Original
Modern English
Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I Must have some private conference; but be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.
Lords, leave us for a moment; the Prince of Wales and I Must have a private conversation; but stay close, For we will soon need you.
I know not whether God will have it so, For some displeasing service I have done, That, in his secret doom, out of my blood He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me; But thou dost in thy passages of life Make me believe that thou art only mark’d For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, Could such inordinate and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, Such barren pleasures, rude society, As thou art match’d withal and grafted to, Accompany the greatness of thy blood And hold their level with thy princely heart?
I’m not sure if God wills this, But perhaps for some wrong I’ve done, He will bring vengeance from my bloodline And punish me. But you, in the way you live, Make me believe you’re marked out For God’s punishment, to make me suffer. Tell me, could such low and disorderly desires, Such poor, shameful, or base attempts, Such barren pleasures, uncivil company, Like yours, match the greatness of your blood And stand alongside your noble heart?
So please your majesty, I would I could Quit all offences with as clear excuse As well as I am doubtless I can purge Myself of many I am charged withal: Yet such extenuation let me beg, As, in reproof of many tales devised, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander’d and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission.
Your majesty, I wish I could Clear all my wrongs with such an easy excuse As I am sure I can clear myself Of many accusations I’m facing: But let me ask for this small mercy, That, to correct the many stories told about me, Which greatness often hears, From flattering sycophants and gossipmongers, I may, for the mistakes I’ve made in my youth, Be pardoned, by my sincere repentance.
God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. Which by thy younger brother is supplied, And art almost an alien to the hearts Of all the court and princes of my blood: The hope and expectation of thy time Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man Prophetically doth forethink thy fall. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men, So stale and cheap to vulgar company, Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Had still kept loyal to possession And left me in reputeless banishment, A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir But like a comet I was wonder’d at; That men would tell their children ’This is he;’ Others would say ’Where, which is Bolingbroke?’ And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress’d myself in such humility That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, Even in the presence of the crowned king. Thus did I keep my person fresh and new; My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne’er seen but wonder’d at: and so my state, Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast And won by rareness such solemnity. The skipping king, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state, Mingled his royalty with capering fools, Had his great name profaned with their scorns And gave his countenance, against his name, To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push Of every beardless vain comparative, Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoff’d himself to popularity; That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes As, sick and blunted with community, Afford no extraordinary gaze, Such as is bent on sun-like majesty When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down, Slept in his face and render’d such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries, Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full. And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; For thou has lost thy princely privilege With vile participation: not an eye But is a-weary of thy common sight, Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more; Which now doth that I would not have it do, Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
God forgive you! But I wonder, Harry, About your feelings, which are so far removed From those of all your ancestors. You’ve lost your place in council. Your younger brother now fills that role, And you’re almost a stranger to the hearts Of all the court and the royal family: The hope and expectation of your future Is destroyed, and everyone’s soul Seems to predict your downfall. If I had been so careless with my presence, So common in the eyes of the people, So worn out and easy to find among the masses, Public opinion, which helped me gain the crown, Would have turned against me, And I would have been left in obscurity, A person of no importance or promise. By staying hidden, I couldn’t help but stir Curiosity, like a comet, I was admired; People would say ’This is he!’ Others would ask ’Where is Bolingbroke?’ And then I took all humility from Heaven, And dressed myself so modestly That I gained loyalty from men’s hearts, Shouts of greeting from their mouths, Even in the presence of the crowned king. This way I kept my image fresh and new; My presence, like a ceremonial robe, Was never seen except with awe: and so my status, Rarely but grand, was like a feast Won by its rarity and solemnity. The restless king, he shuffled around With shallow jesters and foolish wits, Flaring up quickly and dying out just as fast; mixing his state, Merging his royal duties with foolish jesters, Letting his name be dishonored by their ridicule And using his authority to laugh with mocking children, Or stand by as they challenged him, Grew one of the common people, Surrendered himself to the whims of popularity; That, being so constantly visible, People soon became tired of him, And started to hate the sweetness of his presence, Since too much of anything is never good. So when he had reason to be seen, He was like the cuckoo in June, Heard, but ignored; seen, but with dull eyes That, tired and accustomed to him, Didn’t give him the admiration he deserved, As is the case with the rare majesty That is seldom admired; instead, they just let their eyelids droop, Sleeping in his presence and giving him a tired, dull look As people do to their adversaries, Being full and satisfied with his presence. And in that very place, Harry, you stand; For you’ve lost your royal privilege By associating with the common folk: no one Wants to see you anymore, Except for me, who still wishes to see you more; But now even I, foolishly, blind myself with false affection.
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself.
From now on, my most gracious lord, I will be more myself.
For all the world As thou art to this hour was Richard then When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, And even as I was then is Percy now. Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot, He hath more worthy interest to the state Than thou the shadow of succession; For of no right, nor colour like to right, He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws, And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on To bloody battles and to bruising arms. What never-dying honour hath he got Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions and great name in arms Holds from all soldiers chief majority And military title capital Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ: Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas, ta’en him once, Enlarged him and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deep defiance up And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The Archbishop’s grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capitulate against us and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near’st and dearest enemy? Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, Base inclination and the start of spleen To fight against me under Percy’s pay, To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns, To show how much thou art degenerate.
The way you are now, that’s how Richard was When I first came to England from France, And just like I was back then, Percy is now. Now, by my royal staff and my soul too, He has more legitimate claim to the throne Than you, the mere shadow of a successor; Because, with no real right or any resemblance of it, He fills the fields with soldiers all over the kingdom, Challenges the king’s forces with great courage, And, though he’s as young as you, Leads old lords and respected bishops Into bloody battles and brutal fighting. What eternal glory has he earned Against the famous Douglas! whose great deeds, Whose bold raids and illustrious name in battle Make him the leader among all soldiers And the highest military title In all the Christian kingdoms: Three times this Hotspur, like a god of war, This young warrior, has defeated great Douglas, captured him once, Set him free and made him an ally, To fill the challenge with defiance And shake the security of our throne. And what do you think about all this? Percy, Northumberland, The Archbishop of York, Douglas, Mortimer, All have united against us and are rising up. But why am I telling you this news? Why, Harry, am I telling you about my enemies, Who are also your closest and dearest enemies? You, who, out of fear of your vassals, Weakness, and anger Might fight against me for Percy, Follow him like a dog, bowing to his frowns, Showing just how much you have fallen.
Do not think so; you shall not find it so: And God forgive them that so much have sway’d Your majesty’s good thoughts away from me! I will redeem all this on Percy’s head And in the closing of some glorious day Be bold to tell you that I am your son; When I will wear a garment all of blood And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it: And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights, That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. For every honour sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes, and on my head My shames redoubled! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; And I will call him to so strict account, That he shall render every glory up, Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here: The which if He be pleased I shall perform, I do beseech your majesty may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: If not, the end of life cancels all bands; And I will die a hundred thousand deaths Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
Don’t think that, you won’t find it to be true: And may God forgive those who have so much turned Your majesty’s good opinion against me! I will make up for all this by defeating Percy, And on a glorious day, I will boldly tell you that I am your son; When I will wear a garment soaked in blood And stain my reputation with a bloody mask, Which, washed away, will cleanse my shame with it: And that will be the day, whenever it comes, That I, this son of honour and fame, This brave Hotspur, this praised knight, And your unconsidered Harry happen to meet. For every honour that sits on his helmet, I wish there were many of them, and on my head My shame would be doubled! For the time will come, That I will make this northern youth trade His glorious deeds for my disgrace. Percy is just my agent, good my lord, To gather glory for me; And I will make him answer for it, So that he gives back every bit of glory, Even the smallest tribute of his time, Or I will rip the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here: If He is willing, I will fulfill it, I ask your majesty to heal The long-standing wounds of my recklessness: If not, the end of life cancels all obligations; And I will die a hundred thousand deaths Before breaking even the smallest part of this vow.
A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.
A hundred thousand rebels will die for this: You shall have charge and full trust in this.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
How’s it going, good Blunt? You look in a hurry.
So hath the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word That Douglas and the English rebels met The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer’d foul play in the state.
The business I have to speak of is urgent. Lord Mortimer of Scotland has sent word That Douglas and the English rebels met On the 11th of this month at Shrewsbury, They’re a powerful and dangerous group, If promises are kept on all sides, As often happens with traitors in the state.
The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; by which account, Our business valued, some twelve days hence Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. Our hands are full of business: let’s away; Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.
The Earl of Westmoreland left today; With him, my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this message is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you will set out; On Thursday, we will march ourselves: we’ll meet At Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you will march Through Gloucestershire; by which time, Based on our plans, in about twelve days, Our main forces will meet at Bridgenorth. Our hands are full of work: let’s get going; Opportunity makes him stronger while men hesitate.
Eastcheap. The Boar’s-Head Tavern.
Eastcheap. The Boar’s-Head Tavern.
Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my skin hangs about me like an like an old lady’s loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well, I’ll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer’s horse: the inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me.
Bardolph, haven’t I really fallen apart since this last fight? Am I not getting worse? Am I not shrinking? Why, my skin is hanging off me like an old lady’s loose gown; I’m withered like an old apple. Well, I’ll repent, and quickly, while I still feel some energy; I’ll soon lose heart, and then I won’t have the strength to repent. If I haven’t forgotten what a church looks like, I am a peppercorn, a brewer’s horse: the inside of a church! Bad company, villainous company, has been my downfall.
Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.
Sir John, you’re so irritable, you won’t live much longer.
Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.
Well, there it is: come sing me a dirty song; make me laugh. I was as virtuous as a gentleman could be; virtuous enough; swore little; didn’t gamble more than seven times a week; went to a brothel once every quarter hour; paid back the money I borrowed, three or four times; lived well and within reasonable limits: and now I live without any order, out of all bounds.
Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
Well, you’re so fat, Sir John, that you must surely be out of all bounds, out of all reasonable bounds, Sir John.
Do thou amend thy face, and I’ll amend my life: thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, but ’tis in the nose of thee; thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.
You fix your face, and I’ll fix my life: You’re our leader, you carry the lantern in the rear, but it’s in your nose; you’re the Knight of the Burning Lamp.
Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
Well, Sir John, my face doesn’t do you any harm.
No, I’ll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a Death’s-head or a memento mori: I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be ’By this fire, that’s God’s angel:’ but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler’s in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire any time this two and thirty years; God reward me for it!
No, I swear, I get just as much use out of it as many a man does from a skull or a reminder of death: I never see your face without thinking of hellfire and Dives, the rich man in purple; because there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If you were at all inclined to virtue, I would swear on your face; my oath would be ’By this fire, that’s God’s angel:’ but you’re completely lost; and if it weren’t for the light in your face, you’d be the son of total darkness. When you ran up Gadshill in the night to steal my horse, if I didn’t think you were some kind of will-o’-the-wisp or a ball of wildfire, there’s no profit in money. Oh, you are a constant triumph, an eternal bonfire-light! You’ve saved me a thousand pounds in torches and candles, walking with you at night between tavern and tavern: but the wine you’ve drunk from me would have bought me lights just as cheap at the priciest candle shop in Europe. I’ve kept that fire-breathing salamander of yours going for thirty-two years; God reward me for it!
’Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!
Damn it, I wish my face were in your belly!
God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.
God bless you! Then I’d be sure to have heartburn.
How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired yet who picked my pocket?
How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you figured out yet who stole my wallet?
Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.
Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I’ve searched, I’ve asked around, and so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: not a hair’s breadth was ever lost in my house before.
Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair; and I’ll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go.
You’re lying, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many hairs; and I swear my pocket was stolen. Go on, you’re a woman, go.
Who, I? no; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never called so in mine own house before.
Who, me? No; I deny it: God’s light, I’ve never been called that in my own house before.
Go to, I know you well enough.
Go on, I know you well enough.
No, Sir John; You do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.
No, Sir John; you don’t know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now you start a fight to distract me from it: I bought you a dozen shirts for your back.
Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers’ wives, and they have made bolters of them.
Cheap, low-quality stuff: I’ve given them away to bakers’ wives, and they’ve turned them into flour sifters.
Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound.
Now, as I am a truthful woman, they were fine holland, worth eight shillings per yard. You owe me money as well, Sir John, for your food, your drinks, and money I lent you, twenty-four pounds.
He had his part of it; let him pay.
He had his share of it; let him pay.
He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
He? Poor man, he’s got nothing.
How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks: Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather’s worth forty mark.
What? Poor? Look at his face; what do you call rich? Let them mint coins from his nose, let them mint coins from his cheeks: I won’t pay a penny. What, are you trying to make a fool of me? Do I not get any peace in my own inn without having my pocket picked? I’ve lost a signet ring from my grandfather worth forty pounds.
O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that ring was copper!
Oh Jesus, I’ve heard the prince tell him, I don’t know how many times, that ring was made of copper!
How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: ’sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.
What! The prince is a fool, a coward: God’s blood, if he were here, I’d beat him like a dog, if he said that.
How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i’ faith? must we all march?
How’s it going, boy! Is the wind blowing that way, honestly? Do we all have to march?
Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
Yes, two by two, like we’re in Newgate prison.
My lord, I pray you, hear me.
My lord, please, listen to me.
What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.
What’s the matter, Mistress Quickly? How’s your husband? I like him; he’s an honest man.
Good my lord, hear me.
Please, my lord, listen to me.
Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.
Please, leave her alone and listen to me.
What sayest thou, Jack?
What’s going on, Jack?
The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets.
The other night I fell asleep here behind the curtain and had my pocket picked: this place has turned into a brothel; they steal from people.
What didst thou lose, Jack?
What did you lose, Jack?
Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather’s.
Do you believe me, Hal? Three or four bonds worth forty pounds each, and a seal-ring that belonged to my grandfather.
A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
A small thing, just a little money.
So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said he would cudgel you.
