Henry IV, Part I

Gentlemen, please leave; the Prince of Wales and I must speak in private. But stay close by, for I’ll need you in a moment.

I don’t know whether God decided, because of some displeasing crime I have committed, to turn my own flesh and blood into a punisher and a plague upon me. The course of your life has me convinced that you are only meant for one purpose in this world: to be God’s vengeance against me for all my misdeeds. Why else would such disorderly and low desires, such poor, such wretched, such lewd, such despicable actions, such wasteful pleasures, and such vulgar company become associated with your high-born self, and call themselves equals with a Prince like you?

Your majesty, I wish I could be proven innocent of all those accusations, for I can certainly clear myself of many of them. But let me beg one favor of you: if I can demonstrate that I’m not guilty of the false charges of these smiling flatterers and wretched gossips (the kinds of stories that are always told about great men), then you will forgive me when I confess to the youthful indiscretions I actually did commit.

Let God forgive you! But I’m amazed, Harry, at your inclinations, which run completely contrary to those of your ancestors. Your vulgar behavior has cost you your place on my council, a position now held by your younger brother. You have almost completely alienated yourself from the good graces of the courtiers and the other members of the royal family. The hopes of your youth are now ruined; every man, in his heart, thinks he can see your downfall. If I had been so publicly visible, so overly familiar to people, so freely accessible, so cheap and available to the common hordes, then public opinion (which helped me get the crown) would have stayed loyal to King Richard. I would have stayed a banished man, with no reputation and no promise of success. But because I was so rarely seen in public, people were amazed by me when I did appear; they acted as if I were a comet. Men would tell their children, “That’s him!” Others would ask, “Where? Which one’s Bolingbroke?” I was more gracious than heaven; I acted so modestly that I won the allegiance of their hearts, and the shouts and salutes of their mouths. They even did so when the King himself was present. This is how I kept myself fresh and new. I was like a priest’s ceremonial vestments: rarely seen, but admired. I appeared seldomly, but marvelously, like a feast made all the more impressive by its rarity. Now, ridiculous King Richard pranced about with vapid clowns and superficial wits, quickly lit and just as quickly burnt out. He degraded himself, mingling his royal self with those skipping fools.

His reputation was ruined by their scornful attitudes. He lost face by laughing with those joking boys, and tolerating the rudeness of every smooth-faced, disdainful prankster. He spent his time in common, public places, surrendering himself to the pursuit of popularity. Soon, they saw him every day and it was like overdosing on honey; they began to hate the taste of that sweetness. A little too much is as bad as far too much. Seeing him became as common a sight as a cuckoo in June—heard but not paid attention to; seen, but by eyes so used to seeing that they took it for granted. They didn’t look with a special gaze, as they do at the sun when it shines only rarely. Instead, they grew bored, they looked away. They slept in front of him and watched him dully, the way a sullen man looks at his enemy. They were stuffed, gorged, and full with his presence. And that is just where you stand, Harry. You have lost your princely status by associating with vile criminals: there’s not an eye in the kingdom that isn’t weary of looking at you. No eyes except mine, that is, which had wished to see more of you; and now they’re acting against me, blinding themselves with foolish tears.

From now on, my very gracious father, I will behave more like myself.

At this moment, you seem just like Richard did when I returned from France to lead the revolt. And just as I was then, Percy seems now. I swear on my scepter and my soul, he has more of a right to the throne than you, you shadowy copy of a king. For without a right to the throne—nor anything even resembling a right—he has filled the kingdom’s battlefields with armies. He seeks to lead an army against the King, into the jaws of the lion. And even though he is no older than you are, he leads old statesmen and venerable bishops into bloody battles and violent wars. What lasting honor he won, by beating the renowned Douglas! That man’s great exploits, violent invasions, and glorious military reputation had won him praise throughout the Christian world as the most outstanding soldier. And yet Hotspur, this Mars in baby clothes, this infant warrior, has defeated Douglas three times, captured him once, then freed him and made him his ally. Now they have become a huge threat to my throne. And what do you have to say about this? Percy, Northumberland, the Archbishop of York, Douglas, and Mortimer have banded together, and now they are after me. But why am I telling you this? Why should I tell you about my foes, Harry, when you are my most beloved and most dangerous enemy? With your sycophantic fear, your vulgar inclinations, and your short temper, I wouldn’t be surprised if you left me to fight under Percy, following his heels like a dog and bowing to him when he frowns. Just to prove what a degenerate you are.

Don’t think that; that will not happen. God forgive whoever turned you against me like this! I’ll redeem myself by beating Percy. And at the end of some glorious victory, I’ll come to you and proudly say that I am your son. I will wear a garment made of blood, and my face will be stained by a bloody mask which, when washed away, will clean me of my shame. This will be the day, whenever it happens, that this famous and honored child—this brave Hotspur, this highly praised knight—will meet your disregarded Harry in battle. I wish that every honor he’s earned were multiplied, and that every one of my shames were doubled. For the time will come when I’ll make this youth from the north exchange his glorious deeds for my embarrassments. Percy is working for me, my lord. He’s collecting glories on my behalf, and I’m going to hold him strictly accountable for them. He’ll either have to surrender every last one of those glories to me, no matter how small, or I’ll tear them right out of his heart. This I promise you, in the name of God. And if God allows me to do these things, then I beg you to heal the wound caused by my long years of bad behavior. If not, then my death will cancel all my debts. I would rather die a hundred-thousand deaths than break even the smallest part of this promise.

Through this vow, a hundred-thousand rebels are killed. You will be given a position of command, and absolute trust in this undertaking.

What’s wrong, Blunt? You look like there’s an emergency.

There is, which is what I’ve come to tell you. Lord Mortimer of Scotland sent word that Douglas and the English rebels met at Shrewsbury, on the eleventh of this month. If everyone involved keeps their word, they will have an army as enormous and terrifying as any that ever caused trouble in this kingdom.

We heard this news five days ago. The Earl of Westmoreland left today, along with my son Lord John of Lancaster. Harry, you’ll go next Wednesday. On Thursday, I will go myself. We’ll meet at Bridgenorth. Harry, you will march through Gloucestershire. Given the amount of time we’ll all need, we should come together with our full forces at Bridgenorth twelve days from now. There’s a lot to do, so let’s go. Our enemies will take advantage if we’re slow.