King Henry IV, Part One by William Shakespeare.
Title: King Henry IV, Part One.
Author: William Shakespeare.
Genre: Literature, fiction, play, tragedy.
Country: U.K.
Language: English.
Publication Date: ~1597.
Summary: Prince Hal, the son of King Henry IV, spends his time in idle pleasure with dissolute friends, among them the roguish Sir John Falstaff. But when the kingdom is threatened by rebellious forces, the prince must abandon his feckless ways. Ranging from taverns and brothels to the royal court and the battlefield, this play shows a prodigal son rising to meet his destiny as a ruler of men.
My rating: 8/10
My review:
♥ King. No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood,
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flow'rets with the armèd hoofs
Of hostile paces. Those opposèd eyes
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathèd knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulcher of Christ-
Whose soldier now, under whose blessèd cross
We are impressèd and engaged to fight-
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were molded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessèd feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
Therefor we meet not now.
♥ King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son:
A son who is the theme of honor's tongue,
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion and her pride;
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonor stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle clothes our children where they lay,
And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts.
♥ 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 wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art a king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none-
♥ Prince. Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.
♥ Prince. 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 labor in his vocation.
♥ Falstaff. 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. 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. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.
♥ 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.
♥ Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyoked humor 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 wond'red at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapors 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 behavior 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, glitt'ring 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 offense a skill,
Redeeming time when men think least I will.
♥ King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me, for accordingly
You tread upon my patience; but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty and to be feared, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
♥ Blunt. The circumstance considerèd, good my lord,
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
♥ King. Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason, and indent with fears
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve!
For I shall never hold that man my friend
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
♥ King. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
Exit King, [with Blunt, and train].
Hotspur. And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight
And tell him so, for I will ease my heart,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
♥ Hotspur. And when I urged the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale,
And on my face he turned an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
♥ Hotspur. But soft, I pray you, did King Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?
Northumberland. He did, myself did hear it.
Hotspur. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wished him on the barren mountains starve.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murderous subornation-shall it be
That you a world of curses undergo,
Being the agents or base second means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
O, pardon me that I descend so low
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtle king!
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
(As both of you, God pardon it, have done)
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken
That you are fooled, discarded, and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
No, yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banished honors and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again;
Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt
Of this proud king, who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
♥ Worcester. And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
Hotspur. If he fall in, good night, or sink, or swim!
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honor cross it from the north to south,
And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
♥ Hotspur. Nay, I will! That's flat!
He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll hollo "Mortimer."
Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but "Mortimer," and give it him
To keep his anger still in motion.
♥ Worcester. I speak not this in estimation,
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
Hotspur. I smell it.
♥ Worcester. ..and our pow'rs at once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
Northumberland. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
Hotspur. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!
♥ Second Carrier. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
♥ Gadshill. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with mr, and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! There are other Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the profession some grace; that would (if matters should be looked into) for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no footlandrakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray-and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their saint, the commonwealth, or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.
♥ Gadshill. We steal as in a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk invisible.
Chamberlain. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
♥ Gadshill. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.
Chamberlain. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
Gadshill. Go to; "homo" is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
♥ Falstaff. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged. It could not be else: I have drunk medicines. ..A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true to one another! (They whistle.) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues! Give me my horse and be hanged!
♥ Prince. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
Falstaff. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt your grandfather, but yet no coward, Hal.
Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof.
♥ Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever.
♥ Hotspur. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous"-why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
♥ Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offense have I this fortnight been
A banished women from my Harry's bed?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry "Courage! To the field!" And thou hast talked
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appeared,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, lest he loves me not.
♥ Hotspur. Away, away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns,
And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
Lady. Do you not love me? Do you not indeed?
Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Hotspur. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a-horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate:
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must, and-to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise-but yet no farther wise
Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are-
But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
No lady closer-for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate-
Lady. How? So far?
Hotspur. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
Whiter I go, thither shall you go too;
Today will I set forth, tomorrow you.
Will this content you, Kate?
Lady. It must of force.
♥ Falstaff. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man. Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it-a villainous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There lives not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A plague of all coward, I say still! ..I call thee coward? I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing, give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk today.
Prince. O villain, thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk'st last.
Falstaff. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all cowards, still say I.
♥ Gadshill. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Falstaff. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else-Ebrew Jew.
♥ Falstaff. I tell thee what, Hal-if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
♥ Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them-gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
Falstaff.What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?
..Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Falstaff. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, and I were at the trappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
Prince. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh-
Falstaff. 'Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stockfish-O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
♥ Prince. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
Bardolph. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?
Prince. I do.
Bardolph. What think you they portend?
Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bardolph. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.
♥ Falstaff. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore thew devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook-what a plague call you him? ..Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away tonight; thy father's beard is turned white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maiden-heads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.
♥ Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my life.
Falstaff. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.
♥ Hostess. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
Falstaff. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
♥ Falstaff. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
..Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, so youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
♥ Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Falstaff. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Falstaff. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith.
Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humors, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? Wherein cunning, but in craft? Wherein crafty, but in villainy? Wherein villainous, but in all things? Wherein worthy, but in nothing?
Falstaff. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace?
Prince. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
Falstaff. My lord, the man I know.
Prince. I know thou dost.
Falstaff. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned. If to be fat to be hated, then pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
Prince. I do, I will.
♥ Prince. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
Falstaff. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.
♥ Mortimer. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.
♥ Glendower. ..and with a rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.
Hotspur. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glendower. I cannot blame him. At my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
Of burning cressets, and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shakèd like a coward.
..I say the earth did shake when I was born.
..The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
..Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have marked me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipped 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.
♥ 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!
♥ Glendower. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was trained up in the English court,
Where, being but young, I framèd 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 meter ballad-mongers.
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turned
Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree,
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry.
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.
♥ Worcester. In faith, my lord, you are too willful-blame,
And since your coming hither have done enough
To put him quite besides 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 schooled. Good manners be your speed!
♥
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