Henry IV, Part I quotes

… of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, March all one way and be no more opposed Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:

The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master.

Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engaged to fight, Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;

An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing;

’Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I’ll make one; an I do not, call me villain and baffle me.

I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying to purse-taking.

Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal; ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.

I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying to purse-taking.

Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal; ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.

Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried “stand” to a true man.

… permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But when they seldom come, they wish’d for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

So, when this loose behaviour I throw off And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;

And like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o’er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time when men think least I will.

Exit.

Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; So he that doth redeem her thence might wear Without corrival, all her dignities: But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend. Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

Farewell, kinsman: I’ll talk to you When you are better temper’d to attend.

Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou to break into this woman’s mood, Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard’s time—what do you call the place?— A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire;

She will, she will; justice hath liquored her.

We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto! I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth.

Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

They whistle. Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!

Reenter Prince Henry and Poins.

The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month and a good jest for ever.

Stand close; I hear them coming.

And in thy face strange motions have appear’d, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden hest.

O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not.

Is Gilliams with the packet gone?

With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score hogsheads.

I have sounded the very base-string of humility.

Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis.

yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring.

There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say.

I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

What, upon compulsion? ’Zounds, an I were at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion.

Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh—

We two saw you four set on four and bound them, and were masters of their wealth.

Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.

Then did we two set on you four; and, with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the house:

Why, hear you, my masters: was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince.

Instinct is a great matter; I was now a coward on instinct.

I shall think the better of myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors: watch to-night, pray to-morrow.

That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny.

If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved.

No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins:

Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come when you do call for them?

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come when you do call for them?

Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The devil.

And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil. If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.

O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

I tell you what; He held me last night at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils’ names That were his lackeys: I cried “hum,” and “well, go to,” But mark’d him not a word.

O, he is as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates and have him talk to me In any summer-house in Christendom.

In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, Exceedingly well read, and profited In strange concealments, valiant as a lion And as wondrous affable and as bountiful As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?

I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks again in Welsh.

I understand thy kisses and thou mine, And that’s a feeling disputation:

But I will never be a truant, love, Till I have learn’d thy language; for thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d, Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.

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, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth a million: thou owest me thy love.

Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.

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?

O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee: the money is paid back again.

O, I do not like that paying back; ’tis a double labour.

I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.

A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies.

No eye hath seen such scarecrows.

I’ll not march through Coventry with them, that’s flat: nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of prison.

Then with the losers let it sympathise,

For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

The trumpet sounds.

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.

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.

Exit.