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Henry IV ii
·I ii 5 ·
Prose
Falstaff Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelm'd all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd an agate till now; but I will inset you 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, chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton the satin for my short cloak and my slops? |
Original: Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me.
Modern: Men of every type take pleasure in mocking me.
Original: The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me.
Modern: The human brain can’t come up with anything funnier than what I create myself or what people make fun of about me.
Original: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
Modern: I’m not just funny on my own, but I also inspire wit in other people.
Original: I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelm’d all her litter but one.
Modern: I walk in front of you like a mother pig who has accidentally crushed all her piglets except one.
Original: If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment.
Modern: If the Prince assigned you to serve me for any reason other than to make me look better by comparison, then I’m a fool.
Original: Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels.
Modern: You bastard little dwarf, you’re better suited to be a decoration on my hat than to be my servant.
Original: I was never mann’d with an agate till now; but I will inset you 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 fledge.
Modern: I’ve never had such a tiny servant before; but I won’t dress you up fancy in gold or silver—instead I’ll put you in cheap clothes and send you back to your master as a “jewel”—that young boy, the Prince, whose beard hasn’t even grown in yet.
Original: I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal.
Modern: A beard will grow on the palm of my hand before one grows on his face; and yet he won’t hesitate to claim his face is worthy of royalty.
Original: God may finish it when he will, ‘tis not a hair amiss yet.
Modern: God can complete it whenever he wants—there’s not a single hair out of place yet.
Original: 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 writ man ever since his father was a bachelor.
Modern: He can keep calling it a royal face, because a barber will never make any money shaving it; and yet he’ll brag as if he’s been a grown man since before his father was even married.
Original: He may keep his own grace, but he’s almost out of mine, I can assure him.
Modern: He can keep his own favor, but he’s nearly lost mine, I can promise you that.
Original: What said Master Dommelton about the satin for my short cloak and my slops?
Modern: What did Master Dommelton say about the satin fabric for my short cape and baggy pants?
In this scene, Falstaff enters accompanied by his Page, who carries his sword and buckler. Falstaff engages in a running exchange with his Page, followed by an encounter with the Lord Chief Justice and his Servant. The Lord Chief Justice has been seeking to speak with Falstaff regarding his role in the Gad’s Hill robbery, but Falstaff repeatedly attempts to evade the conversation by pretending to be hard of hearing and feigning ignorance of the Justice’s intentions. The Lord Chief Justice persists, and the two engage in a lengthy back-and-forth in which Falstaff deflects, jests, and maneuvers to avoid accountability, ultimately pivoting to the subject of the King’s illness and the ongoing military campaign as a means of sidestepping the Justice’s reproaches.
The scene continues as the Lord Chief Justice admonishes Falstaff for his dissolute lifestyle, his corrupting influence on Prince Hal, and his general disregard for the law and decorum expected of a man of his age. Falstaff responds to each charge with wit, comic deflection, and self-serving reasoning, turning every criticism back on itself. The exchange concludes when a messenger arrives with letters, and Falstaff uses the interruption to extract money from the Lord Chief Justice under the pretense of needing funds for the war. The Justice declines to lend him anything, and the two part ways, with Falstaff heading off to prepare for his military duties under the command of John of Lancaster.
The play opens with Rumour spreading false news that Hotspur has defeated King Henry IV at Shrewsbury. Northumberland soon learns the truth: his son Hotspur is dead, and the rebellion has failed. Despite his grief and calls from his allies to continue the fight, Northumberland eventually flees to Scotland. Meanwhile, the rebel leaders—the Archbishop of York, Lord Mowbray, and Lord Hastings—gather forces for a new uprising against the King.
Prince Hal continues his time in the taverns of Eastcheap with Falstaff, Mistress Quickly, Doll Tearsheet, and his companions. Falstaff, deep in debt and pursued by the Hostess for unpaid bills, manipulates his way out of trouble and is eventually called to join the King’s forces. The King himself is gravely ill and troubled by insomnia, burdened by guilt over how he obtained the crown. He laments that Hal remains irresponsible and fears for England’s future under his son’s rule.
In Gaultree Forest, Prince John of Lancaster meets with the rebels under a flag of truce. He promises to address their grievances, and the rebel leaders dismiss their armies. Once the rebel forces disperse, Prince John arrests the leaders for treason and orders their execution. When the dying King Henry hears of this victory and later finds Hal with the crown at his bedside (believing him dead, Hal had taken it), father and son reconcile. Henry dies, and Hal becomes King Henry V.
As the new king, Henry V publicly rejects Falstaff, who arrives expecting rewards and favor. The King banishes his former companion from his presence, promises him support at a distance, but makes clear their relationship is over. The Lord Chief Justice is retained in his position, and the new king prepares to rule England. The epilogue promises that the story will continue with Henry V’s wars in France and hints that Falstaff will appear again.