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Henry the Fourth, Part Two (Folio 1 1623)

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed
The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth.
85
Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit
for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee,
1370for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to
the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle.
Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt of
Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent?
Prince. You, Gentlewoman.
1375Dol. What sayes your Grace?
Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells
against.
Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the
doore there, Francis?

1380
Enter Peto.

Prince. Peto, how now? what newes?
Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,
And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,
Come from the North: and as I came along,
1385I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,
And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe.
Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,
So idly to prophane the precious time,
1390When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,
Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.
Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:
Falstaffe, good night.
Exit.
1395Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the
night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More
knocking at the doore? How now? what's the mat-
ter?
Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently,
1400A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you.
Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse,
farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of
Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when
the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches:
1405if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I
goe.
Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie
to burst--- Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy
selfe.
1410Falst. Farewell, farewell.
Exit.
Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee
these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an
honester, and truer-hearted man--- Well, fare thee
well.
1415Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet.
Host. What's the matter?
Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master.
Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.
Exeunt.


1420
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.


Enter the King, with a Page.

King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick:
But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters,
And well consider of them: make good speed.
Exit.
1425How many thousand of my poorest Subiects
Are at this howre asleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe,
Natures soft Nurse, how haue I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe,
And steepe my Sences in Forgetfulnesse?
1430Why rather (Sleepe) lyest thou in smoakie Cribs,
Vpon vneasie Pallads stretching thee,
And huisht with bussing Night, flyes to thy slumber,
Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great?
Vnder the Canopies of costly State,
1435And lull'd with sounds of sweetest Melodie?
O thou dull God, why lyest thou with the vilde,
In loathsome Beds, and leau'st the Kingly Couch,
A Watch-case, or a common Larum-Bell?
Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Mast,
1440Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines,
In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,
And in the visitation of the Windes,
Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
1445With deaff'ning Clamors in the slipp'ry Clouds,
That with the hurley, Death it selfe awakes?
Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy Repose
To the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre so rude:
And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,
1450With all appliances, and meanes to boote,
Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,
Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne.

Enter Warwicke and Surrey.

War. Many good-morrowes to your Maiestie.
1455King. Is it good-morrow, Lords?
War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past.
King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:)
Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?
War. We haue (my Liege.)
1460King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,
How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,
And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?
War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
1465With good aduice, and little Medicine:
My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd.
King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,
And see the reuolution of the Times
Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent
1470(Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfe
Into the Sea: and other Times, to see
The beachie Girdle of the Ocean
Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks
And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration
1475With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,
Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,
This Percie was the man, neerest my Soule,
1480Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires,
And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot:
Yea, for my sake, euen to the eyes of Richard
Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by
(You Cousin Neuil, as I may remember)
1485When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares,
(Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland)
Did speake these words (now prou'd a Prophecie:)
Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which
My