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About this text

  • 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)

    64 The First Part of King Henry the Fourth.
    Through Glocestershire: by which account,
    Our Businesse valued some twelue dayes hence,
    Our generall Forces at Bridgenorth shall meete.
    2000Our Hands are full of Businesse: let's away,
    Aduantage feedes him fat, while men delay. Exeunt.

    Scena Tertia.

    Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.

    Falst. Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, since this
    2005last action? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Why
    my skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies loose
    Gowne: I am withered like an olde Apple Iohn. Well,
    Ile repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking:
    I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall haue no
    2010strength to repent. And I haue not forgotten what the
    in-side of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper-Corne, a
    Brewers Horse, the in-side of a Church. Company, villa-
    nous Company hath beene the spoyle of me.
    Bard. Sir Iohn, you are so fretfull, you cannot liue
    Falst. Why there is it: Come, sing me a bawdy Song,
    make me merry: I was as vertuously giuen, as a Gentle-
    man need to be; vertuous enough, swore little, dic'd not
    aboue seuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-house not
    2020aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I
    borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good
    compasse: and now I liue out of all order, out of com-
    Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir Iohn, that you must
    2025needes bee out of of all compasse; out all reasonable
    compasse, Sir Iohn.
    Falst. Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thy
    Life: Thou art our Admirall, thou bearest the Lanterne
    in the Poope, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art the
    2030Knight of the burning Lampe.
    Bard. Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme.
    Falst. No, Ile be sworne: I make as good vse of it, as
    many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori.
    I neuer see thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues
    2035that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning,
    burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would
    sweare by thy Face; my Oath should bee, By this Fire:
    But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede,
    but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darke-
    2040nesse. When thou ran'st vp Gads-Hill in the Night, to
    catch my Horse, if I did not thinke that thou hadst beene
    an Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchase
    in Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euer-
    lasting Bone-fire-Light: thou hast saued me a thousand
    2045Markes in Linkes and Torches, walking with thee in the
    Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that
    thou hast drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as
    good cheape, as the dearest Chandlers in Europe. I haue
    maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time
    2050this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it.
    Bard. I would my Face were in your Belly.
    Falst. So should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.
    Enter Hostesse.
    How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yet
    2055who pick'd my Pocket?
    Hostesse. Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn?
    doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my House? I haue
    search'd, I haue enquired, so haz my Husband, Man by
    Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a
    2060hayre was neuer lost in my house before.
    Falst. Ye lye Hostesse: Bardolph was shau'd, and lost
    many a hayre; and Ile be sworne my Pocket was pick'd:
    goe to, you are a Woman, goe.
    Hostesse. Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd so
    2065in mine owne house before.
    Falst. Goe to, I know you well enough.
    Hostesse. No, sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn:
    I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, and
    now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought
    2070you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe.
    Falst. Doulas, filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them
    away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of
    Hostesse. Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight
    2075shillings an Ell: You owe Money here besides, Sir Iohn,
    for your Dyet, and by-Drinkings, and Money lent you,
    foure and twentie pounds.
    Falst. Hee had his part of it, let him pay.
    Hostesse. Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath no-
    Falst. How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What call
    you Rich? Let them coyne his Nose, let them coyne his
    Cheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make a
    Younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inne,
    2085but I shall haue my Pocket pick'd? I haue lost a Seale-
    Ring of my Grand-fathers, worth fortie Marke.
    Hostesse. I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know not
    how oft, that that Ring was Copper.
    Falst. How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake-Cuppe:
    2090and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge,
    if hee would say so.

    Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaffe meets
    him, playing on his Trunchion
    like a Fife.

    2095Falst. How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore?
    Must we all march?
    Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
    Hostesse. My Lord, I pray you heare me.
    Prince. What say'st thou, Mistresse Quickly? How
    2100does thy Husband? I loue him well, hee is an honest
    Hostesse. Good, my Lord, heare mee.
    Falst. Prethee let her alone, and list to mee.
    Prince. What say'st thou, Iacke?
    2105Falst. The other Night I fell asleepe heere behind the
    Arras, and had my Pocket pickt: this House is turn'd
    Bawdy-house, they picke Pockets.
    Prince. What didst thou lose, Iacke?
    Falst. Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bonds
    2110of fortie pound apeece, and a Seale-Ring of my Grand-
    Prince. A Trifle, some eight-penny matter.
    Host. So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your
    Grace say so: and (my Lord) hee speakes most vilely of
    2115you, like a foule-mouth'd man as hee is, and said, hee
    would cudgell you.
    Prince. What hee did not?
    Host. There's neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hood
    in me else.
    Falst. There's