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SECOND PART OF

KING HENRY IV.

King Henry the Fourth:

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards

King Henry V.;

Thomas, Duke of Clarence;

Travers and Morton, domestics of Northumber land.

Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page.

Poins and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry.

Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards his sons. Shallow and Silence, country Justices.

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Davy, servant to Shallow.

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, re

cruits.

Fang and Snare, sheriff's officers.
Rumour. A Porter.

A Dancer, speaker of the Epilogue.
Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy.
Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet.

Lords and other attendants; officers, soldiers, messenger, drawers, beadles, grooms, &c. Scene, England.

INDUCTION.

Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle.
Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues.
Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will
stop

The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride;
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence;
Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures;
And of so easy and so plain a stop,

That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize

Among my household? Why is Rumour here?

I run before king Harry's victory;

Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,

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Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, The times are wild; contention, like a horse Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I To speak so true at first? my office is

To noise abroad,-that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; And that the king before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.

(1) Northumberland's castle.

Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.
Bard.

Noble earl,

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And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John,
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not, till now, to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes!

North.

How is this deriv'd?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came
from thence;

A gentleman well bred, and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom
I sent

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More than he haply may retain from me.
Enter Travers.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come

with you?

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Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent! with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North.

Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion

Had met ill luck!

Bard.

My lord, I'll tell

what ;you

Upon mine honour, for a silken point?

If my young lord your son has not the day,

I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

Act 1.

Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
This thou wouldst say,-Your son did thus, and
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
thus;

Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with-brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord your son,-

North.

He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
See, what a ready tongue suspicion bath!
Why, he is dead
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other's eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin;
I see a strange confession in thine
eye:
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead;
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen:
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd,
To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few,6 his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

by Travers,

Give then such instances of loss?

Bard.
He was some hilding3 fellow, that had stol'n
Who, he?
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.4

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask,
To fright our party.
North. How doth my son, and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone,

(1) Exhausted. (2) Lace tagged.
(3) Hilderling, base, cowardly.
(4) An attestation of its ravage.

And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vails his stomach, and did
Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight,
grace the shame
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,

(5) Return of blows. (6) In few words.
(7) Reported. (8) Let fall.

Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves; hence therefore, thou nice!
crutch;

A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif;2
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my
lord.

Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you
said,

Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
That in the doles of blows your son might drop:
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirits
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;
Yet did you say,-Go forth; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be?

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas,
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble
lord,

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,-
The gentle archbishop of York is up,
With well-appointed powers;4 he is a man,
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corps,
But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight:
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;

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Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
And more,6 and less, do flock to follow him.

North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge:
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-London. A street. Enter Sir
John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword
and buckler.

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to girds at me; The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath o'erwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake,9 thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate10 till now but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face royal: God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. -What said master Dumbleton about the satin, for my short cloak, and slops.

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security.

Fal. Let him be damned like a glutton! may his tongue be hotter!-A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security!-The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon-security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him.- -Where's Bardolph?

Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife

(9) A root supposed to have the shape of a man. (10) A little figure cut in an agate. (11) In their debt.

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