Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  And all the courses of my life do show

  I am not in the roll of common men.

  Where is he living, clipp’d in with the sea

  That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,

  Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?

  And bring him out that is but woman’s son

  Can trace me in the tedious ways of art

  And hold me pace in deep experiments.

  Hotspur

  I think there’s no man speaks better Welsh.

  I’ll to dinner.

  Mortimer

  Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

  Glendower

  I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

  Hotspur

  Why, so can I, or so can any man;

  But will they come when you do call for them?

  Glendower

  Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command

  The devil.

  Hotspur

  And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil

  By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.

  If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,

  And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.

  O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

  Mortimer

  Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

  Glendower

  Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head

  Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye

  And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent him

  Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

  Hotspur

  Home without boots, and in foul weather too!

  How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name?

  Glendower

  Come, here’s the map: shall we divide our right

  According to our threefold order ta’en?

  Mortimer

  The archdeacon hath divided it

  Into three limits very equally:

  England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,

  By south and east is to my part assign’d:

  All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,

  And all the fertile land within that bound,

  To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you

  The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.

  And our indentures tripartite are drawn;

  Which being sealed interchangeably,

  A business that this night may execute,

  To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I

  And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth

  To meet your father and the Scottish power,

  As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.

  My father Glendower is not ready yet,

  Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.

  Within that space you may have drawn together

  Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.

  Glendower

  A shorter time shall send me to you, lords:

  And in my conduct shall your ladies come;

  From whom you now must steal and take no leave,

  For there will be a world of water shed

  Upon the parting of your wives and you.

  Hotspur

  Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,

  In quantity equals not one of yours:

  See how this river comes me cranking in,

  And cuts me from the best of all my land

  A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.

  I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up;

  And here the smug and silver Trent shall run

  In a new channel, fair and evenly;

  It shall not wind with such a deep indent,

  To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

  Glendower

  Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.

  Mortimer

  Yea, but

  Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up

  With like advantage on the other side;

  Gelding the opposed continent as much

  As on the other side it takes from you.

  Earl Of Worcester

  Yea, but a little charge will trench him here

  And on this north side win this cape of land;

  And then he runs straight and even.

  Hotspur

  I’ll have it so: a little charge will do it.

  Glendower

  I’ll not have it alter’d.

  Hotspur

  Will not you?

  Glendower

  No, nor you shall not.

  Hotspur

  Who shall say me nay?

  Glendower

  Why, that will I.

  Hotspur

  Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.

  Glendower

  I can speak English, lord, as well as you;

  For I was train’d up in the English court;

  Where, being but young, I framed to the harp

  Many an English ditty lovely well

  And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,

  A virtue that was never seen in you.

  Hotspur

  Marry,

  And I am glad of it with all my heart:

  I had rather be a kitten and cry mew

  Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;

  I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d,

  Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;

  And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,

  Nothing so much as mincing poetry:

  ’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

  Glendower

  Come, you shall have Trent turn’d.

  Hotspur

  I do not care: I’ll give thrice so much land

  To any well-deserving friend;

  But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,

  I’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

  Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

  Glendower

  The moon shines fair; you may away by night:

  I’ll haste the writer and withal

  Break with your wives of your departure hence:

  I am afraid my daughter will run mad,

  So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

  Exit Glendower

  Mortimer

  Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

  Hotspur

  I cannot choose: sometime he angers me

  With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant,

  Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,

  And of a dragon and a finless fish,

  A clip-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven,

  A couching lion and a ramping cat,

  And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff

  As puts me from my faith. I tell you what;

  He held me last night at least nine hours

  In reckoning up the several devils’ names

  That were his lackeys: I cried “hum,” and “well, go to,”

  But mark’d him not a word. O, he is as tedious

  As a tired horse, a railing wife;

  Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live

  With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,

  Than feed on cates and have him talk to me

  In any summer-house in Christendom.

  Mortimer

  In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,

  Exceedingly well read, and profited

  In strange concealments, valiant as a lion

  And as wondrous affable and as bountiful

  As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?

  He holds your temper in a high respect

  And curbs himself even of his natural scope

  When you come ’cross his humour; faith, he does:

  I warrant you, that man is not alive

  Might so have tempted him as you have done,

  Without the taste of danger and reproof:

  But do not use it
oft, let me entreat you.

  Earl Of Worcester

  In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;

  And since your coming hither have done enough

  To put him quite beside his patience.

  You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:

  Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,—

  And that’s the dearest grace it renders you,—

  Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,

  Defect of manners, want of government,

  Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:

  The least of which haunting a nobleman

  Loseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stain

  Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

  Beguiling them of commendation.

  Hotspur

  Well, I am school’d: good manners be your speed!

  Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

  Re-enter Glendower with the ladies

  Mortimer

  This is the deadly spite that angers me;

  My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

  Glendower

  My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;

  She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars.

  Mortimer

  Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy

  Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

  Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same

  Glendower

  She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon.

