Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference: but be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you.
Lords, leave us; the Prince of Wales and I must have a private conversation: but stay nearby, for we will need you soon.
Everyone out; the Prince and I need to talk alone: but don't go far, we'll need you back in a minute.
leave us alone prince & i talking stay close tho
I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in His secret doom, out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only mark’d
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match’d withal, and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
I don't know whether God has ordained it so because of some wrong I've committed, but I fear in His hidden judgment He'll breed revenge from my blood as punishment for me. But you, Harry, in your actions through life make me believe you're destined only for heaven's fierce vengeance and divine punishment for my sins. Tell me—how could such excessive and base desires, such impoverished, immoral, mean pursuits, such barren pleasures and crude company that you've adopted and cultivated be worthy of your royal blood and princely heart?
I don't know if this is God's will because of something I did wrong. Maybe He'll punish me through you and the way you act. But Harry, the way you carry yourself makes me think you're marked for heaven's punishment because of my sins. Tell me—how can such base desires, such poor and crude company, such lewd and worthless pastimes possibly match your royal blood and princely station?
maybe god's punishing me thru u harry u seem destined for heaven's punishment base desires don't match ur royal blood
So please your Majesty, I would I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse
As well as I am doubtless I can purge
Myself of many I am charged withal.
Yet such extenuation let me beg
As, in reproof of many tales devised,
By smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers,
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander’d and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
If it please your Majesty, I wish I could get rid of all the things I've done wrong as easily as I'm confident I can show I'm innocent of many charges against me. Yet I ask for some forgiveness for certain things true, where my youth has made errors and been uncontrolled, to find your pardon on my true apology.
If it please your Majesty, I wish I could get out of all the mistakes I've made as easily as I'm sure I can prove I'm not guilty of most of what they're saying. But I'll ask for your mercy for those few things that are actually true, where I've been reckless and out of line, so you'll forgive me based on my genuine remorse.
wish i could explain everything but some stuff is true i've been reckless sorry your majesty
Henry IV's long speech comparing Hal to Richard II is one of the most loaded in the play. Henry knows better than anyone what destroyed Richard — overexposure, too much familiarity, the loss of mystique that comes with being everywhere. He managed his own rise by playing the opposite: rare appearances, performed humility, strategic withdrawal. What he can't see is that Hal has already internalized this lesson. Hal's time at the tavern is a version of Henry's own strategic positioning — he is building a contrast, stockpiling the credit of low expectations so that his emergence at Shrewsbury is all the more remarkable. The tragedy is that Henry never knows this. He dies in Part 2 still uncertain whether his son has what it takes.
God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood.
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man
Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir
But like a comet I was wonder’d at,
That men would tell their children, “This is he.”
Others would say, “Where, which is Bolingbroke?”
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dress’d myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned King.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne’er seen but wonder’d at, and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast,
And won by rareness such solemnity.
The skipping King, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,
Mingled his royalty, with cap’ring fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns,
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative;
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff’d himself to popularity,
That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes,
They surfeited with honey, and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes,
But rather drowsed and hung their eyelids down,
Slept in his face, and render’d such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full.
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou,
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation. Not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more,
Which now doth that I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
God forgive you! Yet let me be shocked, Harry, by your feelings, which fly completely away from the path of all your ancestors. You have rudely lost your position in my council, which your younger brother now fills, and you are almost a stranger to the love of everyone at court and princes of my blood. The hope and certainty for your future is ruined, and everyone foresaw your downfall. If I had shown myself so freely, become so common to people's eyes, become so worthless in ordinary company, the opinion that helped me gain the crown would have stayed loyal to the previous king, and left me unknown and without hope, a person of no importance or chance of success. By showing myself rarely, I could never appear except as a comet that people wondered at, so men would tell their children, "That is him." Others would say, "Where is Bolingbroke?" And then I took all good manners from heaven, and dressed myself in such humility that I pulled loyalty from men's hearts, loud cheers and greetings from their mouths, even in front of the crowned King. So I kept my appearance fresh and new, my presence like a royal robe, never seen but wondered at, and so my state, rarely displayed, looked like a feast, and won through its rarity such dignity. The wandering King kept moving around with shallow jokers and quick-witted fools, easily set on fire and easily burned out; threw away his power, mixed his royal status with joking clowns, allowed his great name to be disrespected by their insults, and gave his face, against his authority, to laugh at jokes with boys, and take their pushes from every young fool; became a friend to the ordinary streets, gave himself over to popularity, so that, being seen constantly by people's eyes, they got tired of it and began to hate what was sweet, and even a little sweet is too much. So, when he had reason to be seen, he was just like the cuckoo bird in June, heard, but not paid attention to; seen, but with such eyes as, weary and dull from seeing him constantly, don't give him special notice, such as is given to sun-like majesty when it shines rarely in amazed eyes, but instead were drowsy and lowered their eyelids, slept in his presence, and gave him the look that clouds use toward their enemies, tired out by his presence, full, and satisfied. And in that same way, Harry, you are standing, for you have lost your royal privilege through shameful mixing in. Not an eye but is tired of seeing you all the time, except mine, which has wanted to see you more, which now does what I wish it would not, blind itself with foolish feeling.
