Henry IV Part Two

William Shakespeare

• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Year: 2020
• eBook ISBN: 9781504062930
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Shakespeare's play depicting the waning years of both a king and a thief—and a young heir's changing relationship with each of them.

Prince Hal has proven his worth on the battlefield, but even as the elder Henry's condition grows weaker, Hal's ability to follow in his father's footsteps may be in doubt. His longtime friendship with the drunken, thieving, yet thoroughly alluring Falstaff, and the influence of their rowdy tavern companions, are tempting his return to his old ways. As the reign of the aging Henry IV nears its end, the man in line for the throne faces a choice that will determine not only his own future, but that of England.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Westminster. The palace.

Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page

KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

But, ere they come, bid them o’er-read these letters

And well consider of them. Make good speed. Exit page

How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,

Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,

That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull’d with sound of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile

In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch

A watch-case or a common ‘larum-bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast

Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains

In cradle of the rude imperious surge,

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them

With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,

That with the hurly death itself awakes?

Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;

And in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter WARWICK and Surrey

WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty!

KING. Is it good morrow, lords?

WARWICK. ’Tis one o’clock, and past.

KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.

Have you read o’er the letters that I sent you?

WARWICK. We have, my liege.

KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom

How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,

And with what danger, near the heart of it.

WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered;

Which to his former strength may be restored

With good advice and little medicine.

My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool’d.

ACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree.

Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others

ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call’d

HASTINGS. ’Tis Gaultree Forest, an’t shall please your Grace.

ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth

To know the numbers of our enemies.

HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.

ARCHBISHOP. Tis well done.

My friends and brethren in these great affairs,

I must acquaint you that I have receiv’d

New-dated letters from Northumberland;

Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:

Here doth he wish his person, with such powers

As might hold sortance with his quality,

The which he could not levy; whereupon

He is retir’d, to ripe his growing fortunes,

To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers

That your attempts may overlive the hazard

And fearful meeting of their opposite.

MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground

And dash themselves to pieces.

Enter A MESSENGER

HASTINGS. Now, what news?

MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,

In goodly form comes on the enemy;

And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number

Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.

MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.

Let us sway on and face them in the field.

Enter WESTMORELAND

ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.

WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,

The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.

ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,

What doth concern your coming.

WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,

Unto your Grace do I in chief address

The substance of my speech. If that rebellion

Came like itself, in base and abject routs,

Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,

And countenanc’d by boys and beggary-

I say, if damn’d commotion so appear’d

In his true, native, and most proper shape,

You, reverend father, and these noble lords,

Had not been here to dress the ugly form

Of base and bloody insurrection

With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,

Whose see is by a civil peace maintain’d,

Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch’d,

Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor’d,

Whose white investments figure innocence,

The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-

Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself

Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,

Into the harsh and boist’rous tongue of war;

Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,

Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine

To a loud trumpet and a point of war?

ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.

Briefly to this end: we are all diseas’d

And with our surfeiting and wanton hours

Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,

And we must bleed for it; of which disease

Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.

But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,

I take not on me here as a physician;

Nor do I as an enemy to peace

Troop in the throngs of military men;

But rather show awhile like fearful war

To diet rank minds sick of happiness,

And purge th’ obstructions which begin to stop

Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.

I have in equal balance justly weigh’d

What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,

And find our griefs heavier than our offences.

We see which way the stream of time doth run

And are enforc’d from our most quiet there

By the rough torrent of occasion;

And have the summary of all our griefs,

When time shall serve, to show in articles;

Which long ere this we offer’d to the King,

And might by no suit gain our audience:

When we are wrong’d, and would unfold our griefs,

We are denied access unto his person,

Even by those men that most have done us wrong.

The dangers of the days but newly gone,

Whose memory is written on the earth

With yet appearing blood, and the examples

Of every minute’s instance, present now,

Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;

Not to ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Induct
• Act I
• Act II
• Act III
• Act IV
• Act V
• Copyright