Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou’d compel A well-bred Lord t’ assault a gentle Belle ? O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor’d, Cou’d make a gentle Belle reject a Lord ?

In tasks so bold, can little Men engage,

And in soft Bosoms, dwells such mighty Rage ?

Sol through white Curtains shot a tim’rous Ray, And ope’d those eyes that must eclipse the Day : Now Lap-dogs give themselves the rousing Shake, And sleepless Lovers, just at Twelve, awake :

 rice rung the Bell, the Slipper knock’d the Ground,





 e morning-dream that hover’d o’er her Head.

A Youth more glitt’ring than a Birth-night Beau

( at ev’n in slumber caus’d her Cheek to glow)

And thus in Whispers said, or seem’d to say.

What tho’ no Credit doubting W its may give?

 e Fair and Innocent shall still believe.

Know, then, unnumber’d Spirits round thee fl y,



As now your own, our Beings were of old,

And once inclos’d in Woman’s beauteous Mold ;  ence, by a soft Transition, we repair From earthly Vehicles to these of Air.

 ink not, when Woman’s transient Breath is fl ed,  at all her Vanities at once are dead.



And tho’ she plays no more, o’erlooks the Cards.

Mount up, and take a Salamander’s name.



Know further yet ; whoever fair and chaste Rejects Mankind, is by some Sylph embrac’d :

For Spirits, freed from mortal Laws, with ease Assume what Sexes and what Shapes they please.

What guards the Purity of melting Maids,

In Courtly Balls, and Midnight Masquerades,

Safe from the treach’rous Friend, the daring Spark,

 e Glance by Day, the Whisper in the Dark,

When kind Occasion prompts their warm desires, When music softens, and when Dancing fi res ?





’Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know,  o’ Honour is the word with Men below.

Some Nymphs there are, too conscious of their Face,

 en gay Ideas crowd the vacant Brain,

While Peers, and Dukes, and all their sweeping Train,

And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear,

And in soft sounds, Your Grace salutes their Ear.

’Tis these that early taint the female soul,

Instruct the eyes of young Coquettes to roll, Teach Infant Cheeks a bidden Blush to know, And little Hearts to fl utter at a Beau.

Oft, when the World imagine Women stray,

 e Sylphs thro’ Mystic mazes guide their Way,  ro’ all the giddy Circle they pursue, And old Impertinence expel by new.

What tender Maid but must a victim fall To one Man’s Treat, but for another’s Ball ? When Florio speaks what Virgin could withstand, If gentle Damon did not squeeze her Hand ? With varying Vanities, from ev’ry Part,







Late, as I rang’d the crystal Wilds of Air,

In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star

I saw, alas! some dread Event impend, Ere to the Main this morning’s Sun descend,

But Heav’n reveals not what, or how, or where:

Warn’d by the Sylph, oh pious Maid, beware!

 is to disclose is all thy Guardian can. Beware of all, but most beware of Man!



First, rob’d in W hite, the Nymph intent adores, With Head uncover’d, the Cosmetic pow’rs.

To that she bends, to that her Eyes she rears ;  ’ inferior Priestess, at her Altar’s side, Trembling begins the sacred Rites of Pride.

Unnumber’d Treasures ope at once, and here

 e various Off ’rings of the World appear ; From each she nicely culls with curious Toil,

And decks the Goddess with the glitt’ring Spoil.



Transformed to Combs, the speckled and the white. Here Files of Pins extend their shining Rows, Puff s, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux. Now awful Beauty puts on all its Arms ;

 e Fair each moment rises in her Charms,

Repairs her Smiles, awakens ev’ry Grace,

And calls forth all the Wonders of her Face ;

Sees by Degrees a purer Blush arise,

And keener Lightnings quicken in her Eyes.

 e busy Sylphs surround their darling Care ;

 ese set the Head, and those divide the Hair, Some fold the Sleeve, whilst others plait the Gown ; And Betty’s prais’d for labours not her own.





Look on her Face, and you’ll forget ’em all.

Nourish’d two Locks, which graceful hung behind In equal Curls, and well conspir’d to deck With shining Ringlets the smooth iv’ry neck. Love in these Labyrinths his Slaves detains, And mighty Hearts are held in slender Chains.

With hairy sprindges we the Birds betray,

Slight lines of Hair surprise the Finny Prey, Fair Tresses Man’s Imperial Race insnare, And Beauty draws us with a single Hair.

 ’ Advent’rous Baron the bright Locks admir’d ; He saw, he wish’d, and to the Prize aspir’d :

Resolv’d to win, he meditates the way,

By Force to ravish, or by Fraud betray ;

For when Success a Lover’s Toil attends, Few ask, if Fraud or Force attain’d his Ends.

For this, ere Phœbus rose, he had implor’d Propitious Heav’n, and ev’ry Pow’r ador’d,









With tender Billet-doux he lights the Pyre,

And breathes three am’rous Sighs to raise the Fire.

But now secure the painted Vessel glides,

 e Sun-beams trembling on the fl oating Tydes, While melting Musick steals upon the Sky, And soften’d Sounds along the Waters die. Smooth fl ow the Waves, the Zephyrs gently play, Belinda smil’d, and all the World was gay.

All but the Sylph—W ith careful  oughts opprest,  ’ impending Woe sat heavy on his Breast. He summons strait his Denizens of Air ;  e lucid Squadrons round the Sails repair :

Soft o’er the Shrouds Aerial Whispers breathe,  at seem’d but Zephyrs to the Train beneath. Some to the Sun their Insect-W ings unfold, Waft on the Breeze, or sink in Clouds of Gold. Transparent Forms, too fi ne for mortal Sight,  eir fl uid Bodies half dissolv’d in Light.

