King Henry IV Part 2, with line numbers E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: Seltzer Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 142

Beschreibung

The classic Shakespearean history, with line numbers. According to Wikipedia: "Henry IV, Part 2 is a history play by William Shakespeare, believed written between 1596 and 1599. It is the third part of a tetralogy, preceded by Richard II and Henry IV, Part 1 and succeeded by Henry V."

Leseprobe

King Henry IV Part 2 By William Shakespeare

published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA

established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books

Other histories by William Shakespeare:

King John

King Richard II

King Henry IV Part 1

King Henry V

King Henry VI Part 1

King Henry VI Part 2

King Henry VI Part 3

King Richard III

King Henry VIII

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Dramatis Personae

King Henry IV, Part II

Induction

Act I

Scene I The same.

Scene II London. A street.

Scene III York. The Archbishop's palace.

Act II

Scene I London. A street.

Scene II London. Another street.

Scene III Warkworth. Before the castle.

Scene IV London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.

Act III

Scene I Westminster. The palace.

Scene II Gloucestershire. Before Shallow's house.

Act IV

Scene I Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest.

Scene II Another part of the forest.

Scene III Another part of the forest.

Scene IV Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber.

Scene V Another chamber.

Act V

Scene I Gloucestershire. Shallow's house.

Scene II Westminster. The palace.

Scene III Gloucestershire. Shallow's orchard.

Scene IV London. A street.

Scene V A public place near Westminster Abbey.

Epilogue

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Rumour, The Presenter.

King Henry The Fourth. (King Henry IV:)

Sons Of King Henry

Prince Henry Of Wales (Prince Henry:), Afterwards King Henry V.

Thomas, Duke Of Clarence (Clarence:)

Prince Humphrey Of Gloucester (Gloucester:)

Earl Of Warwick (Warwick:)

Earl Of Westmoreland (Westmoreland:)

Earl Of Surrey:

Gower:

Harcourt:

Blunt:

Lord Chief-Justice Of The King's Bench: (Lord Chief-Justice:)

A Servant Of The Chief-Justice.

Earl Of Northumberland (Northumberland:)

Scroop, Archbishop Of York (Archbishop Of York:)

Lord Mowbray (Mowbray:)

Lord Hastings (Hastings:)

Lord Bardolph:

Sir John Colevile (Colevile:)

Retainers Of Northumberland

Travers

Morton

Sir John Falstaff (Falstaff:)

His Page. (Page:)

Bardolph:

Pistol:

Poins:

Peto:

Country Justices

Shallow

Silence

Davy, Servant To Shallow.

Recruits

Mouldy

Shadow

Wart

Feeble

Bullcalf

Sheriff's Officers

Fang

Snare

Lady Northumberland:

Lady Percy:

Mistress Quickly, Hostess Of A Tavern In Eastcheap.

Doll Tearsheet:

Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c.

(First Messenger:)

(Porter:)

(First Drawer:)

(Second Drawer:)

(First Beadle:)

(First Groom:)

(Second Groom:)

A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.

SCENE England.

KING HENRY IV, PART II

INDUCTION

 [Warkworth. Before the castle]

 [Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues]

(1) RUMOUR Open your ears; for which of you will stop

 The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?

 I, from the orient to the drooping west,

 Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold

 The acts commenced on this ball of earth:

 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,

 The which in every language I pronounce,

 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

 I speak of peace, while covert enmity

(10) Under the smile of safety wounds the world:

 And who but Rumour, who but only I,

 Make fearful musters and prepared defence,

 Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,

 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,

 And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe

 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures

 And of so easy and so plain a stop

 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,

 The still-discordant wavering multitude,

(20) Can play upon it. But what need I thus

 My well-known body to anatomize

 Among my household? Why is Rumour here?

 I run before King Harry's victory;

 Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury

 Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,

 Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

 Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I

 To speak so true at first? my office is

 To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell

(30) Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,

 And that the king before the Douglas' rage

 Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.

 This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns

 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury

 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,

 Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,

 Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,

 And not a man of them brings other news

 Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues

(40) They bring smooth comforts false, worse than

 true wrongs.

 [Exit]

ACT I

SCENE I The same.

 [Enter LORD BARDOLPH]

(1) LORD BARDOLPH Who keeps the gate here, ho?

 [The PORTER opens the gate]

         Where is the earl?

PORTER What shall I say you are?

LORD BARDOLPH Tell thou the earl

 That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

PORTER His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;

 Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,

 And he himself wilt answer.

 [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

LORD BARDOLPH Here comes the earl.

 [Exit PORTER]

NORTHUMBERLAND What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now

 Should be the father of some stratagem:

 The times are wild: contention, like a horse

(10) Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose

 And bears down all before him.

LORD BARDOLPH Noble earl,

 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

NORTHUMBERLAND Good, an God will!

LORD BARDOLPH                   As good as heart can wish:

 The king is almost wounded to the death;

 And, in the fortune of my lord your son,

 Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts

 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John

 And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;

 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,

(20) Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,

 So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,

 Came not till now to dignify the times,

 Since Caesar's fortunes!

NORTHUMBERLAND How is this derived?

 Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

LORD BARDOLPH I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,

 A gentleman well bred and of good name,

 That freely render'd me these news for true.