That’s exactly what I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your grace say that: and, my lord, he talks horribly about you, like the foul-mouthed man he is; and said he would beat you.
What! he did not?
What! He didn’t?
There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
There’s no faith, truth, or honor in me if I’m lying.
There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the deputy’s wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go
There’s no more trust in you than in a boiled prune; and no more truth in you than in a lying fox; and as for being a woman, Maid Marian could be the deputy’s wife of the area, compared to you. Go on, you thing, go.
Say, what thing? what thing?
What thing? What thing?
What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.
What thing! Why, a thing to thank God for.
I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it; I am an honest man’s wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.
I’m not a thing to thank God for, I wish you’d realize it; I’m an honest man’s wife, and, putting aside your title, you’re a scoundrel to call me that.
Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.
Putting aside your womanhood, you’re an animal to say otherwise.
Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
What animal, you scoundrel, you?
What beast! why, an otter.
What animal! Why, an otter.
An otter, Sir John! Why an otter?
An otter, Sir John! Why an otter?
Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.
Why, she’s neither fish nor meat; a man doesn’t know where to find her.
Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou!
You’re unfair to say that: you or any man knows exactly where to find me, you scoundrel, you!
Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.
You’re right, hostess; and he insults you terribly.
So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you ought him a thousand pound.
He does the same to you, my lord; and said the other day that you owe him a thousand pounds.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Wait, do I owe you a thousand pounds?
A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth a million: thou owest me thy love.
A thousand pounds, Ha! A million: your love is worth a million: you owe me your love.
Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.
No, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would beat you up.
Did I, Bardolph?
Did I, Bardolph?
Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Yes, Sir John, you did say that.
Yea, if he said my ring was copper.
Yes, if he said my ring was made of copper.
I say ’tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?
I say it’s copper: are you brave enough to keep your word now?
Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of a lion’s whelp.
Well, Hal, you know, since you’re only human, I dare: but because you’re a prince, I’m afraid of you like I’m afraid of a lion cub’s roar.
And why not as the lion?
And why not be like the lion?
The king is to be feared as the lion: dost thou think I’ll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break.
The king is to be feared like the lion: do you think I’ll fear you like I fear your father? No, and if I do, I pray my belt breaks.
O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain: and yet you will stand to if; you will not pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed?
Oh, if it did, how would your guts spill out onto your knees! But, you scoundrel, there’s no room for faith, truth, or honesty in your chest; it’s all filled with guts and fat. You charge an honest woman with stealing your wallet! Why, you son of a bitch, impudent, bloated rascal, if there was anything in your pocket but bar tabs, notes for brothels, and one poor penny’s worth of sugar candy to make you talk too much, if your pocket held anything but that, I’d be a villain: and still you’d stand by it; you won’t admit wrong: aren’t you ashamed?
Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?
Do you hear me, Hal? You know that in the state of innocence Adam fell; so what should poor Jack Falstaff do in a world full of villainy? You see, I have more flesh than other men, and therefore more weakness. So you admit, you stole from me?
It appears so by the story.
It seems that way from the story.
Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, be gone.
Hostess, I forgive you: go, get breakfast ready; love your husband, look after your servants, take care of your guests: you’ll find me reasonable to any honest request: see, I’m calm now. No, please, go on.
Now Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad, how is that answered?
Now, Hal, about the news at court: about the robbery, lad, how’s that been handled?
O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee: the money is paid back again.
Oh, my sweet beef, I must always be the good angel to you: the money has been paid back.
O, I do not like that paying back; ’tis a double labour.
Oh, I don’t like paying back; it’s twice the work.
I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.
I’m on good terms with my father, and can do anything.
Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too.
Rob the treasury first thing you do, and do it with dirty hands too.
Do, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
I’ve gotten you, Jack, a job as a foot soldier.
I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous: I laud them, I praise them.
I wish it had been as a cavalryman. Where can I find someone who can steal well? Oh, for a good thief, about twenty-two years old! I am really unprepared. Well, thank God for these rebels, they hurt no one but the virtuous: I praise them, I admire them.
Bardolph!
Bardolph!
My lord?
My lord?
Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
Go take this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my brother John; this one to my Lord of Westmoreland.
Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
Go, Peto, get on your horse; we still have thirty miles to ride before dinner.
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two o’clock in the afternoon. There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive Money and order for their furniture. The land is burning; Percy stands on high; And either we or they must lower lie.
Jack, meet me tomorrow at two o’clock in the afternoon in the temple hall. There you’ll learn what your job is, and there you’ll get money and orders for their equipment. The land is in flames; Percy is on the rise; And either we or they must fall.
Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come! O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
Wonderful words! What a world! Hostess, bring me my breakfast! Oh, I wish this tavern were my drum!