Loose to the Wind their airy Garments fl ew,

 in glitt’ring Textures of the fi lmy Dew ;

Dipt in the richest Tincture of the Skies,

Where Light disports in ever-mingling Dies,









While ev’ry Beam new transient Colours fl ings,

Colours that change whene’er they wave their Wings. Amid the Circle, on the gilded mast,

Some guide the Course of wand’ring Orbs on high,

Some less refi n’d, beneath the Moon’s pale Light

Pursue the Stars that shoot athwart the Night ;

Or suck the Mists in grosser Air below,

Or dip their Pinions in the painted Bow,

Or brew fi erce Tempests on the wintry Main, Or o’er the Glebe distil the kindly Rain.

Others on Earth o’er human Race preside,

Watch all their Ways, and all their actions guide : Of these the Chief the Care of Nations own,

And guard with Arms Divine the British  rone.





To save the Powder from too rude a Gale,

Nor let th’ imprison’d Essences exhale ;

To steal from Rainbows e’er they drop in Show’rs

A brighter Wash; to curl their waving Hairs,

Assist their Blushes, and inspire their Airs ; Nay oft, in Dreams, Invention we bestow, To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelo !

 is Day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair,

 at e’er deserv’d a watchful Spirit’s care ;

Some dire Disaster, or by Force, or Slight,

But what, or where, the Fates have wrapt in Night.

Whether the Nymph shall break Diana’s law,

Or some frail China jar receive a Flaw,

Or stain her Honour or her new Brocade,

Forget her Pray’rs, or miss a Masquerade,

Or lose her Heart, or Necklace, at a Ball ;

Or whether Heav’n has doom’d that Shock must fall.

Haste, then, ye Spirits ! to your Charge repair ;

 e fl utt’ring Fan be Zephyretta’s Care ;







To Fifty chosen Sylphs, of special Note, We trust th’ important charge, the Petticoat :

Oft have we known that seven-fold Fence to fail,

 o’ stiff with Hoops, and arm’d with Ribs of Whale ; Form a strong line about the silver bound, And guard the wide circumference around.

Whatever Spirit, careless of his Charge,

His Post neglects, or leaves the Fair at large,

Shall feel sharp Vengeance soon o’ertake his Sins,





While clogg’d he beats his silken Wings in vain ; Or Alom-Stypticks with contracting Pow’r Shrink his thin Essence like a rivel’d Flower.

Or, as Ixion fi x’d, the Wretch shall feel

 e giddy Motion of the whirling Mill, Midst Fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow, And tremble at the Sea that froths below !



Of foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home ;

Here  ou, great Anna ! whom three Realms obey, Dost sometimes Counsel take—and sometimes Tea.

Hither the Heroes and the Nymphs resort, To taste awhile the Pleasures of a Court ; In various Talk th’ instructive Hours they past, Who gave a Ball, or paid the Visit last :

One speaks the Glory of the British Queen,

And one describes a charming Indian Screen ; A third interprets Motions, Looks, and Eyes ; At every Word a Reputation dies.

Snuff , or the Fan, supply each Pause of Chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.





 e hungry Judges soon the Sentence sign,

And Wretches hang that Jury-men may Dine ;  e Merchant from th’ Exchange returns in Peace, And the long Labours of the Toilet cease.

Belinda now, whom  irst of Fame invites,

Burns to encounter two adventrous Knights,

At Ombre singly to decide their Doom ;

And swells her Breast with Conquests yet to come. Straight the three Bands prepare in Arms to join, Each Band the number of the Sacred Nine. Soon as she spreads her Hand, th’ Aerial Guard Descend, and sit on each important ard :





Behold, four Kings in Majesty rever’d,

With hoary Whiskers and a forky Beard ;

And four fair Queens whose Hands sustain a Flow’r,

Four Knaves in Garbs succinct, a trusty Band ;

Caps on their heads, and Halberds in their hand ;

And particolour’d Troops, a shining Train, Draw forth to combat on the Velvet Plain.

 e hoary Majesty of Spades appears ;

Puts forth one manly Leg, to sight reveal’d,

 e rest, his many-colour’d Robe conceal’d.

His warlike Amazon her Host invades,

 ’ Imperial Consort of the Crown of Spades.

 e Club’s black Tyrant fi rst her Victim dy’d,

What boots the Regal Circle on his Head,

His Giant Limbs, in State unwieldy spread ;  at long behind he trails his pompous Robe, And, of all Monarchs, only grasps the Globe ?

 e Baron now his Diamonds pours apace ;

 ’ embroider’d King who shows but half his Face, And his refulgent Queen, with Pow’rs combin’d, Of broken Troops an easy Conquest fi nd.

Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild Disorder seen, With  rongs promiscuous strow the level Green.

 us when dispers’d a routed Army runs,

Of Asia’s Troops, and Afric’s Sable Sons,

With like Confusion diff erent Nations fl y,

Of various Habits, and of various Dye,

 e pierc’d Battalions dis-united fall,

In Heaps on Heaps ; one Fate o’erwhelms them all.







At this, the Blood the Virgin’s Cheek forsook,

An Ace of Hearts steps forth :  e King unseen

Lurk’d in her Hand, and mourn’d his captive Queen. He springs to Vengeance with an eager Pace, And falls like  under on the prostrate Ace.  e Nymph exulting fi lls with Shouts the Sky ;  e Walls, the Woods, and long Canals reply.

Oh thoughtless Mortals ! ever blind to Fate, Too soon dejected, and too soon elate !

