Excerpt from Henry IV - anthology.

Excerpt from Henry IV - anthology. Henry IV, Parts I and II, continue the quartet of history plays begun with Richard II and ending with Henry V. In the Henry IV plays, however, Shakespeare makes much use of comedy, particularly in the portrayal of Sir John Falstaff, to provide light relief and to offer parallels to, and a level of commentary on, the main plot. In Richard II, King Henry IV had usurped the throne from Richard; in Henry IV, Part I, he finds himself facing rebellion from both his subjects and his own son and heir, Prince Hal. Hal is the real focus of the plays: together they trace his development from a seemingly wayward youth, enjoying the company and influence of an ignoble father-figure, Falstaff, to the loyal son and future king who will prove triumphant in Henry V. The first scene presented here, taken from Part I, shows Hal idling with Falstaff and his friends; yet even though he agrees to join in their plan to commit a robbery, his final speech begins to set the stage for the transformation that is to come. The second scene, the deathbed scene from Part II, movingly portrays the moment at which Hal is reconciled to his true father, and takes up his destiny: the crown of England. Henry IV, Part I Act 1, Scene ii Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff FALSTAFF. Now Hal, what time of day is it lad? PRINCE HAL. 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 wouldst 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-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. FALSTAFF. Indeed, you come near me now Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not "by Phoebus, he, that wandering knight so fair". And I prithee sweet wag, when thou art King, as God save thy grace--majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none-- PRINCE HAL. What, none? FALSTAFF. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HAL. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly. FALSTAFF. 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 of the moon. And 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. PRINCE HAL. Thou sayest 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, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swearing "Lay by!", and spent with crying "Bring in!", 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. FALSTAFF. By the Lord thou sayest true lad--and is not my Hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HAL. As the honey of Hybia, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? FALSTAFF. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? PRINCE HAL. Why, what a pox have I to do with my Hostess of the tavern? FALSTAFF. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft. PRINCE HAL. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF. No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HAL. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would not I have used my credit. FALSTAFF. Yea, and so used it that were it not here, apparent that thou art heir apparent--but I prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art King? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with the rusty curb of old Father Antic the law? Do not thou when thou art King hang a thief. PRINCE HAL. No, thou shalt. FALSTAFF. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge! PRINCE HAL. Thou judgest false already! I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. FALSTAFF. Well, Hal, well! And in some sort it jumps with my humour--as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. PRINCE HAL. For obtaining of suits? FALSTAFF. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. PRINCE HAL. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HAL. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moorditch? FALSTAFF. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative rascalliest sweet young prince. But Hal, I prithee 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. PRINCE HAL. Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it. FALSTAFF. O, thou hast damnable iteration, 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 than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over. By the Lord, an I do not I am a villain. I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HAL. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? FALSTAFF. Zounds, where thou wilt lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me a villain and baffle me. PRINCE HAL. I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking. FALSTAFF. Why Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Enter Poins Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match! O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand!' to a true man.PRINCE HAL. Good morrow, Ned. POINS. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack--and Sugar? Jack! How agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last, for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? PRINCE HAL. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due. POINS. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. PRINCE HAL. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS. But my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o'clock early at Gad's Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have vizards for you all--you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If you will not, tarry at home and be hanged. FALSTAFF. Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going. POINS. You will, chops? FALSTAFF. Hal, wilt thou make one? PRINCE HAL. Who I? Rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HAL. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF. Why, that's well said. PRINCE HAL. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art King. PRINCE HAL. I care not. POINS. Sir John, I prithee leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go. FALSTAFF. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may--for recreation sake--prove a false thief, for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell, you shall find me in Eastcheap. PRINCE HAL. Farewell, the latter spring! Farewell, All hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS. Now my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid--yourself and I will not be there. And when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them--cut this head off from my shoulders. PRINCE HAL. How shall we part with them in setting forth? POINS. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting--wherein it is at our pleasure to fail--and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but we'll set upon them. PRINCE HAL. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment to be ourselves. POINS. Tut, our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood. Our vizards we will change after we leave them. And, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.PRINCE HAL. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. POINS. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as truebred cowards as ever turned back, and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper. How thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured, and in the reproof of this lives the jest. PRINCE HAL. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me tomorrow night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell. POINS. Farewell, my lord. Exit PRINCE HAL. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humour of your idleness. Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wondered at By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But when they seldom come, they wished-for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promisèd, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes. And like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill, Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit Henry IV, Part II Act 4, Scene v They take up the King and lay him on a bed KING HENRY IV. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends, Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit. WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room. KING HENRY IV. