Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
Following the mirror of all Christian kings
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits expectation in the air
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,
Promised to Harry and his followers.
The French, advised by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,
Shake in their fear, and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England!—model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,
What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural?
But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out:
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men—
One, Richard, Earl of Cambridge; and the second
Henry, Lord Scrope of Masham; and the third
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland—
Have, for the gilt of France—O guilt indeed!—
Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France;
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
If hell and treason hold their promises,
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on, and we’ll digest
Th’abuse of distance, force—perforce—a play.
The sum is paid, the traitors are agreed,
The King is set from London, and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton.
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit,
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass—for if we may
We’ll not offend one stomach with our play.
But till the King come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit
2.1 Enter Corporal Nim and Lieutenant Bardolph
BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nim.
NIM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
BARDOLPH What, are Ensign Pistol and you friends yet?
NIM For my part, I care not. I say little, but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles—but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one, but what though? It will toast cheese, and it will endure cold, as another man’s sword will—and there’s an end.
BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends, and we’ll be all three sworn brothers to France. Let’t be so, good Corporal Nim.
NIM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the certain of it, and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it.
BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly, and certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.
NIM I cannot tell. Things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time, and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may. Though Patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter Ensign Pistol and Hostess Quickly
BARDOLPH Good morrow, Ensign Pistol. (To Nim) Here comes Ensign Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be patient here.
⌈NIM⌉ How now, mine host Pistol?
PISTOL
Base tick, call’st thou me host? Now by Gad’s lugs
I swear I scorn the term. Nor shall my Nell keep
lodgers.
HOSTESS No, by my troth, not long, for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. ⌈Nim draws his sword⌉ O well-a-day, Lady! If he be not hewn now, we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. 36 ⌈Pistol draws his sword⌉
BARDOLPH Good lieutenant, good corporal, offer nothing here.
NIM Pish.
PISTOL
Pish for thee, Iceland dog. Thou prick-eared cur of
Iceland.
HOSTESS Good Corporal Nim, show thy valour, and put
up your sword.
They sheathe their swords
NIM Will you shog off? I would have you solus.
PISTOL
‘Solus’, egregious dog? O viper vile!
The solus in thy most marvellous face,
The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea in thy maw pardie—
And which is worse, within thy nasty mouth.
I do retort the solus in thy bowels,
For I can take, and Pistol’s cock is up,
And flashing fire will follow.
NIM I am not Barbason, you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms. If you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may, and that’s the humour of it.
PISTOL
O braggart vile, and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape and doting death is near.
Therefore ex-hale.
Pistol and Nim draw their swords
BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say.
⌈He draws his sword⌉
He that strikes the first stroke, I’ll run him up to the
hilts, as I am a soldier.
PISTOL
An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate.
⌈They sheathe their swords⌉
(To Nim) Give me thy fist, thy forefoot to me give. 65
Thy spirits are most tall.
NIM I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms, that is the humour of it.
PISTOL Couple a gorge,
That is the word. I thee defy again.
O hound of Crete, think‘st thou my spouse to get?
No, to the spital go,
And from the powd’ring tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she, and—pauca, there’s enough. Go to.
Enter the Boy ⌈running⌉
BOY Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess. He is very sick, and would to bed.—Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan.—Faith, he’s very ill.
BARDOLPH Away, you rogue!
HOSTESS By my troth, he’ll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The King has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exit ⌈with Boy⌉
BARDOLPE Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together. Why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another’s throats?
PISTOL Let floods o‘erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
NIM You’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
PISTOL Base is the slave that pays.
NIM That now I will have. That’s the humour of it.
PISTOL
As manhood shall compound. Push home.
Pistol and Nim draw their swords
BARDOLPH ⌈drawing his sword⌉ By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I’ll kill him. By this sword, I will.
PISTOL
Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.⌈He sheathes his sword⌉
BARDOLPH Corporal Nim, an thou wilt be friends, be friends. An thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up.
NIM I shall have my eight shillings?
PISTOL
A noble shalt thou have, and present pay,
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
I’ll live by Nim, and Nim shall live by me.
Is not this just? For I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
NIM I shall have my noble?
PISTOL In cash, most justly paid.
NIM Well then, that’s the humour of’t. ⌈Nim and Bardolph sheathe their swords.⌉ Enter Hostess Quickly
HOSTESS As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart, he is so shaked of a burning quotidian-tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. ⌈Exit⌉
NIM The King hath run bad humours on the knight, that’s the even of it.
PISTOL Nim, thou hast spoke the right. His heart is fracted and corroborate.
NIM The King is a good king, but it must be as it may. He passes some humours and careers.