Sudden, these Honours shall be snatch’d away, And curs’d for ever this Victorious Day.





 e Berries crackle, and the Mill turns round ; On shining Altars of Japan they raise  e silver Lamp; the fi ery Spirits blaze :

From silver Spouts the grateful Liquors glide,

While China’s earth receives the smoking Tyde. 

At once they gratify their Scent and Taste,

Straight hover round the Fair her Airy Band ;

Some, as she sipp’d, the fuming Liquor fann’d,

Coff ee (which makes the Politician wise,

And see through all things with his half-shut Eyes) Sent up in Vapours to the Baron’s Brain New Stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.

Ah cease, rash Youth ! desist ere ’tis too late, Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla’s Fate ! Chang’d to a Bird, and sent to fl it in Air, She dearly pays for Nisus’ injur’d Hair !

But when to Mischief Mortals bend their Will, How soon they fi nd fi t Instruments of Ill !





He takes the Gift with rev’rence, and extends

 e little Engine on his Fingers’ Ends ;

 is just behind Belinda’s Neck he spread

As o’er the fragrant Steams she bends her Head :

Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprights repair,



A thousand Wings, by turns, blow back the Hair ; And thrice they twitch’d the Diamond in her Ear,  rice she look’d back, and thrice the Foe drew near. Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought

As on the Nosegay in her Breast reclin’d,

He watch’d th’ Ideas rising in her Mind, Sudden he view’d, in spite of all her Art, An Earthly Lover lurking at her Heart. Amaz’d, confus’d, he found his Power expir’d, Resign’d to Fate, and with a Sigh retir’d.

 e Peer now spreads the glittering Forfex wide, T’ inclose the Lock ; now joins it, to divide.

Ev’n then, before the fatal Engine clos’d,

A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos’d ;

Fate urged the Sheers, and cut the Sylph in twain,

(But Airy Substance soon unites again)  e meeting Points the sacred Hair dissever From the fair Head, for ever and for ever !

 en fl ash’d the living Lightnings from her Eyes, And Screams of Horror rend th’ aff righted Skies.

Not louder Shrieks to pitying Heav’n are cast,

When Husbands, or when Lapdogs breathe their last,







Not ancient Ladies when refus’d a Kiss,

Not Tyrants fi erce that unrepenting die,

Not Cynthia when her Manteau’s pinn’d awry, E’er felt such Rage, Resentment, and Despair, As  ou, sad Virgin ! for thy ravish’d Hair.

For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,



No cheerful Breeze this sullen Region knows,

Here in a Grotto, shelter’d close from Air,

And screen’d in Shades from Day’s detested Glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive Bed, Pain at her Side, and Megrim at her Head.

Two Handmaids wait the  rone : Alike in Place, But diff ’ring far in Figure and in Face.



 ere Aff ectation, with a sickly Mien,

Shows in her Cheek the Roses of Eighteen,

Practis’d to Lisp, and hang the Head aside,

Faints into Airs, and languishes with Pride ; On the rich Quilt sinks with becoming Woe, Wrapt in a Gown, for Sickness, and for Show.

 e Fair ones feel such Maladies as these,

When each new Night-Dress gives a new Disease.

A constant Vapour o’er the Palace fl ies ;

Strange Phantoms rising as the Mists arise ;





Now glaring Fiends, and Snakes on rolling Spires, Pale Spectres, gaping Tombs, and Purple Fires :

Unnumber’d  rongs on ev’ry side are seen, Of Bodies chang’d to various forms by Spleen. Here living Teapots stand, one Arm held out, One bent ; the Handle this, and that the Spout :

A Pipkin there, like Homer’s Tripod walks ;

Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye talks ; Men prove with Child, as pow’rful Fancy works, And Maids turn’d Bottels, call aloud for Corks.

Safe past the Gnome thro’ this fantastic Band, A Branch of healing Spleenwort in his Hand.

 en thus addrest the Pow’r—Hail wayward Queen ;

Who rule the Sex to Fifty from Fifteen,





But oh ! if e’er thy Gnome could spoil a Grace,

Or raise a Pimple on a beauteous Face,

Like Citron-Waters Matrons’ Cheeks infl ame,

Or change Complexions at a losing Game ;

If e’er with airy Horns I planted Heads,

Or rumpled Petticoats, or tumbled Beds,

Or caus’d Suspicion when no Soul was rude,

Or discompos’d the Head-Dress of a Prude,

Or e’er to costive Lap-Dog gave Disease,

Which not the Tears of brightest Eyes could ease :





A wond’rous Bag with both her Hands she binds,

Like that where once Ulysses held the Winds ;

 ere she collects the Force of Female ungs,

Sighs, Sobs, and Passions, and the War of Tongues.

A Vial next she fi lls with fainting Fears,

Soft Sorrows, melting Griefs, and fl owing Tears.

 e Gnome rejoicing bears her Gift away,

Spreads his black Wings, and slowly mounts to Day.



O wretched Maid ! she spread her Hands, and cry’d,

(W hile Hampton’s Ecchoes, wretched Maid ! reply’d)

Was it for this you took such constant Care  e Bodkin, Comb, and Essence to prepare ;

For this your Locks in Paper-Durance bound, For this with tort’ring Irons wreath’d around ! For this with Fillets strain’d your tender Head, And bravely bore the double Loads of Lead ? Gods ! shall the Ravisher display your Hair, While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare ! Honour forbid ! at whose unrivall’d Shrine Ease, Pleasure, Virtue, all our Sex resign.

Methinks already I your Tears survey,

Already hear the horrid  ings they say,

Already see you a degraded Toast,

And all your Honour in a Whisper lost !

How shall I, then, your hapless Fame defend ?

’T will then be Infamy to seem your Friend !

And shall this Prize, th’ inestimable Prize,









Sooner shall Grass in Hide-Park Circus grow,

And Wits take Lodgings in the sound of Bow ;

Sooner let Earth, Air, Sea, to Chaos fall,

Men, Monkeys, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish all !

She said ; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her Beau demand the precious Hairs :

(Sir Plume of Amber Snuff -box justly vain,

And the nice Conduct of a Clouded Cane)

With earnest Eyes and round unthinking Face,





It grieves me much (reply’d the Peer again) Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.

But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I swear,

(W hich never more shall join its parted Hair ;

Which never more its Honours shall renew,

Clipp’d from the lovely Head where late it grew)



He spoke, and speaking, in proud Triumph spread

But Umbriel, hateful Gnome ! forbears not so ; He breaks the Vial whence the Sorrows fl ow.

 en see ! the Nymph in beauteous Grief appears,

Her Eyes half-languishing, half-drown’d in Tears ; On her heav’d Bosom hung her drooping Head,

Which, with a Sigh, she rais’d ; and thus she said.

For ever curs’d be this detested Day,

Which snatch’d my best, my fav’rite Curl away ! Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been,



’T was this, the Morning Omens did foretel ;

 rice from my trembling Hand the Patch-box fell ;  e tott’ring China shook without a W ind.

See the poor Remnants of these slighted Hairs !

My Hands shall rend what ev’n thy Rapine spares.  ese, in two sable Ringlets taught to break,

 e Sister-Lock now sits uncouth, alone,

And in its Fellow’s Fate foresees its own ;

Uncurl’d it hangs, the fatal Sheers demands ; And tempts once more thy sacrilegious Hands. Oh hadst thou, Cruel ! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any Hairs but these !



And bass, and treble Voices strike the Skies.

No common Weapons in their Hands are found, Like Gods they fi ght, nor dread a mortal Wound.

So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage,

And heav’nly Breasts with human Passions rage ; ’Gainst Pallas, Mars ; Latona, Hermes, Arms ; And all Olympus rings with loud Alarms.



Triumphant Umbriel on a Sconce’s Height

Clapp’d his glad W ings, and sate to view the Fight,

While thro’ the Press enrag’d  alestris fl ies,

And scatters Death around from both her Eyes,

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,

Chloe stepp’d in, and kill’d him with a Frown ; She smil’d to see the doughty Hero slain, But, at her Smile, the Beau reviv’d again.

Now Jove suspends his golden Scales in Air,

Weighs the Men’s Wits against the Lady’s Hair ;  e doubtful Beam long nods from side to side ; At length the Wits mount up, the Hairs subside.

See, fi erce Belinda on the Baron fl ies,

With more than usual Lightning in her Eyes : Nor fear’d the Chief th’ unequal Fight to try, Who sought no more than on his Foe to die. But this bold Lord with manly Strength endu’d, She with one Finger and a  umb subdu’d :

Just where the Breath of Life his Nostrils drew,







Now meet thy Fate, incens’d Belinda cry’d, And drew a deadly Bodkin from her Side.

( e same, his ancient Personage to deck,

Her great great Grandsire wore about his Neck, In three Seal-Rings ; which after melted down, Form’d a vast Buckle for his W idow’s Gown :



Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)

Boast not my Fall (he cry’d) insulting Foe !  ou by some other shalt be laid as low,

Nor think, to die dejects my lofty Mind. All that I dread, is leaving you behind !

Rather than so, ah let me still survive,

And burn in Cupid’s Flames—but burn alive.



Roar’d for the Handkerchief that caus’d his Pain. But see how oft Ambitious Aims are cross’d,

And Chiefs contend ’till all the Prize is lost !  e Lock, obtain’d with Guilt, and kept with Pain, In ev’ry place is sought, but sought in vain :

With such a Prize no Mortal must be blest,

So Heav’n decrees ! with Heav’n who can contest ?

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar Sphere, Since all things lost on Earth are treasur’d there.  ere Heroe’s Wits are kept in pond’rous Vases, And Beau’s in Snuff -boxes and Tweezer-cases.

 ere broken Vows and Death-bed Alms are found,

And Lovers’ Hearts with Ends of Riband bound ;

 e Courtier’s Promises, and Sick Man’s Pray’rs,

 e Smiles of Harlots, and the Tears of Heirs, Cages for Gnats, and Chains to Yoak a Flea ; Dried Butterfl ies, and Tomes of Casuistry.







Not Berenice’s Locks fi rst rose so bright,

 e Sylphs behold it kindling as it fl ies,

And pleas’d pursue its progress through the Skies.

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Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ womb

To chase these pagans in those holy fields

Over whose acres walked those blessèd feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross.

But this our purpose now is twelve month old, And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go.

Therefor we meet not now. Then let me hear

Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, What yesternight our council did decree In forwarding this dear expedience.

WESTMORELAND

My liege, this haste was hot in question,

And many limits of the charge set down

But yesternight, when all athwart there came

A post from Wales loaden with heavy news,

Whose worst was that 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 butcherèd,

Upon whose 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.

KING

It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

WESTMORELAND

This matched with other did, my gracious lord.

For more uneven and unwelcome news

Came from the north, and thus it did import:

On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,

Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,

That ever valiant and approvèd Scot,

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A sad and bloody hour—

As by discharge of their artillery

And shape of likelihood the news was told,

For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way.

KING

Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,

Stained with the variation of each soil

Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,

And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,

Balked 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 Atholl, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

And is not this an honorable spoil?

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

WESTMORELAND

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 Honor’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 dishonor stain the brow

Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged

In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,

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I’ll so offend to make offense a skill,

Redeeming time when men think least I will.

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, and Sir Walter Blunt, with others.

