King Henry IV, Part 2

by William Shakespeare

FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and
of
what place, I pray?
COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the
Dale.
FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your
degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your
name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place—a
place
deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale.
COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield,
sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the
drops
of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse
up
fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought
yield me.
FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of
mine;
and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my
name.
An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the
most
active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.
Here comes our general.

Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND,
BLUNT, and others

PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now.
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
Exit WESTMORELAND
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When everything is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.
FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I
never
knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do
you
think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor
and
old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither
with
the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine
score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have,
in
my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the
Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of
that?
He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the
hook-nos'd
fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame.
PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I
beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this
day's
deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad
else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing
my
foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all
show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of
fame,
o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the
element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the
word
of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert
mount.
PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount.
FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then.
PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine.
FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me
good,
and call it what you will.
PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville?
COLVILLE. It is, my lord.
PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville.
FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him.
COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are
That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.
FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a
kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for
thee.

Re-enter WESTMORELAND

PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit?
WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution.
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
Exeunt BLUNT and others
And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords.
I hear the King my father is sore sick.
Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him
And we with sober speed will follow you.
FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through
Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good
lord,
pray, in your good report.
PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
Exeunt all but FALSTAFF
FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your
dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth
not
love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh—but that's no
marvel;
he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys
come
to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
and
making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male
green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches.
They
are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be
too,
but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold
operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there
all
the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it;
makes it
apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and
delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the
tongue,
which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second
property of
your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which
before,
cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the
badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms
it,
and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes.
It
illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all
the
rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital
commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their
captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this
retinue,
doth any deed of courage—and this valour comes of sherris.
So
that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that
sets
it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil
till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof
comes
it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did
naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile,
and
bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent
endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris,
that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand
sons,
the first humane principle I would teach them should be to
forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

Enter BARDOLPH

How now, Bardolph!
BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone.
FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there
will
I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already
temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I
seal
with him. Come away. Exeunt

SCENE IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber

Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF
GLOUCESTER,
WARWICK, and others

KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
Our navy is address'd, our power connected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested,
And everything lies level to our wish.
Only we want a little personal strength;
And pause us till these rebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.
WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty
Shall soon enjoy.
KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
Where is the Prince your brother?
PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at
Windsor.
KING. And how accompanied?
PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord.
KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here.
CLARENCE. What would my lord and father?
KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
Thou hast a better place in his affection
Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
By seeming cold or careless of his will;
For he is gracious if he be observ'd.
He hath a tear for pity and a hand
Open as day for melting charity;
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd.
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth;
But, being moody, give him line and scope
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion—
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in—
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum or rash gunpowder.
CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.
KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?
CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.
KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th'unguided days
And rotten times that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!
WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
The Prince but studies his companions
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd,
Your Highness knows, comes to no further use
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live
By which his Grace must mete the lives of other,
Turning past evils to advantages.
KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
In the dead carrion.