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. WARWICK. Less noise, less noises Enter Prince Henry PRINCE HENRY. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. PRINCE HENRY. How now, rain within doors, and none abroad? How doth the King? GLOUCESTER. Exceeding ill. PRINCE HENRY. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. GLOUCESTER. He altered much upon hearing it. PRINCE HENRY. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic. WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low; The King your father is disposed to sleep. CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room. WARWICK. Will't please your grace to go along with us? PRINCE HENRY. No, I will sit and watch here by the King. Exeunt all but Prince Henry Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polished perturbation! Golden care! That keepest the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scaldest with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not; Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! My father! This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorced So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, Which nature, love, and filial tenderness Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. He puts the crown on his head Lo where it sits, Which God shall guard, and put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me. This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. Exit KING HENRY IV. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, and attendant lords CLARENCE. Doth the King call? WARWICK. What would your majesty? KING HENRY IV. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you. KING HENRY IV. The Prince of Wales? Where is he? Let me see him. He is not here. WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way. GLOUCESTER. He came not through the chamber where we stayed. KING HENRY IV. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow? WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. KING HENRY IV. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose My sleep my death? Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. Exit Warwick This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are. How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, Their brains with care, their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and pillèd up The cankered heaps of strange-achievèd gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises; When, like the bee tolling from every flower, Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive; and like the bees Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste Yields his engrossments to the ending father. Enter Warwick Now where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness have determined me? WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, That tyranny, which never quaffed but blood, Would, by beholding him, have washed his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. KING HENRY IV. But wherefore did he take away the crown? Enter Prince Henry Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.-- Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. Exeunt all except King Henry IV and Prince Henry PRINCE HENRY. I never thought to hear you speak again. KING HENRY IV. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seekest the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind That it will quickly drop; my day is dim. Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours Were thine without offence, and at my death Thou hast sealed up my expectation. Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself, And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear That thou art crownèd, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head; Only compound me with forgotten dust. Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; For now a time is come to mock at form-- Harry the Fifth is crowned! Up, vanity! Down, royal state! All you sage counsellors, hence! And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? Be happy, he will trouble you no more. England shall double gild his treble guilt; England shall give him office, honour, might; For the fifth Harry from curbed licence plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! PRINCE HENRY. (kneels) O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, The moist impediments unto my speech, I had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown, And He that wears the crown immortally Long guard it yours! If I affect it more Than as your honour and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, Which my most inward true and duteous spirit Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending. God witness with me, when I here came in And found no course of breath within your majesty, How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, O, let me in my present wildness die, And never live to show th'incredulous world The noble change that I have purposèd! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, I spake unto this crown as having sense, And thus upbraided it: "The care on thee depending Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore thou best of gold art worse than gold. Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in medicine potable; But thou, most fine, most honoured, most renowned, Hast eat thy bearer up." Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on my head, To try with it, as with an enemy That had before my face murdered my father, The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride, If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did with the least affection of a welcome Give entertainment to the might of it, Let God for ever keep it from my head, And make me as the poorest vassal is That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! KING HENRY IV. God put it in thy mind to take it hence, That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, By what by-paths and indirect crooked ways I met this crown, and I myself know well How troublesome it sat upon my head. To thee it shall descend with better quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation, For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seemed in me But as an honour snatched with boisterous hand, And I had many living to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances, Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, Wounding supposèd peace. All these bold fears Thou seest with peril I have answerèd, For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument. And now my death Changes the mood, for what in me was purchased Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort, So thou the garland wearest successively. Yet though thou standest more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out, By whose fell working I was first advanced, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displaced; which to avoid, I cut them off, and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land, Lest rest and lying still might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels, that action hence borne out May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God forgive, And grant it may with thee in true peace live! PRINCE HENRY. You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Then plain and right must my possession be, Which I with more than with a common pain 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, and attendant lords KING HENRY IV. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father! KING HENRY IV. Thou bringest me happiness and peace, son John, But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare withered trunk. Upon thy sight My worldly business makes a period. Where is my lord of Warwick? PRINCE HENRY. My lord of Warwick! KING HENRY IV. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? WARWICK. 'Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord. KING HENRY IV. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me, many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem, Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land. But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt