Henry IV, Part II

More rushes; more rushes.

The trumpets have blown twice.

It’ll be two o’clock before they arrive from the coronation. Hurry, hurry.

Stand here near me, Master Robert Shallow. I’ll make the King do good things for you: I’ll throw him a look as he passes by. Just watch the face he’ll make at me.

God bless your lungs, good knight.

Come here, Pistol. Stand behind me. (to SHALLOW) Oh, if I’d had time to make new clothes I would have spent the thousand pounds I borrowed from you. But it doesn’t matter. These poor clothes are better; it shows how desperate I was to see him.

It does indeed.

It shows how sincerely I love him—

It does indeed.

My devotion—

It does, it does, it does.

In a word, to ride all night; not to stop and think, not to dawdle, not to take the time to change my clothes—

It is best, no doubt about it.

Standing here filthy from traveling, and sweating with my desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, disregarding everything, as if the only thing in the world that mattered was seeing him.

That’s how it is. Nothing else matters. Semper idem. Obsque hoc nihil est.

That’s exactly right.

Knight, I’ll fire up your noble liver and make you enraged. Doll, the goddess of your thoughts, is imprisoned in a horrible jail, tossed there by a heartless and filthy hand. Stoke up dark revenge from your deepest belly and set loose the serpents of hell. Doll is in. Pistol speaks nothing but the truth.

I’ll set her free.

That was the roar of the sea. The clanging trumpet sounds!

God save your grace, King Hal! My royal Hal!

The heavens guard and protect you, you royal child of fame!

God save you, my sweet boy!

My Lord Chief Justice, go speak to that arrogant man.

(to FALSTAFF) Have you lost your mind? Do you know what you’re doing, talking like that?

My King! My God! I’m talking to you, my heart!

I know you not, old man. Get down on your knees and pray, for white hair doesn’t sit well on a fool and a clown. I have dreamed about such a man for a long time: a man so swollen with excess, so old and so obscene. But now that I have awakened, I despise that dream. Let your body lessen, and your manners increase; leave behind your overindulgence, and know that the grave gapes three times as wide for you than any other man. Don’t answer me with a foolish joke. Do not assume that I am what I was; for God knows, I have turned my back on my former self, and I will do the same to those who were my companions. When you hear that I am as I was, then come to me, and you will once again be what you were: the teacher and nurse to my wild, riotous ways. Until then, I banish you, on pain of death, as I have done to the other men who once misled me. Do not come within ten miles of me. I’ll grant you a modest allowance to live on, so that poverty will not lead you into evil. When I hear that you have reformed your ways, I will promote you as you deserve. (to CHIEF JUSTICE) It’s your job to see this order carried out. Let’s go.

Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.

Yes, indeed, Sir John. And I’d like to take it home with me.

That can’t happen, Master Shallow. Don’t let this upset you; I’ll get a private invitation to see him. Look, he has to appear this way to the world. Don’t worry about your good fortunes: I’m still the man who will make you great.

I don’t know how you’re going to do that, unless you give me your jacket and fill me out with stuffing. Please, Sir John, let me have five hundred of my thousand.

Sir, I’m as good as my word. What you heard here a minute ago was just a color; it was a pretense.

A color that I fear you’ll be buried in, Sir John.

Stop worrying about colors: come to lunch with me. Come, Lieutenant Pistol. Come, Bardolph. He’ll call for me tonight.

Go, take Sir John Falstaff away to jail, and take all his companions with him.

My lord, my lord—

I can’t talk now. I’ll listen to you later. Take them away.

Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta.

The King’s fair dealings please me. He wants to ensure that his old companions are provided for, but he banishes them until they can behave more properly and presentably.

That they are.

The King’s assembled his parliament, sir.

He has.

I’ll bet that, before the year ends, we’ll launch an invasion of France. I heard a little bird singing about it, and I think the music pleased the King. Come, will you leave with me?

First, I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of. Then, I’ll bow, and finally, I’ll make a speech. I fear that this play displeased you; I bow to you out of duty; and finally, I make this speech to ask you for forgiveness. If you’re expecting a good speech now, then I’m in trouble. For I wrote the words I’m about to say, and I’m sure that what I’m about to say will end up getting me in trouble. But I’ll get to the point, and thus I’ll get to the danger. You should know—as you seem to—that I recently came on this stage at the end of some other lousy play, to ask you to be patient and to promise you a better play the next time. I had intended to pay you back for that play with this one. If you didn’t like this play, then—like a businessman who has gambled on a risky venture—I am bankrupt; and you, my sweet creditors, are out of luck. I promised you I would be here, and here I stand to submit myself to your mercy. Give me some mercy and I’ll promise to pay you back again another time. That’s how debtors do it: they always promise to repay. If my talking can’t convince you to let me off the hook, then would you like me to dance? And yet, that would be a cheap payment, to dance myself out of debt. But a person with a good conscience will always seek to pay his debts, and I would do the same. All the women here have forgiven me: if the men won’t, then the men don’t agree with the women, which has never happened in a theater audience before. Just one more thing, if you don’t mind. If fatty meat hasn’t clogged you up yet, our playwright will continue the story with Sir John in it, and entertain you with the beautiful Princess Katharine of France. And speaking of France, as far as I know, Falstaff will die there of the sweating disease—unless, that is, he’s already been killed by your low opinions of him. Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not him. My mouth is tired; when my legs are, too, I’ll say goodnight and take a bow.