God forgive you! But let me say this, Harry— I'm amazed at how you're acting, going completely against everything your ancestors did. You've thrown away your position on my council, which your younger brother took over, and now you're basically a stranger to everyone at court, even to my own family. Everyone's given up on your future— people are already predicting you'll fail. If I'd been as public as you are, let everyone see me constantly, became just another face in the crowd, the people who helped me take the throne would've stayed loyal to the old king, and I'd be nobody, with no hope. But because I stayed out of sight, whenever I appeared it was like watching a comet— people would tell their kids, "Look, that's him." Others would ask, "Where's Bolingbroke?" Then I made myself humble—really humble— and that won over people's hearts, got them cheering and greeting me even right in front of the actual king. I kept myself rare and special, like a ceremonial robe nobody ever wears, always wondered at, never taken for granted. My position looked special because I used it sparingly, like a feast you don't eat every day. The other king, though, he was always around, with jokers and fools, all quick laughs and no substance— they'd burn hot and burn out. He threw his power away, mixed his royal status with clowns, let his great reputation get destroyed by their mockery, and basically joked around with boys and let them push him around. He became just another face on the street, completely gave himself over to being popular, so by the time people saw him constantly, they were sick of him. The sweetness turned to disgust. So when he did show up, he was like a cuckoo in June— people heard him but didn't care; they saw him but with eyes so tired from seeing him all the time that they barely noticed, unlike the way people look at the sun when it only shines sometimes—with wonder. Instead, they just drooped their eyes, tuned him out, and looked at him like they'd look at an enemy, completely sick of him. And that's where you're headed, Harry— by mixing with the common people. Not a single person isn't tired of seeing your face all the time, except me. I've wanted to see you more, but now my eyes are just getting stupidly attached to you.
u ruined ur career thrown away ur position everyone's tired of u but i still love u that's the problem
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
Be more myself.
From now on, my three times respected lord, I will be myself.
From now on, my lord, I promise I'll do better.
i'll change be better i swear
For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,
And even as I was then is Percy now.
Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou, the shadow of succession.
For of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws,
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority
And military title capital
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises
Discomfited great Douglas, ta’en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate against us and are up.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my nearest and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy’s pay,
To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.
As far as the world is concerned as you are now was Richard then when I returned from France to Ravenspurgh, and just as I was then is Percy now. Now, by my crown and my soul, he has more legitimate right to the kingdom than you, the heir apparent. For he has no better claim than I did, but he fills the fields with armed troops, turns against the King's armed forces, and, being no older than you, leads old nobles and serious bishops to bloody battles and war. What ever-lasting honor has he gained against the famous Douglas! Whose great deeds, whose fierce attacks and great reputation, are considered the most important among all soldiers through all kingdoms that acknowledge God. Three times this Hotspur, like Mars as a baby, this young warrior, in his battles has defeated great Douglas, captured him, set him free, and made him a friend, to challenge me and threaten my throne. And what do you say to this? Percy, Northumberland, the Archbishop, Douglas, Mortimer, are united against us and have risen up. But why do I tell you all this? Why, Harry, do I describe my enemies, when you yourself are my greatest enemy? You are likely enough, through cowardly fear, basic nature, and anger, to fight against me for Percy's money, to follow at his heels, and show respect to him, to prove how much you have failed.
The way things look is exactly how it was with Richard when I came back from France to Ravenspurgh— and the same way I was then, Percy is now. Now, by my crown and my soul, he has more right to this kingdom than you do, despite being the heir. He's got no better legal claim than I did, but he's got armies in the field, he's fighting the King directly, and he's the same age as you, yet he's got lords and bishops following him into actual battles and real war. What eternal honor he's winning against the famous Douglas! His great actions, his fierce attacks and big reputation, are considered the most important in all the armies across every Christian kingdom. Three times this Hotspur, this young warrior with warrior's pride, has beaten Douglas in battle, taken him prisoner, let him go, and made him an ally— all just to defy me and shake my throne. So what's your excuse? Percy, Northumberland, the Archbishop, Douglas, Mortimer, they're all banded together against me. But why am I even telling you this? Why am I describing my enemies to you, when the worst threat is you? You're pretty likely, out of pure fear, weakness, and spite, to end up fighting against me for Percy's pay, following at his heels, bowing to him, showing everyone how worthless you are.
ur like richard now i'm like i was then percy's better than u he's got armies ur just here u could literally fight me for him
Do not think so, you shall not find it so.
And God forgive them that so much have sway’d
Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy’s head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.
For every honour sitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! For the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf,
And I will call him to so strict account
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This in the name of God I promise here,
The which if He be pleased I shall perform,
I do beseech your Majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance.
