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  • Title: Henry IV, Part 1 (Folio 1 1623)
  • Editor: Rosemary Gaby

    • ISBN: 978-1-55058-371-7

    Copyright Rosemary Gaby. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Rosemary Gaby
    Peer Reviewed

    Henry IV, Part 1 (Folio 1 1623)

    58 The First Part of King Henry the Fourth.
    Prin. How now my Lady the Hostesse, what say'st
    thou to me?
    Hostesse. Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble man of the
    Court at doore would speake with you: hee sayes, hee
    1245comes from your Father.
    Prin. Giue him as much as will make him a Royall
    man, and send him backe againe to my Mother.
    Falst. What manner of man is hee?
    Hostesse. An old man.
    1250Falst. What doth Grauitie out of his Bed at Midnight?
    Shall I giue him his answere?
    Prin. Prethee doe Iacke.
    Falst. 'Faith, and Ile send him packing. Exit.
    Prince. Now Sirs: you fought faire; so did you
    1255Peto, so did you Bardol: you are Lyons too, you ranne
    away vpon instinct: you will not touch the true Prince;
    no, fie.
    Bard. 'Faith, I ranne when I saw others runne.
    Prin. Tell mee now in earnest, how came Falstaffes
    1260Sword so hackt?
    Peto. Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and said, hee
    would sweare truth out of England, but hee would make
    you beleeue it was done in fight, and perswaded vs to doe
    the like.
    1265Bard. Yea, and to tickle our Noses with Spear-grasse,
    to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments
    with it, and sweare it was the blood of true men. I did
    that I did not this seuen yeeres before, I blusht to heare
    his monstrous deuices.
    1270Prin. O Villaine, thou stolest a Cup of Sacke eigh-
    teene yeeres agoe, and wert taken with the manner, and
    euer since thou hast blusht extempore: thou hadst fire
    and sword on thy side, and yet thou ranst away; what
    instinct hadst thou for it?
    1275Bard. My Lord, doe you see these Meteors? doe you
    behold these Exhalations?
    Prin. I doe
    Bard. What thinke you they portend?
    Prin. Hot Liuers, and cold Purses.
    1280Bard. Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.
    Prin. No, if rightly taken, Halter.

    Enter Falstaffe.

    Heere comes leane Iacke, heere comes bare-bone. How
    now my sweet Creature of Bombast, how long is't agoe,
    1285Iacke, since thou saw'st thine owne Knee?
    Falst. My owne Knee? When I was about thy yeeres
    ( Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Waste, I could
    haue crept into any Aldermans Thumbe-Ring: a plague
    of sighing and griefe, it blowes a man vp like a Bladder.
    1290There's villanous Newes abroad; heere was Sir Iohn
    Braby from your Father; you must goe to the Court in
    the Morning. The same mad fellow of the North, Percy;
    and hee of Wales, that gaue Amamon the Bastinado,
    and made Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Deuill his true
    1295Liege-man vpon the Crosse of a Welch-hooke; what a
    plague call you him?
    Poin. O, Glendower.
    Falst. Owen, Owen; the same, and his Sonne in Law
    Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the sprightly
    1300Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runnes a Horse-backe vp a
    Hill perpendicular.
    Prin. Hee that rides at high speede, and with a Pistoll
    kills a Sparrow flying.
    Falst. You haue hit it.
    1305Prin. So did he neuer the Sparrow.
    Falst. Well, that Rascall hath good mettall in him,
    hee will not runne.
    Prin. Why, what a Rascall art thou then, to prayse him
    so for running?
    1310Falst. A Horse-backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee will
    not budge a foot.
    Prin. Yes Iacke, vpon instinct.
    Falst. I grant ye, vpon instinct: Well, hee is there too,
    and one Mordake, and a thousand blew-Cappes more.
    1315Worcester is stolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is
    turn'd white with the Newes; you may buy Land now
    as cheape as stinking Mackrell.
    Prin. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and this
    ciuill buffetting hold, wee shall buy Maiden-heads as
    1320they buy Hob-nayles, by the Hundreds.
    Falst. By the Masse Lad, thou say'st true, it is like wee
    shall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, art
    not thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heire apparant,
    could the World picke thee out three such Enemyes a-
    1325gaine, as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that
    Deuill Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Doth
    not thy blood thrill at it?
    Prin. Not a whit: I lacke some of thy instinct.
    Falst. Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow,
    1330when thou commest to thy Father: if thou doe loue me,
    practise an answere.
    Prin. Doe thou stand for my Father, and examine mee
    vpon the particulars of my Life.
    Falst. Shall I? content: This Chayre shall bee my
    1335State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion my
    Crowne.
    Prin. Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole, thy Gol-
    den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich
    Crowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne.
    1340Falst. Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of
    thee, now shalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke
    to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I
    haue wept, for I must speake in passion, and I will doe it
    in King Cambyses vaine.
    1345Prin. Well, heere is my Legge.
    Falst. And heere is my speech: stand aside Nobilitie.
    Hostesse. This is excellent sport, yfaith.
    Falst. Weepe not, sweet Queene, for trickling teares
    are vaine.
    1350Hostesse. O the Father, how hee holdes his counte-
    nance?
    Falst. For Gods sake Lords, conuey my trustfull Queen,
    For teares doe stop the floud-gates of her eyes.
    Hostesse. O rare, he doth it as like one of these harlotry
    1355Players, as euer I see.
    Falst. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine.
    Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou spendest thy
    time; but also, how thou art accompanied: For though
    the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faster it growes;
    1360yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it weares.
    Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word,
    partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of
    thine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lippe, that
    doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere
    1365lyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou so
    poynted at? Shall the blessed Sonne of Heauen proue a
    Micher, and eate Black-berryes? a question not to bee
    askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and
    take Purses? a question to be askt. There is a thing,
    1370Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is knowne to
    many
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