SCENE I. KING HENRY IV's camp near Shrewsbury. The First part of King Henry the Fourth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry IV, part 1  | Act 5, Scene 1 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE I. KING HENRY IV's camp near Shrewsbury. 

 Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, Lord John of  LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and FALSTAFF  KING HENRY IV  How bloodily the sun begins to peer 

 Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale 

 At his distemperature. 

 PRINCE HENRY  The southern wind 

 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, 

 And by his hollow whistling in the leaves 

 Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 

 KING HENRY IV  Then with the losers let it sympathize, 

 For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 



 The trumpet sounds 

 Enter WORCESTER and VERNON  How now, my Lord of Worcester! 'tis not well 

 That you and I should meet upon such terms 

 As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, 

 And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 

 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: 

 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 

 What say you to it? will you again unknit 

 This curlish knot of all-abhorred war? 

 And move in that obedient orb again 

 Where you did give a fair and natural light, 

 And be no more an exhaled meteor, 

 A prodigy of fear and a portent 

 Of broached mischief to the unborn times? 

 EARL OF WORCESTER  Hear me, my liege: 

 For mine own part, I could be well content 

 To entertain the lag-end of my life 

 With quiet hours; for I do protest, 

 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 

 KING HENRY IV  You have not sought it! how comes it, then? 

 FALSTAFF  Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

 PRINCE HENRY  Peace, chewet, peace! 

 EARL OF WORCESTER  It pleased your majesty to turn your looks 

 Of favour from myself and all our house; 

 And yet I must remember you, my lord, 

 We were the first and dearest of your friends. 

 For you my staff of office did I break 

 In Richard's time; and posted day and night 

 to meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 

 When yet you were in place and in account 

 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 

 It was myself, my brother and his son, 

 That brought you home and boldly did outdare 

 The dangers of the time. You swore to us, 

 And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 

 That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state; 

 Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, 

 The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 

 To this we swore our aid. But in short space 

 It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; 

 And such a flood of greatness fell on you, 

 What with our help, what with the absent king, 

 What with the injuries of a wanton time, 

 The seeming sufferances that you had borne, 

 And the contrarious winds that held the king 

 So long in his unlucky Irish wars 

 That all in England did repute him dead: 

 And from this swarm of fair advantages 

 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 

 To gripe the general sway into your hand; 

 Forget your oath to us at Doncaster; 

 And being fed by us you used us so 

 As that ungentle hull, the cuckoo's bird, 

 Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; 

 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk 

 That even our love durst not come near your sight 

 For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing 

 We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly 

 Out of sight and raise this present head; 

 Whereby we stand opposed by such means 

 As you yourself have forged against yourself 

 By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 

 And violation of all faith and troth 

 Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 

 KING HENRY IV  These things indeed you have articulate, 

 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 

 To face the garment of rebellion 

 With some fine colour that may please the eye 

 Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 

 Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 

 Of hurlyburly innovation: 

 And never yet did insurrection want 

 Such water-colours to impaint his cause; 

 Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 

 Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 

 PRINCE HENRY  In both your armies there is many a soul 

 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 

 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 

 The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world 

 In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, 

 This present enterprise set off his head, 

 I do not think a braver gentleman, 

 More active-valiant or more valiant-young, 

 More daring or more bold, is now alive 

 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 

 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 

 I have a truant been to chivalry; 

 And so I hear he doth account me too; 

 Yet this before my father's majesty-- 

 I am content that he shall take the odds 

 Of his great name and estimation, 

 And will, to save the blood on either side, 

 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 

 KING HENRY IV  And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, 

 Albeit considerations infinite 

 Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no, 

 We love our people well; even those we love 

 That are misled upon your cousin's part; 

 And, will they take the offer of our grace, 

 Both he and they and you, every man 

 Shall be my friend again and I'll be his: 

 So tell your cousin, and bring me word 

 What he will do: but if he will not yield, 

 Rebuke and dread correction wait on us 

 And they shall do their office. So, be gone; 

 We will not now be troubled with reply: 

 We offer fair; take it advisedly. 



 Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON  PRINCE HENRY  It will not be accepted, on my life: 

 The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 

 Are confident against the world in arms. 

 KING HENRY IV  Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; 

 For, on their answer, will we set on them: 

 And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 



 Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF  FALSTAFF  Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride 

 me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. 

 PRINCE HENRY  Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. 

 Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

 FALSTAFF  I  would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

 PRINCE HENRY  Why, thou owest God a death. 



 Exit PRINCE HENRY  FALSTAFF  'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before 

 his day. What need I be so forward with him that 

 calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; honour pricks 

 me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I 

 come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or 

 an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. 

 Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is 

 honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what 

 is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? 

 he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. 

 Doth he hear it? no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea, 

 to the dead. But will it not live with the living? 

 no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore 

 I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so 

 ends my catechism. 



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