NORTHUMBERLAND Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent

 On Tuesday last to listen after news.

 [Enter TRAVERS]

(30) LORD BARDOLPH My lord, I over-rode him on the way;

 And he is furnish'd with no certainties

 More than he haply may retail from me.

NORTHUMBERLAND Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

TRAVERS My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back

 With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,

 Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard

 A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,

 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.

 He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him

(40) I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:

 He told me that rebellion had bad luck

 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.

 With that, he gave his able horse the head,

 And bending forward struck his armed heels

 Against the panting sides of his poor jade

 Up to the rowel-head, and starting so

 He seem'd in running to devour the way,

 Staying no longer question.

NORTHUMBERLAND Ha! Again:

 Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?

(50) Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion

 Had met ill luck?

LORD BARDOLPH                   My lord, I'll tell you what;

 If my young lord your son have not the day,

 Upon mine honour, for a silken point

 I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

NORTHUMBERLAND Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers

 Give then such instances of loss?

LORD BARDOLPH Who, he?

 He was some hilding fellow that had stolen

 The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,

 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

 [Enter MORTON]

(60) NORTHUMBERLAND Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,

 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:

 So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood

 Hath left a witness'd usurpation.

 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

MORTON I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;

 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask

 To fright our party.

NORTHUMBERLAND How doth my son and brother?

 Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek

 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.

(70) Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,

 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,

 And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;

 But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,

 And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.

 This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;

 Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'

 Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:

 But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,

(80) Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,

 Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'

MORTON Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;

 But, for my lord your son--

NORTHUMBERLAND Why, he is dead.

 See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

 He that but fears the thing he would not know

 Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes

 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;

 Tell thou an earl his divination lies,

 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace

(90) And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

MORTON You are too great to be by me gainsaid:

 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

NORTHUMBERLAND Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.

 I see a strange confession in thine eye:

 Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin

 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;

 The tongue offends not that reports his death:

 And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,

 Not he which says the dead is not alive.

(100) Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news

 Hath but a losing office, and his tongue

 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,

 Remember'd tolling a departing friend.

LORD BARDOLPH I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

MORTON I am sorry I should force you to believe

 That which I would to God I had not seen;

 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

 Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,

 To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down

(110) The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

 From whence with life he never more sprung up.

 In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire

 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,

 Being bruited once, took fire and heat away

 From the best temper'd courage in his troops;

 For from his metal was his party steel'd;

 Which once in him abated, all the rest

 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:

 And as the thing that's heavy in itself,

(120) Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,

 So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

 Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear

 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim

 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,

 Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester

 Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,

 The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword

 Had three times slain the appearance of the king,

 'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame

(130) Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,

 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

 Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out

 A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,

 Under the conduct of young Lancaster

 And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

NORTHUMBERLAND For this I shall have time enough to mourn.

 In poison there is physic; and these news,

 Having been well, that would have made me sick,

 Being sick, have in some measure made me well:

(140) And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,

 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,

 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

 Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,

 Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,

 Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!

 A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

 Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!

 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head

 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.

(150) Now bind my brows with iron; and approach

 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring

 To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!

 Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand

 Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!

 And let this world no longer be a stage

 To feed contention in a lingering act;

 But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

 Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

(160) And darkness be the burier of the dead!

TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

MORTON The lives of all your loving complices

 Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er

 To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

 You cast the event of war, my noble lord,

 And summ'd the account of chance, before you said

 'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise,

 That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop:

(170) You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,

 More likely to fall in than to get o'er;

 You were advised his flesh was capable

 Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit

 Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:

 Yet did you say 'Go forth;' and none of this,

 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain

 The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,

 Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,

 More than that being which was like to be?

(180) LORD BARDOLPH We all that are engaged to this loss

 Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas

 That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one;

 And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed

 Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;

 And since we are o'erset, venture again.

 Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,

 I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,

 The gentle Archbishop of York is up

(190) With well-appointed powers: he is a man

 Who with a double surety binds his followers.

 My lord your son had only but the corpse,

 But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;

 For that same word, rebellion, did divide

 The action of their bodies from their souls;

 And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,

 As men drink potions, that their weapons only

 Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,

 This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,

(200) As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop

 Turns insurrection to religion:

 Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,

 He's followed both with body and with mind;

 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

 Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;

 Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;

 Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,

 Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;

 And more and less do flock to follow him.

(210) NORTHUMBERLAND I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,

 This present grief had wiped it from my mind.

 Go in with me; and counsel every man

 The aptest way for safety and revenge:

 Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed:

 Never so few, and never yet more need.

 [Exeunt]

SCENE II London. A street.

 [Enter FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler]

(1) FALSTAFF Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?

PAGE He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy

 water; but, for the party that owed it, he might

 have more diseases than he knew for.

FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the

 brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not

 able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more

(10) than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only

 witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other

 men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that

 hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the

 prince put thee into my service for any other reason

 than to set me off, why then I have no judgment.

 Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn

 in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never

 manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you

(20) neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and

 send you back again to your master, for a jewel,--

 the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is

 not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in

 the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his

 cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is

 a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis

 not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a

 face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence

 out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had

(30) writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He

 may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine,

 I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about

 the satin for my short cloak and my slops?