PISTOL
Let us condole the knight—for, lambkins, we will live. Exeunt
2.2 Enter the Dukes of Exeter and ⌈Gloucester⌉, and the Earl of Westmorland
⌈GLOUCESTER⌉
Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these traitors.
EXETER
They shall be apprehended by and by.
WESTMORLAND
How smooth and even they do bear themselves,
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.
⌈GLOUCESTER⌉
The King hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
EXETER
Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,
Whom he hath dulled and cloyed with gracious
favours—
That he should for a foreign purse so sell
His sovereign’s life to death and treachery.
Sound trumpets. Enter King Harry, Lord Scrope, the
Earl of Cambridge, and Sir Thomas Grey
KING HARRY
Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
My lord of Cambridge, and my kind lord of Masham,
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.
Think you not that the powers we bear with us
Will cut their passage through the force of France,
Doing the execution and the act
For which we have in head assembled them?
SCROPE
No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
KING HARRY
I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded
We carry not a heart with us from hence
That grows not in a fair consent with ours,
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.
CAMBRIDGE
Never was monarch better feared and loved
Than is your majesty. There’s not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.
GREY
True. Those that were your father’s enemies
Have steeped their galls in honey, and do serve you
With hearts create of duty and of zeal.
KING HARRY
We therefore have great cause of thankfulness,
And shall forget the office of our hand
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit,
According to their weight and worthiness.
SCROPE
So service shall with steelèd sinews toil,
And labour shall refresh itself with hope,
To do your grace incessant services.
KING HARRY
We judge no less.—Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday
That railed against our person. We consider
It was excess of wine that set him on,
And on his more advice we pardon him.
SCROPE
That’s mercy, but too much security.
Let him be punished, sovereign, lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
KING HARRY
O let us yet be merciful.
CAMBRIDGE
So may your highness, and yet punish too.
GREY
Sir, you show great mercy if you give him life,
After the taste of much correction.
KING HARRY
Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch.
If little faults proceeding on distemper
Shall not be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye
When capital crimes, chewed, swallowed, and digested,
Appear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man,
Though Cambridge, Scrope, and Grey, in their dear care
And tender preservation of our person,
Would have him punished. And now to our French causes.
Who are the late commissioners?
CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord.
Your highness bade me ask for it today.
SCROPE
So did you me, my liege.
GREY And I, my royal sovereign.
KING HARRY
Then Richard, Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
There yours, Lord Scrope of Masham, and sir knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours.
Read them, and know I know your worthiness.—
My lord of Westmorland, and Uncle Exeter,
We will aboard tonight.—Why, how now, gentlemen?
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion?—Look ye how they change:
Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there
That have so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance?
CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault,
And do submit me to your highness’ mercy.
GREY and SCROPE To which we all appeal.
KING HARRY
The mercy that was quick in us but late
By your own counsel is suppressed and killed.
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy,
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.—
See you, my princes and my noble peers,
These English monsters? My lord of Cambridge here,
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appurtenants
Belonging to his honour; and this vile man
Hath for a few light crowns lightly conspired
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton. To the which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But O
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scrope, thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature?
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew‘st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost mightst ha’ coined me into gold
Wouldst thou ha’ practised on me for thy use:
May it be possible that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange
That though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black on white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason and murder ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose,
Working so grossly in a natural cause
That admiration did not whoop at them;
But thou, ‘gainst all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder.
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so prepo
sterously
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence.
And other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetched
From glist’ring semblances of piety;
But he that tempered thee, bade thee stand up,
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same demon that hath gulled thee thus
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back
And tell the legions, ‘I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman’s.’
O how hast thou with jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance. Show men dutiful?
Why so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?
Why so didst thou. Come they of noble family?
Why so didst thou. Seem they religious?
Why so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnished and decked in modest complement,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in purged judgement trusting neither?
Such, and so finely boulted, didst thou seem.
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
To mark the full-fraught man, and best endowed,
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee,
For this revolt of thine methinks is like
Another fall of man.—Their faults are open.
Arrest them to the answer of the law,
And God acquit them of their practices.
EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard, Earl of Cambridge.—I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry, Lord Scrope of Masham.—I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.
SCROPE
Our purposes God justly hath discovered,
And I repent my fault more than my death,
Which I beseech your highness to forgive
Although my body pay the price of it.
CAMBRIDGE
For me, the gold of France did not seduce,
Although I did admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended.
But God be thankèd for prevention,
Which heartily in sufferance will rejoice,
Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
GREY
Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason
Than I do at this hour joy o’er myself,
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 198
