain! I’ll be damn’d for never a king’s son in Christendom.

Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I’ll make one. An I do not, call me villain and baffle me.

Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee-from praying to purse-taking.

Fal. Why, Hal, ‘tis my vocation, Hal. ‘Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.

 

Enter Poins.

 

Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried ‘Stand!’

to a true man.

Prince. Good morrow, Ned.

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s leg?

Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due.

Poins. Then art thou damn’d for keeping thy word with the devil.

Prince. Else he had been damn’d for cozening the devil.

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves.

Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home and be hang’d!

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for going.

Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.

Fal. There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam’st not of the blood royal if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

Prince. Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.

Fal. Why, that’s well said.

Prince. Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.

Fal. By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

Prince. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap.

Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

Exit Falstaff.

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.

Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we’ll set upon them.

Prince. Yea, but ‘tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see-I’ll tie them in the wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turn’d back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

Prince. Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me tonight in Eastcheap. There I’ll sup. Farewell.

Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit.

Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyok’d humour of your idleness.

Yet herein will I imitate the sun,