KING,
to Northumberland, Worcester, and Hotspur

My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

Unapt to stir at these indignities,

And you have found me, for accordingly You tread upon my 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.

WORCESTER

Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves

The scourge of greatness to be used on it,

And that same greatness too which our own hands Have holp to make so portly.

NORTHUMBERLAND My lord—

KING

Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

O sir, your presence 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 shall send for you.

Worcester exits. You were about to speak.

NORTHUMBERLAND Yea, my good lord.

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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.

Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

HOTSPUR

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.

He was perfumèd like a milliner,

And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held

A pouncet box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose and took ’t away again, Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talked. And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

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!—

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And telling me the sovereignest thing on Earth

Was parmacety for an inward bruise,

And that it was great pity, so it was,

This villainous saltpeter should be digged

Out of the bowels of the harmless Earth,

Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly, 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.

BLUNT

The circumstance considered, good my lord,

Whate’er 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.

KING

Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,

But with proviso and exception

That we at our own charge shall ransom straight

His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer,

Who, on my soul, hath willfully betrayed

The lives of those that he did lead to fight

Against that great magician, damned Glendower,

Whose daughter, as we hear, that Earl of March Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?

Shall we buy treason and indent with fears When they have lost and forfeited themselves?

No, on the barren mountains let him starve,

For I shall never hold that man my friend

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Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

HOTSPUR Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

But by the chance of war. To prove that true

Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,

Those mouthèd wounds, which valiantly he took

When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank

In single opposition hand to hand

He did confound the best part of an hour In changing hardiment with great Glendower.

Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,

Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood,

Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds

And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, Blood-stainèd with these valiant combatants. Never did bare and rotten policy

Color her working with such deadly wounds, Nor never could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly.

Then let not him be slandered with revolt.

KING

Thou dost belie him, Percy; thou dost belie him.

He never did encounter with Glendower.

I tell thee, he durst as well have met the devil alone As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth 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 me

As will displease you.—My lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your son.— Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

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HOTSPUR

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.

NORTHUMBERLAND

What, drunk with choler? Stay and pause awhile. Here comes your uncle.

Enter Worcester.

HOTSPUR Speak of Mortimer?

Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul Want mercy if I do not join with him.

Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins

And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,

But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer

As high in the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.

WORCESTER

Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

HOTSPUR

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.

WORCESTER

I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaimed By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood?

NORTHUMBERLAND

He was; I heard the proclamation.

And then it was when the unhappy king— Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth

Upon his Irish expedition;

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From whence he, intercepted, did return To be deposed and shortly murderèd.

WORCESTER

And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

HOTSPUR

But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown?

NORTHUMBERLAND He did; myself did hear it.

HOTSPUR

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

And for his sake wear the detested blot

Of murderous subornation—shall it be

That you a world of curses undergo,

Being the agents or base second means,

The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?

O, pardon me that I descend so low

To show the line and the predicament Wherein you range under this subtle king.

Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,

Or fill up chronicles in time to come,

That men of your nobility and power

Did gage them both in an unjust behalf

(As both of you, God pardon it, have done) To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

And shall it in more shame be further spoken

That you are fooled, discarded, and shook off By him for whom these shames you underwent?

No, yet time serves wherein you may redeem

Your banished honors and restore yourselves

Into the good thoughts of the world again,

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WORCESTER Those same noble Scots

That are your prisoners—

HOTSPUR I’ll keep them all.

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them.

No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not. I’ll keep them, by this hand!

WORCESTER You start away

And lend no ear unto my purposes:

Those prisoners you shall keep—

HOTSPUR Nay, I will. That’s flat!

He said he would not ransom Mortimer, Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer.

But I will find him when he lies asleep,

And in his ear I’ll hollo “Mortimer.”

Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but “Mortimer,” and give it him To keep his anger still in motion.

WORCESTER Hear you, cousin, a word.

HOTSPUR

All studies here I solemnly defy,

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke.

And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales—

But that I think his father loves him not

And would be glad he met with some mischance— I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.

WORCESTER

Farewell, kinsman. I’ll talk to you

When you are better tempered to attend.

NORTHUMBERLAND,
to Hotspur

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!

HOTSPUR

Why, look you, I am

whipped

and scourged with rods,

Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear

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Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.

In Richard’s time—what do you call the place?

A plague upon it! It is in Gloucestershire.

’Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, His uncle York, where I first bowed my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke.

’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND At Berkeley Castle.

HOTSPUR You say true.

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy

This fawning greyhound then did proffer me: “Look when his infant fortune came to age,”

And “gentle Harry Percy,” and “kind cousin.” O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done.

WORCESTER

Nay, if you have not, to it again.

We will stay your leisure.

HOTSPUR I have done, i’ faith.

WORCESTER

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, which, for divers reasons

Which I shall send you written, be assured

Will easily be granted.—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.

HOTSPUR Of York, is it not?

WORCESTER True, who bears hard

His brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation,

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As what I think might be, but what I know

Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

HOTSPUR

I smell it. Upon my life it will do well.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Before the game is afoot thou still let’st slip.

HOTSPUR

Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot. And then the power of Scotland and of York To join with Mortimer, ha?

WORCESTER And so they shall.

HOTSPUR

In faith, it is exceedingly well aimed.

WORCESTER

And ’tis no little reason bids us speed

To save our heads by raising of a head,

For bear ourselves as even as we can,

The King will always think him in our debt, And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already how he doth begin

To make us strangers to his looks of love.

HOTSPUR

He does, he does. We’ll be revenged on him.

WORCESTER

Cousin, farewell. No further go in this Than I by letters shall direct your course.

