Henry IV, Part I

Bardolph, haven’t I shrivelled since our last robbery? Haven’t I gotten thin? Aren’t I shrinking? My skin is hanging off me like a loose gown on an old lady; I’m puckered like a rotten apple. I’d better repent my sins, and fast, while there’s still something left of me. I’ll be in bad shape soon, and then I won’t have the strength to repent. If I haven’t forgotten what the inside of a church looks like, I’m a withered berry, a lame old nag. The inside of a church! The wrong crowd, the wrong crowd has ruined me.

Sir John, you complain so much, you’re sure not to live much longer.

You’re absolutely right. Come on then, sing me a dirty song. Make me laugh. I lived my life as properly as a gentleman should. Well, properly enough, anyway. I didn’t swear much. I didn’t gamble—more than seven days a week. I went to a whorehouse no more than once—every fifteen minutes. I paid my debts—three or four times. I lived well and within reasonable boundaries. And now, I live poorly and out of moderation.

You’re so fat, Sir John, that you have no choice but to live out of moderation: moderation could not fit you.

You fix your face and I’ll fix my life. You’re like the flagship of our fleet, with a light on its bow—except that your light is in your nose.

Why, Sir John, my face isn’t hurting you.

No, you’re right. I actually get some good from your face: it’s like a skull, or a death token. I can’t look at your face without thinking of the flames of hell, and Dives from the Bible, who burned eternally. If there were anything pious about you, I could swear oaths on your face. I could say, “Now, by this fire, which is God’s angel …” But you’re a complete sinner, and if it weren’t for the light in your face, you’d be the son of darkness. When you ran up Gadshill at night to find my horse, I could have sworn you were a will-o-the-wisp or a fireball. You’re an endless torchlight parade, a permanent bonfire. Walking with you from tavern to tavern at night has saved me a thousand marks in candles and flashlights. But the money I’ve spent on wine for you would have been enough to buy the most expensive candles in Europe. I’ve kept that nose of yours burning for thirty-two years, God bless me.

Dammit! I wish my face were in your belly.

God have mercy! Then I’d surely have heartburn.

Hello there, Madame Clucking Chicken! Have you figured out yet who picked my pocket?

Now Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I have thieves in my establishment? I’ve searched, I’ve asked questions; so has my husband. We’ve asked every man, boy and servant here. No one’s ever lost so much as a fraction of a hair in this tavern before.

You lie! Bardolph got a shave here, and he lost a lot of hair. And I swear my pocket was picked. To hell with you, you’re a woman. To hell with you.

Who, me? No, I say. By God, I’ve never been called such a thing in my own tavern before.

Oh come on, I know all about you.

No, Sir John; you don’t know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John. You owe me money, Sir John, and now you’re making a fuss so that you can cheat me out of it. I have bought you a dozen shirts to wear.

Junk, cheap junk. I gave them away to bakers’ wives, to sift flour with.

I swear, as an honest woman, that they were made of expensive fabric, eight shillings an ell. Besides, you owe me money for food and drink, plus twenty-four pounds I lent you.

(points at BARDOLPH) He had some of it. Let him pay.

Him? He’s poor, he has nothing.

What? Poor? Look at his face. What do you call rich? They could make coins from his nose, mint his cheeks. I won’t pay a denier. You think I’m a rube? What, I can’t relax at a tavern without getting my pocket picked? I lost my grandfather’s sealing ring, worth forty marks.

Jesus! I’ve heard the Prince tell him countless times that ring was only made out of copper.

What? The Prince is a bastard, a sneak. Dammit, if he were here and said something like that, I’d beat him like a dog.

Hey there, lad! Is that what’s happening? Are we all going to march?

Yes, side by side, like prisoners to the gallows.

My lord, please, listen to me.

What is it, Mistress Quickly? How’s your husband? I think highly of him; he’s an honest man.

My lord, please listen to me.

Forget about her, and listen to me.

What is it, Jack?