  The lady speaks in Welsh

  Mortimer

  I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh

  Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens

  I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

  In such a parley should I answer thee.

  The lady speaks again in Welsh

  I understand thy kisses and thou mine,

  And that’s a feeling disputation:

  But I will never be a truant, love,

  Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue

  Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d,

  Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower,

  With ravishing division, to her lute.

  Glendower

  Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

  The lady speaks again in Welsh

  Mortimer

  O, I am ignorance itself in this!

  Glendower

  She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down

  And rest your gentle head upon her lap,

  And she will sing the song that pleaseth you

  And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.

  Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,

  Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep

  As is the difference betwixt day and night

  The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team

  Begins his golden progress in the east.

  Mortimer

  With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing:

  By that time will our book, I think, be drawn

  Glendower

  Do so;

  And those musicians that shall play to you

  Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,

  And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

  Hotspur

  Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

  Lady Percy

  Go, ye giddy goose.

  The music plays

  Hotspur

  Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;

  And ’tis no marvel he is so humorous.

  By’r lady, he is a good musician.

  Lady Percy

  Then should you be nothing but musical for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

  Hotspur

  I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

  Lady Percy

  Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

  Hotspur

  No.

  Lady Percy

  Then be still.

  Hotspur

  Neither;’tis a woman’s fault.

  Lady Percy

  Now God help thee!

  Hotspur

  To the Welsh lady’s bed.

  Lady Percy

  What’s that?

  Hotspur

  Peace! she sings.

  Here the lady sings a Welsh song

  Hotspur

  Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.

  Lady Percy

  Not mine, in good sooth.

  Hotspur

  Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a comfit-maker’s wife. “Not you, in good sooth,” and “as true as I live,” and “as God shall mend me,” and “as sure as day,”

  And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

  As if thou never walk’st further than Finsbury.

  Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

  A good mouth-filling oath, and leave “in sooth,”

  And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,

  To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.

  Come, sing.

  Lady Percy

  I will not sing.

  Hotspur

  ’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.

  Exit

  Glendower

  Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow

  As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

  By this our book is drawn; we’ll but seal,

  And then to horse immediately.

  Mortimer

  With all my heart.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. LONDON. THE PALACE.

  Enter King Henry IV, Prince Henry, and others

  King Henry IV

  Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I

  Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,

  For we shall presently have need of you.

  Exeunt Lords

  I know not whether God will have it so,

  For some displeasing service I have done,

  That, in his secret doom, out of my blood

  He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me;

  But thou dost in thy passages of life

  Make me believe that thou art only mark’d

  For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven

  To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,

  Could such inordinate and low desires,

  Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,

  Such barren pleasures, rude society,

  As thou art match’d withal and grafted to,

  Accompany the greatness of thy blood

  And hold their level with thy princely heart?

  Prince Henry

  So please your majesty, I would I could

  Quit all offences with as clear excuse

  As well as I am doubtless I can purge

  Myself of many I am charged withal:

  Yet such extenuation let me beg,

  As, in reproof of many tales devised,

  which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,

  By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,

  I may, for some things true, wherein my youth

  Hath faulty wander’d and irregular,

  Find pardon on my true submission.

  King Henry IV

  God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,

  At thy affections, which do hold a wing

  Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

  Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost.

  Which by thy younger brother is supplied,

  And art almost an alien to the hearts

  Of all the court and princes of my blood:

  The
hope and expectation of thy time

  Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man

  Prophetically doth forethink thy fall.

  Had I so lavish of my presence been,

  So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men,

  So stale and cheap to vulgar company,

  Opinion, that did help me to the crown,

  Had still kept loyal to possession

  And left me in reputeless banishment,

  A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.

  By being seldom seen, I could not stir

  But like a comet I was wonder’d at;

  That men would tell their children “This is he;”

  Others would say “Where, which is Bolingbroke?”

  And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

  And dress’d myself in such humility

  That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,

  Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,

  Even in the presence of the crowned king.

  Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;

  My presence, like a robe pontifical,

  Ne’er seen but wonder’d at: and so my state,

  Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast

  And won by rareness such solemnity.

  The skipping king, he ambled up and down

  With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,

  Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,

  Mingled his royalty with capering fools,

  Had his great name profaned with their scorns

  And gave his countenance, against his name,

  To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push

  Of every beardless vain comparative,

  Grew a companion to the common streets,

  Enfeoff’d himself to popularity;

  That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes,

  They surfeited with honey and began

  To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little

  More than a little is by much too much.

  So when he had occasion to be seen,

  He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

  Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes

  As, sick and blunted with community,

  Afford no extraordinary gaze,

  Such as is bent on sun-like majesty

  When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;

  But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,

  Slept in his face and render’d such aspect

  As cloudy men use to their adversaries,

  Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.

  And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;

  For thou has lost thy princely privilege

  With vile participation: not an eye

  But is a-weary of thy common sight,

  Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;

  Which now doth that I would not have it do,

  Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

  Prince Henry

  I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,

  Be more myself.

  King Henry IV