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Speeches (Lines) for Henry V
in "Henry IV, Part II"

Total: 60

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Speech text



(stage directions). Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS

Henry V. Before God, I am exceeding weary.



Edward Poins. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not
attach'd one of so high blood.

Henry V. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion
my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me
desire small beer?



Edward Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to
remember so weak a composition.

Henry V. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by
troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But
indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with
greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name,
to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of
stockings thou hast—viz., these, and those that were thy
peach-colour'd ones—or to bear the inventory of thy shirts-
one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the
tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb
linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries
have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows
those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit
kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the
whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily



Edward Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you
should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes
do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?

Henry V. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?



Edward Poins. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.

Henry V. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than



Edward Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will

Henry V. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad,
my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee—as to one it
pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend—I could
sad and sad indeed too.



Edward Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject.

Henry V. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's
as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the
try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my
father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art
in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.



Edward Poins. The reason?

Henry V. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?



Edward Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

Henry V. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed
fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's thought in
world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would
me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful
thought to think so?



Edward Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed

Henry V. And to thee.



(stage directions). Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE

Henry V. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me
Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd



Bardolph. God save your Grace!

Henry V. And yours, most noble Bardolph!



Page. 'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and
could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I
spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the
alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through.

Henry V. Has not the boy profited?



Page. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!

Henry V. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?



Page. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a
firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream.

Henry V. A crown's worth of good interpretation. There 'tis,



Bardolph. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the
shall have wrong.

Henry V. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?



Edward Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that
not him. Though that be sick, it dies not.

Henry V. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my
and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.



Edward Poins. [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight'—Every man must know
as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those
are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but
say 'There's some of the King's blood spilt.' 'How comes
says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as
ready as a borrower's cap: 'I am the King's poor cousin,

Henry V. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from
Japhet. But the letter: [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight,
the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of



Edward Poins. Why, this is a certificate.

Henry V. Peace! [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans



Edward Poins. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.

Henry V. [Reads] 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I
leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister
Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
Thine, by yea and no—which is as much as to say as
thou usest him—JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars,
JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with
all Europe.'



Edward Poins. My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat

Henry V. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you
me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister?



Edward Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said

Henry V. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the
of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master



Bardolph. Yea, my lord.

Henry V. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?



Bardolph. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

Henry V. What company?



Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.

Henry V. Sup any women with him?



Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll

Henry V. What pagan may that be?



Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my

Henry V. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town
Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?



Edward Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.

Henry V. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master
I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.



Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.

Henry V. Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE
This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.



Edward Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans

Henry V. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in
true colours, and not ourselves be seen?



Edward Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon
his table as drawers.

Henry V. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove's
case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That
shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with
folly. Follow me, Ned.



Falstaff. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a
quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off
ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys,
jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and
no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other
faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for
which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such
another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between

Henry V. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?



Edward Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.

Henry V. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd
like a parrot.



Falstaff. Kiss me, Doll.

Henry V. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says
almanac to that?



Falstaff. Some sack, Francis.

Henry V. [with POINS:] Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing]



Falstaff. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not
his brother?

Henry V. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost



Falstaff. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a

Henry V. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.



Edward Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn
to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

Henry V. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak
me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!



Falstaff. Didst thou hear me?

Henry V. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by
Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on
try my patience.



Falstaff. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within

Henry V. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and
then I know how to handle you.



Falstaff. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse.

Henry V. Not to dispraise me, and call me pander, and
bread-chipper, and I know not what!



Falstaff. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I
disprais'd him before the wicked—that the wicked might not
in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a
careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give
thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith,

Henry V. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us?
she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is
boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in
nose, of the wicked?



Falstaff. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable;
his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing
roast malt-worms. For the boy—there is a good angel about
but the devil outbids him too.

Henry V. For the women?



Hostess Quickly. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two
whole Lent?

Henry V. You, gentlewoman—



(stage directions). Enter PETO

Henry V. Peto, how now! What news?



Peto. The King your father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and as I came along
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

Henry V. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south,
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.



(stage directions). Enter PRINCE HENRY

Henry V. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?



Prince Thomas. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

Henry V. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad!
How doth the King?



Prince Humphrey. Exceeding ill.

Henry V. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.



Prince Humphrey. He alt'red much upon the hearing it.

Henry V. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic.



Earl of Warwick. Will't please your Grace to go along with us?

Henry V. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.
[Exeunt all but the PRINCE]
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day
That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not.
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it
Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. Exit



(stage directions). Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE

Henry V. I never thought to hear you speak again.



Henry IV. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offense; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form-
Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity:
Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence.
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness.
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
England shall double gild his treble guilt;
England shall give him office, honour, might;
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!

Henry V. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown,
And he that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours! [Kneeling] If I affect it more
Than as your honour and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending!
God witness with me, when I here came in
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to show th' incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead-
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were-
I spake unto this crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
Preserving life in med'cine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it—as with an enemy
That had before my face murd'red my father—
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head,
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!



Henry IV. O my son,
God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!
Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
I met this crown; and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head:
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand;
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears
Thou seest with peril I have answered;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument. And now my death
Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear'st successively.
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd; which to avoid,
I cut them off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive;
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!

Henry V. My gracious liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be;
Which I with more than with a common pain
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.



Henry IV. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my Lord of Warwick?

Henry V. My Lord of Warwick!



Brothers. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.

Henry V. You all look strangely on me; and you most.
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.



Lord Chief Justice. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

Henry V. No?
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison,
Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?



Lord Chief Justice. I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me;
And in th' administration of his law,
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
The majesty and power of law and justice,
The image of the King whom I presented,
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority
And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought,
To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person;
Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image,
And mock your workings in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son;
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd,
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;
And then imagine me taking your part
And, in your power, soft silencing your son.
After this cold considerance, sentence me;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state
What I have done that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.

Henry V. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well;
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword;
And I do wish your honours may increase
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words:
'Happy am I that have a man so bold
That dares do justice on my proper son;
And not less happy, having such a son
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me;
For which I do commit into your hand
Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear;
With this remembrance—that you use the same
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand.
You shall be as a father to my youth;
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practis'd wise directions.
And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you,
My father is gone wild into his grave,
For in his tomb lie my affections;
And with his spirits sadly I survive,
To mock the expectation of the world,
To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now.
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament;
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us;
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
Our coronation done, we will accite,
As I before rememb'red, all our state;
And—God consigning to my good intents-
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,
God shorten Harry's happy life one day. Exeunt



Falstaff. God save thee, my sweet boy!

Henry V. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.



Falstaff. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!

Henry V. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane;
But being awak'd, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men—
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;
Presume not that I am the thing I was,
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evils;
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
Set on. Exeunt the KING and his train

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