When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,

I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,

Where you and Douglas and our powers at once,

As I will fashion it, shall happily meet

To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

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CHAMBERLAIN At hand, quoth pickpurse.

GADSHILL That’s even as fair as “at hand, quoth the Chamberlain,” for thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from laboring: thou layest the plot how.

CHAMBERLAIN Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper—a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already and call for eggs and butter. They will away presently.

GADSHILL Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee this neck.

CHAMBERLAIN No, I’ll none of it. I pray thee, keep that for the hangman, for I know thou worshipest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

GADSHILL What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I’ll make a fat pair of gallows, for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms,

but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray, and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their saint the commonwealth, or rather not pray to her but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.

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Will she hold out water in foul way?

GADSHILL She will, she will. Justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fern seed; we walk invisible.

CHAMBERLAIN Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fern seed for your walking invisible.

GADSHILL Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

CHAMBERLAIN Nay, rather let me have it as you are a false thief.

GADSHILL Go to. Homo is a common name to all men.

Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable.

Farewell, you muddy knave.

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PRINCE Stand close.
Poins, Bardolph, and Peto exit.

Enter Falstaff.

FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE Peace, you fat-kidneyed rascal. What a brawling dost thou keep!

FALSTAFF Where’s Poins, Hal?

PRINCE He is walked up to the top of the hill. I’ll go seek him.
Prince exits.

FALSTAFF I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company. The rascal hath removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the

square further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I

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doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged. It could not be else: I have drunk medicines.—Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both.—Bardolph! Peto!— I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another! (They whistle,
within.

) Whew! A plague upon you all!

Enter the Prince, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph.

Give me my horse, you rogues. Give me my horse and be hanged!

PRINCE Peace, you fat guts! Lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travelers.

FALSTAFF Have you any levers to lift me up again being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not bear my own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s Exchequer. What a plague mean you to colt me thus?

PRINCE Thou liest. Thou art not colted; thou art uncolted.

FALSTAFF I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.

PRINCE Out, you rogue! Shall I be your ostler?

FALSTAFF Hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I’ll peach for this. An I have

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the Lord, 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! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady’s fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this—an infidel! Ha, you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honorable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared. I will set forward tonight.

Enter his Lady.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.

LADY PERCY

O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offense 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?

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks And given my treasures and my rights of thee To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?

In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched,

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And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,

Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talked

Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain, 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-disturbèd stream,

And in thy face strange motions have appeared,

Such as we see when men restrain their breath

On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not.

HOTSPUR

What, ho!

Enter a Servant.

Is Gilliams with the packet gone? SERVANT He is, my lord, an hour ago.

HOTSPUR

Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

SERVANT

One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

HOTSPUR

What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?

SERVANT

It is, my lord.

HOTSPUR That roan shall be my throne.

Well, I will back him straight. O, Esperance!

Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

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LADY PERCY But hear you, my lord.

HOTSPUR What say’st thou, my lady?

LADY PERCY What is it carries you away?

HOTSPUR Why, my horse, my love, my horse. LADY PERCY Out, you mad-headed ape!

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen

As you are tossed with. In faith,

I’ll know your 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—

HOTSPUR

So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

LADY PERCY

Come, 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.

HOTSPUR 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.—Gods me, my horse!—

What say’st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?

LADY PERCY

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.

HOTSPUR Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am a-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.

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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.

LADY PERCY How? So far?

HOTSPUR

Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too.

Today will I set forth, tomorrow you. Will this content you, Kate?

LADY PERCY It must, of force.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Prince and Poins.

PRINCE Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

POINS Where hast been, Hal?

PRINCE With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy, and tell me flatly I am no proud jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy—by the Lord, so they call me—and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in

Eastcheap. They call drinking deep “dyeing scarlet,”

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FRANCIS O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart— POINS,
within

Francis!

FRANCIS Anon, sir.

PRINCE How old art thou, Francis?

FRANCIS Let me see. About Michaelmas next, I shall be—

POINS,
within

Francis!

FRANCIS Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord.

PRINCE Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me—’twas a pennyworth, was ’t not?

FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two!

PRINCE I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

POINS,
within

Francis!

FRANCIS Anon, anon.

PRINCE Anon, Francis? No, Francis. But tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, o’ Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis—

FRANCIS My lord?

PRINCE Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,

smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch— FRANCIS O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

PRINCE Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink, for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much. FRANCIS What, sir?

POINS,
within

Francis!

PRINCE Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?

Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

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VINTNER What, stand’st thou still and hear’st such a calling? Look to the guests within.
Francis exits.

My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door. Shall I let them in?

PRINCE Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
Vintner exits.

Poins!

Enter Poins.

POINS Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door. Shall we be merry?

POINS As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark you, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer. Come, what’s the issue?

PRINCE I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors since the old days of Goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight.

Enter Francis, in haste.

What’s o’clock, Francis?

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PRINCE That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. 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 work.” “O my sweet Harry,” says she, “how many hast thou killed today?”

“Give my roan horse a drench,” says he, and answers

“Some fourteen,” an hour after. “A trifle, a

trifle.” I prithee, call in Falstaff. I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. “Rivo!” says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.

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Enter Falstaff,
Gadshill, Peto, Bardolph; and Francis, with wine.

POINS Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?

FALSTAFF A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry and amen!—Give me a cup of sack, boy.—Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew netherstocks

and mend them, and foot them too. A plague

of all cowards!—Give me a cup of sack, rogue!—Is there no virtue extant? He drinketh.

PRINCE Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter—pitiful-hearted Titan!—that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? If thou didst, then behold that compound.

FALSTAFF,
to Francis

You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too.—There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man, yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward! 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 lives not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old, God help the while. A bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver. I could sing psalms, or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

PRINCE How now, woolsack, what mutter you?

