Henry IV, Part I

How bloody the sun looks as it peers over that massive hill. The day looks pale—it must be sick to see the sun in such a mood.

The southern wind is playing its trumpet, to announce to the world what the sun means. And judging by the whistling leaves, it’s going to be a stormy, windy day.

Then let it take the losers’ side. To winners, nothing seems unpleasant.

Hello there, my lord of Worcester! It isn’t right that you and I are meeting under these circumstances. You have betrayed my trust. You forced me to put aside my comfortable peacetime clothing and instead have made me crush my old body into hard, military armor. That isn’t right, sir, that isn’t right. What do you have to say about it? Will you untie this ill-tempered knot of hateful war? Will you return to my loyalty? When you circled me, your King, in your obedient orbit, you shone beautifully and naturally. Now you blaze like a comet: a fearful omen, and a signal that evil will be released into the future.

Listen, my lord. For me, I would love nothing more than to spend my old age in peace and quiet. I protest: I did not seek out this day of aggression.

You did not seek it? Then how did it come here?

Rebellion was standing in front of him, and he bumped into it.

Quiet, you chatterer, quiet!

(to the KING) Your Highness chose to turn your back on me and my family. I must remind you, sir, that we were your first and dearest friends. For you, I quit my position under Richard, and ran day and night to meet you on the road and kiss your hand. At that time, you were far less powerful than I was. But my brother, his son, and I brought you home and ignored the danger. At Doncaster you swore an oath to us that you were not going to challenge the King; all you wanted was your late father’s estate, the dukedom of Lancaster, and in this we promised to help you. But soon, good luck began to pour on you like rain, and a flood of greatness fell upon you. You had a swarm of advantages: you had our assistance; and the King had been away so long; and the country was suffering under violence; and you seemed to have been so grievously wronged; and difficult winds were keeping Richard so long in those unlucky Irish wars, people thought he was dead. You seized the opportunity, and used the general feeling to your advantage. You forgot the oath you swore to us at Doncaster. We nourished you, but you used us, like the cuckoo bird uses the sparrow: you settled in our nest, ate our food, and as you grew, you crowded us out. We loved you, but we couldn’t even come near you, for fear that you’d swallow us up. For our own safety, we were forced to run away and secretly raise this army. And now we stand with it, armed with powers that you yourself have caused to stand against you. You treated us poorly, you looked at us with anger, and you broke the faith and trust you swore to us when you were younger.

You’ve said all this already. You’ve announced it in marketplaces, given sermons on it in churches. You’ve tried to make rebellion look pleasant in the eyes of all the fickle turncoats and poor malcontents, who laugh and clap eagerly at the news that a revolution is coming. But rebellion always trades in these kinds of thin excuses, and never lacks angry beggars, desperate for mayhem and chaos.

Both our armies are full of men who will make the ultimate sacrifice in this battle, once it starts. Tell your nephew that the Prince of Wales joins the whole world in praising Henry Percy. Except for his current endeavor, I don’t think there’s a man alive who is braver, more heroic, more daring, or more bold. As for me, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve shirked my responsibilities. I hear that he agrees with me on that point. And yet—and I say this in front of my father—in order to avoid casualties on both sides, I want to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat. And I’m content to admit that, based on his good name and reputation, he’s the favorite to win.

Prince of Wales, I’d support that idea, except that there are countless reasons why I shouldn’t. No, Worcester, no. I love my subjects, even those who have mistakenly followed your nephew’s lead. If they accept our pardon, then he, you, and they will all be my friends again, and I’ll be theirs. Tell your nephew this, and bring back his answer. But if he doesn’t surrender, he will be rebuked and harshly punished. So, be gone. I don’t want to hear anymore from you now. I offer a fair deal; I advise you to accept it.

He won’t accept. I’ll bet my life on it. Douglas and Hotspur are convinced that they could take on the whole world together.

Then everyone get to their battalions. As soon as they respond, we’ll attack. May God be with us. Our cause is just!

Hal, if you see me fall in battle, stand over me, like this. It would be an act of friendship.

Only a giant could do you that friendship. Say your prayers, and farewell.

I wish it were bedtime, Hal, and everything were okay.

But you owe God a death.

It’s not due yet. I’d hate to pay him before the due date. Why should I be so eager to pay him before he even asks for it? Well, it doesn’t matter: honor spurs me on. Yeah, but what if honor spurs me off once I’m on, and picks me out to die? What happens then? Can honor set a broken leg? No. Or an arm? No. Can it make a wound stop hurting? No. Honor can’t perform surgery, then? No. What is honor? A word. What is in that word, “honor?” What is that “honor?” Air. Quite a bargain! Who has it? A guy who died last Wednesday. Does he feel it? No. Does he hear it? No. It can’t be detected, then? Right—not by the dead, anyway. But won’t it live with the living? No. Why? Slander won’t allow it. That’s why I don’t want any part of it. Honor is nothing more than a gravestone, and that concludes my catechism.