The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and I had my pocket picked. This bar’s like a whorehouse: they pick your pockets.

What did you lose, Jack?

Would you believe it, Hal? Three or four I.O.U.’s worth forty pounds each, and my grandfather’s sealing ring.

Junk, not worth more than eight pennies.

That’s what I said, my lord. And I said I’d heard you say so, and then he said awful things about you, like the foul-mouthed man that he is. He said he’d beat you.

What? He did?

If he didn’t, I’m not faithful, trustworthy or womanly.

You’re about as faithful as a whore, as trustworthy as a fox on the run, and—as for womanhood—a man in a dress is the minister’s wife compared to you. Get out of here, you thing, get out.

Thing? What thing?

What thing? A thing to say “thank God” for.

I am not a thing to say “thank God” for, I want you to know; I am an honest man’s wife. And ignoring the fact that you are a knight, you are a brute for calling me that.

Well, if you ignore the fact that you’re a woman, then I suppose that would make you an animal.

What animal, you brute?

What animal? Why, an otter.

An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?

Because she’s not quite a fish and not quite a mammal. A man wouldn’t know where to put her.

You’re awful for saying so: you or any man would know where to put me, you brute, you!

You’re right, hostess, and he has really insulted you.

He insulted you, too, my lord. Just the other day, he said you owed him a thousand pounds.

Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pounds?

A thousand pounds, Hal? A million. Your love is worth a million, and you owe me your love.

No, sir. He called you a bastard and said he’d beat you.

Did I, Bardolph?

Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

That’s right, if he said my ring was junk and made of copper.

And I do say that it’s made of copper. So will you dare keep your word and beat me?

Hal, know this: if you were only a man, I would dare. But since you’re also a Prince, I’m scared of you, as much as I’m scared by the roar of a lion’s cub.

Why the cub and not the lion?

Only the King is as frightening as the lion. You think I’m as scared of you as I am of your father? If I am, I pray to God for my belt to break.

Oh, but if it did, your guts would fall down to your knees! Sirrah, there’s no room in your chest for trustworthiness, truthfulness, or honesty. It’s all filled up with guts and stomach. Accuse an honest woman of picking your pocket? You son of a whore; you rude, bloated cheat. I’ll be damned if there was anything in your pocket besides tavern bills, notes about whorehouses, and a penny’s worth of candy for energy. If you had anything else in your pockets, then I’m a liar; yet you stand by your lies. You won’t even try to hide how bad you are. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

Don’t you know, Hal? Adam fell from grace when the world was innocent. What should poor Jack Falstaff do, now that the world is wicked? You see I have more flesh than other men. It follows that I’m more fallible than other men.—So you’re confessing to picking my pocket?

It looks that way.

Hostess, I forgive you. Go get breakfast ready; love your husband; tend to your servants; cherish your guests. You’ll find me a perfectly reasonable man. See? I’m calm, as always. Now please, get going!

Now Hal, what’s the news at court? What ever happened about our robbery?

I’m your guardian angel again, you fresh piece of meat. The money’s been paid back.

I don’t like that “paying back.” It means twice the work!

My father and I are friends again, and I can do whatever I want.

Then rob the treasury right away, and don’t even delay long enough to wash your hands.

Do it, my lord.

I have gotten you an infantry company to command, Jack.

I wish it were the horse brigade. Where can I recruit a talented crook? Oh, if I only had a gifted thief, about twenty-two years old! I’m terribly lacking in help. Well, thank God for these rebels. The only people they bother are the good people. I like that. I honor and salute them.

Bardolph!

My lord?

Deliver this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, my brother. Give this one to Westmoreland.

Peto, get to your horse, get to your horse! You and I have to be thirty miles from here by lunchtime.

Jack, meet me at Temple Hall at two o’clock tomorrow. You’ll get the list of your troops there, plus some money and an order for their equipment. The country is on fire, and Percy’s riding high. Either they or we must die.

Well spoken! What a splendid world! Bring my breakfast, hostess! I wish that I could lead my troops from here!