FALSTAFF A king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You, Prince of Wales!

PRINCE Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?

FALSTAFF Are not you a coward? Answer me to that— and Poins there?

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FALSTAFF Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of— PRINCE So, two more already.

FALSTAFF Their points being broken— POINS Down fell their hose.

FALSTAFF 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.

PRINCE O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!

FALSTAFF 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, that thou couldst not see thy hand.

PRINCE These lies are like their father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou claybrained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou

whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-catch—

FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?

PRINCE Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason. What sayest thou to this?

POINS Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

FALSTAFF What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

PRINCE I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-backbreaker, this huge hill of flesh—

FALSTAFF ’Sblood, you starveling, you elfskin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stockfish!

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O, for breath to utter what is like thee! You tailor’s yard, you sheath, you bowcase, you vile standing

tuck—

PRINCE Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again, and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

POINS Mark, Jack.

PRINCE We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize, and have it, yea, and can show it you here in the house. 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 as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?

POINS Come, let’s hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?

FALSTAFF By the Lord, I knew you as well as he that made you. Why, hear you, my masters, was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life— I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.—Hostess, clap to the doors.—Watch tonight,

pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you. What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?

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PRINCE Content, and the argument shall be thy running away.

FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.

Enter Hostess.

HOSTESS O Jesu, my lord the Prince—

PRINCE How now, my lady the hostess, what sayst thou to me?

HOSTESS Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.

PRINCE Give him as much as will make him a royal man and send him back again to my mother.

FALSTAFF What manner of man is he?

HOSTESS An old man.

FALSTAFF What doth Gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer?

PRINCE Prithee do, Jack.

FALSTAFF Faith, and I’ll send him packing. He exits.

PRINCE Now, sirs.
To Gadshill.

By ’r Lady, you fought fair.—So did you, Peto.—So did you, Bardolph.— You are lions too. You ran away upon instinct. You will not touch the true prince. No, fie!

BARDOLPH Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

PRINCE Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked?

PETO Why, he hacked it with his dagger and said he would swear truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

BARDOLPH Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year before: I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.

PRINCE O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen

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years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire

and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away.

What instinct hadst thou for it?

BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?

PRINCE I do.

BARDOLPH What think you they portend?

PRINCE Hot livers and cold purses.

BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE No. If rightly taken, halter.

Enter Falstaff.

Here comes lean Jack. Here comes bare-bone.— How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is ’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

FALSTAFF My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s talon in the waist. I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. There’s villainous news abroad. Here was Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague call you him?

POINS

Owen

Glendower.

FALSTAFF Owen, Owen, the same, and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular—

PRINCE He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.

FALSTAFF You have hit it.

PRINCE So did he never the sparrow.

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FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him. He will not run.

PRINCE Why, what a rascal art thou then to praise him so for running?

FALSTAFF A-horseback, you cuckoo, but afoot he will not budge a foot.

PRINCE Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

FALSTAFF I grant you, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away tonight. Thy father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

PRINCE Why then, it is like if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.

FALSTAFF By the Mass, thou sayest true. It is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

PRINCE Not a whit, i’ faith. I lack some of thy instinct.

FALSTAFF Well, thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father. If thou love me, practice an answer.

PRINCE Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

FALSTAFF Shall I? Content.
He sits down.

This chair shall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown.

PRINCE Thy state is taken for a joined stool, thy golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.

FALSTAFF Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved.—Give me a cup of

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sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion,

and I will do it in King Cambyses’ vein.

PRINCE,
bowing
Well, here is my leg.

FALSTAFF And here is my speech.
As King.

Stand aside, nobility.

HOSTESS O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i’ faith!

^FALSTAFF,
as King

Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.

HOSTESS O the Father, how he holds his countenance!

^FALSTAFF,
as King

For God’s sake, lords, convey my

tristful

queen, For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.

HOSTESS O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see.

FALSTAFF Peace, good pint-pot. Peace, good tickle-brain.—
As King.
Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, so youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villainous 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? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion;

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not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

PRINCE What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

FALSTAFF,
as King
A goodly portly man, i’ faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage, and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by ’r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me, for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak it: there is virtue in that

Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?

PRINCE Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my father.

FALSTAFF,
rising
Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter’s hare.

PRINCE,
sitting down
Well, here I am set.

FALSTAFF And here I stand.—Judge, my masters.

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FALSTAFF,
as Prince

’Sblood, my lord, they are false.

—Nay, I’ll tickle you for a young prince, i’ faith. PRINCE,
as King

Swearest thou? Ungracious boy, henceforth ne’er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man. A tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humors, that bolting-hutch of beastliness,

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PRINCE I do, I will.

A loud knocking, and Bardolph, Hostess, and Francis exit.

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FALSTAFF,
as Prince

I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace?

PRINCE,
as King

That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

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Enter Bardolph running.

BARDOLPH O my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door.

FALSTAFF Out, you rogue.—Play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter the Hostess.

HOSTESS O Jesu, my lord, my lord—

PRINCE Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick. What’s the matter?

HOSTESS The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

FALSTAFF Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit. Thou art essentially made without seeming so.

PRINCE And thou a natural coward without instinct.

FALSTAFF I deny your major. If you will deny the Sheriff, so; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up. I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

PRINCE,
standing

Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk up above.—Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

FALSTAFF Both which I have had, but their date is out;

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PRINCE Call in the Sheriff.

All but the Prince and Peto exit.

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

PRINCE

Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?

SHERIFF

First pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry

Hath followed certain men unto this house.

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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 valuèd, 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.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

FALSTAFF 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 withered like an old applejohn. 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, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

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

FALSTAFF 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.

