Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both || And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.—14) Aum. Boling. Enter AUMERLE, hastily. Where is the king? What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 11) If but the first, how heinous ere it be, To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Boling. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear. [Drawing. York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy king: Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. [BOLINGBROKE opens the door. Enter YORK. Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past: I do repent me; read not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate, 12) and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages, Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 13) York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping father's gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door; A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can. York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels. Boling. Rise up, good aunt. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I kneel upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. [Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly, and would be denied; We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: || His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. stand up; Duch. Nay, do not say But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up. Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? With all my heart With all the rest of that consorted crew, Boling. Our scene is alter'd,—from a serious thing, || Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.— Good uncle, help to order several powers thee new. SCENE IV. Enter EXTON, and a Servant. Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so? Those were his very words. Ha, ha! keep time: How sour sweet music is, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, twice, And urg'd it twice together; did he not? Serv. He did. Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; SCENE V. [Exeunt. Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. Enter King RICHARD. While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock. 2o) Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare As thus, Come, little ones; and then again, --- With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd - [Music. That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? Keep. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely; K. Rich. How now? what means death in this Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [He kills another, then ExTON strikes him down. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: SCENE VI. [Exeunt. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Welcome, my lord: What is the news? Enter FITZWATER. That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of CARLISLE. A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, [Exeunt. ACT I. SCENE SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and others. K. Henry. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Sir RICHARD VERNON. Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. POINS. PETO. BARDOLPH. Lady PERCY, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Lady MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to Mortimer. Mistress QUICKLY, Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. What yesternight our council did decree, 7) And a thousand of his people butchered: lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 2) Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood, 10) did sir Walter see And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? West. In faith, of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we - steal. P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, K. Hen. Yea, there thou makʼst ine sad, and mak'st and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. me sin In envy that my lord Northumberland Should be the father of so blest a son: 12) Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this: Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we SCENE II. [Exeunt. Another Room in the Palace. - lay by; 7) and spent with crying bring in: 18) now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a very sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? 19) Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. - Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent, But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 20) Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, 2) or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. *2) P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare 2) or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? 24) The same. Enter HENRY Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and colour'd taffata; I see no reason, why thou should'start, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet be so superfluous to demand the time of the day? Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars: and not by Phoebus, he, that wand'ring knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,) — P. Hen. What! none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions young prince, But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the street, and no man regards it. Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration: 25) and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better |