BARDOLPH Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must

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needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

FALSTAFF 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.

BARDOLPH Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

FALSTAFF 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 hellfire 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, that’s God’s angel.” 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 Gad’s 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 of yours with fire any time this two-and-thirty years, God reward me for it.

BARDOLPH ’Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

FALSTAFF Godamercy, so should I be sure to be heartburned!

Enter Hostess.

How now, Dame Partlet the hen, have you enquired yet who picked my pocket?

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HOSTESS Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John, do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have enquired, 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.

FALSTAFF You lie, hostess. Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair, and I’ll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go.

HOSTESS Who, I? No, I defy thee! God’s light, I was never called so in mine own house before.

FALSTAFF Go to, I know you well enough.

HOSTESS 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. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

FALSTAFF Dowlas, filthy dowlas. I have given them away to bakers’ wives; they have made bolters of them.

HOSTESS 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.

FALSTAFF,
pointing to Bardolph

He had his part of it. Let him pay.

HOSTESS He? Alas, he is poor. He hath nothing.

FALSTAFF 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.

HOSTESS,
to Bardolph
O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper.

FALSTAFF How? The Prince is a jack, a sneak-up.

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’Sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so.

Enter the Prince marching,
with Peto,
and Falstaff meets him playing upon his truncheon like a fife.

How now, lad, is the wind in that door, i’ faith? Must we all march?

BARDOLPH Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

HOSTESS,
to Prince
My lord, I pray you, hear me.

PRINCE What say’st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.

HOSTESS Good my lord, hear me.

FALSTAFF Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.

PRINCE What say’st thou, Jack?

FALSTAFF The other night I fell asleep here, behind the arras, and had my pocket picked. This house is turned bawdy house; they pick pockets.

PRINCE What didst thou lose, Jack?

FALSTAFF Wilt thou believe me, Hal, three or four bonds of forty pound apiece, and a seal ring of my grandfather’s.

PRINCE A trifle, some eightpenny matter.

HOSTESS 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.

PRINCE What, he did not!

HOSTESS There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

FALSTAFF 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.

HOSTESS Say, what thing, what thing?

FALSTAFF What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.

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HOSTESS I am no thing to thank God on, 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.

FALSTAFF Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

HOSTESS Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?

FALSTAFF What beast? Why, an otter.

PRINCE An otter, Sir John. Why an otter?

FALSTAFF Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.

HOSTESS Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou.

PRINCE Thou sayst true, hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly.

HOSTESS So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you owed him a thousand pound.

PRINCE Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

FALSTAFF A thousand pound, Hal? A million. Thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love.

HOSTESS Nay, my lord, he called you “jack,” and said he would cudgel you.

FALSTAFF Did I, Bardolph?

BARDOLPH Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

FALSTAFF Yea, if he said my ring was copper.

PRINCE I say ’tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now?

FALSTAFF 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.

PRINCE And why not as the lion?

FALSTAFF 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.

PRINCE O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about

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thy knees! But, sirrah, there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine. It is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou whoreson,

impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it! You will not pocket up wrong! Art thou not ashamed?

FALSTAFF Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell, and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my pocket.

PRINCE It appears so by the story.

FALSTAFF Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast, love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy

guests.

Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, begone. (Hostess exits.) Now, Hal, to the news at court. For the robbery, lad, how is that answered?

PRINCE O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. The money is paid back again.

FALSTAFF O, I do not like that paying back. ’Tis a double labor.

PRINCE I am good friends with my father and may do anything.

FALSTAFF Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.

BARDOLPH Do, my lord.

PRINCE I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

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WORCESTER

I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

MESSENGER

He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth, And, at the time of my departure thence, He was much feared by his physicians.

WORCESTER

I would the state of time had first been whole Ere he by sickness had been visited.

His health was never better worth than now.

HOTSPUR

Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect The very lifeblood of our enterprise.

’Tis catching hither, even to our camp.

He writes me here that inward sickness— And that his friends by deputation

Could not so soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust

On any soul removed but on his own;

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement

That with our small conjunction we should on

To see how fortune is disposed to us,

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Because the King is certainly possessed Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

WORCESTER

Your father’s sickness is a maim to us.

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Under whose government come they along?

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BARDOLPH Will you give me money, captain?

FALSTAFF Lay out, lay out.

BARDOLPH This bottle makes an angel.

FALSTAFF An if it do, take it for thy labor. An if it make twenty, take them all. I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town’s end.

BARDOLPH I will, captain. Farewell. He exits.

FALSTAFF If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have misused the King’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders,

yeomen’s

sons, inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns—such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the devil as a drum, such as fear the report of a caliver worse

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To thirty thousand.

HOTSPUR Forty let it be.

My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a day.

Come, let us take a muster speedily.

Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.

DOUGLAS

Talk not of dying. I am out of fear

Of death or death’s hand for this one half year.

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Scene 3

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon.

HOTSPUR

We’ll fight with him tonight.

WORCESTER It may not be.

DOUGLAS

You give him then advantage.

VERNON Not a whit.

HOTSPUR

Why say you so? Looks he not for supply?

VERNON So do we.

HOTSPUR His is certain; ours is doubtful.

WORCESTER

Good cousin, be advised. Stir not tonight.

^VERNON,
to Hotspur

Do not, my lord.

DOUGLAS You do not counsel well.

You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

VERNON

Do me no slander, Douglas. By my life

(And I dare well maintain it with my life),

If well-respected honor bid me on,

I hold as little counsel with weak fear

As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives. Let it be seen tomorrow in the battle Which of us fears. DOUGLAS Yea, or tonight.

VERNON Content.

HOTSPUR Tonight, say I.

VERNON

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