If not, the end of life cancels all bands,
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
Do not think that, you will not find it true. And God forgive them who have so much turned your Majesty's attention away from me! I will redeem everything by defeating Percy, and, at the end of some glorious battle, be brave enough to tell you that I am your son, when I will wear a garment completely red with blood, and stain my face with blood, which, when washed away, will take my shame with it. And that will be the day, whenever it comes, when this same honored, famous child, this celebrated Hotspur, this praised knight, and your unknown Harry finally meet. For every honor on his head, would they were more, and on my head my shames multiplied! Because the time will come when I will make this young northerner give up his glorious deeds for my disgraces. Percy is just my agent, my lord, collecting glorious deeds for me, and I will demand such strict payment that he will give up every bit of glory, yes, even the smallest honor of his time, or I will take the account from his heart. I promise this in the name of God, which if God allows me to keep, I ask your Majesty's forgiveness may heal the long-lasting damage of my bad behavior. If not, death ends everything, and I will die a hundred thousand times rather than break the smallest part of this promise.
Don't believe that—it's not going to happen. And may God forgive everyone who's poisoned your opinion of me! I'm going to fix this by taking Percy down, and at the end of some big victory, I'll have the guts to tell you I'm your son, when I'll be covered in blood, my whole face stained red, and when I wash it off, my shame goes with it. And that day, whenever it happens, when this famous, celebrated boy, this great Hotspur, this praised warrior, and your disappointing Harry finally meet— that's when everything changes. For every honor he wears, I wish it were double so my shame would be double! Because I'm telling you, I'm going to make this northern kid surrender all his glory for my disgrace. Percy is just my middleman, sir, piling up honors for me to claim, and I'm going to call him to account so strictly that he hands over every single glory, even the tiniest bit of his achievement, or I'll rip the whole account out of his heart. I swear this by God, and if God lets me keep this promise, I'm begging your Majesty to forgive all the damage I've done by acting so badly. If not, death ends everything anyway, and I'll die a thousand deaths rather than break even the smallest part of this vow.
i swear im different i'll beat percy he's collecting honors for me i'll take them all this is a god oath forgive me or im dead
A hundred thousand rebels die in this.
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.
A hundred thousand rebels will die if that is true. You will have command and complete authority here.
If you're serious, a hundred thousand rebels are going to die. You're in charge—full authority.
rebels will die if u mean it u got full power
The question the scene leaves open is whether Hal's promise to redeem himself is a real conversion or a perfectly timed performance. The answer is probably: both at once, and Hal wouldn't be able to separate them either. He has been waiting for exactly this moment — we know from his 1-2 soliloquy that he planned to emerge from disgrace when the time was right. But the emotion in this scene also reads as real: he is moved by his father's pain, hurt by the comparison to Hotspur, and genuinely committed to what he's promising. Shakespeare refuses to resolve this. The language of credit and debt that runs through Hal's vow ('redeem,' 'factor,' 'pay') keeps the transaction quality in play even as the emotional sincerity registers. He is, as always, doing several things at once.
How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.
Well, good Blunt? Your expression shows great haste.
What's wrong, Blunt? You look like you've been hurrying.
blunt why u rushing? what's up?
So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
That Douglas and the English rebels met
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer’d foul play in a state.
The same situation applies to the business I came to discuss. Lord Mortimer of Scotland has sent word that Douglas and the English rebels met on the eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. They are a mighty and fearful group, if all promises are kept by everyone, the worst threat ever offered to a kingdom.
The same goes for the reason I'm here. Lord Mortimer from Scotland sent a message saying Douglas and the English rebels are meeting on the eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. They're a huge and terrifying force, if they all actually follow through on their plans, the most dangerous threat anyone's ever made to this kingdom.
rebels meeting shrewsbury 11th of the month mortimer sent word they're huge & scary big threat coming
The Earl of Westmoreland set forth today,
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster,
For this advertisement is five days old.
On Wednesday next you, Harry, shall set forward,
On Thursday we ourselves will march.
Our meeting is Bridgenorth. And, Harry, you
Shall march through Gloustershire; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business. Let’s away,
Advantage feeds him fat while men delay.
The Earl of Westmoreland left today, with him my son, Lord John of Lancaster, for this message is five days old already. On Wednesday next you, Harry, will go forward, On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting place is Bridgenorth. And, Harry, you shall go through Gloucestershire; by this plan, our business calculated, in about twelve days our full forces at Bridgenorth will gather. Our hands are full of work. Let us go, fitting the moment brings advantage to the enemy while we delay.
Westmoreland set out today, and my son Lord John of Lancaster went with him— this news came five days ago. Next Wednesday you, Harry, will march out, and Thursday I'll go. We'll meet at Bridgenorth. And Harry, you go through Gloucestershire; if my math is right, in about twelve days all our forces should be gathered at Bridgenorth. We've got a lot to do. Let's move, delaying just gives the enemy time to get stronger.
westmoreland left today w/ john of lancaster u march wednesday i march thursday meeting bridgenorth same place 12 days no delays
The Reckoning
The most emotionally raw scene between father and son in the play. Henry has been carrying the shame of Hal's behavior for years, and now he finally says it all — including the terrible thought that Hal might be God's punishment for his own sins. Hal listens, then makes a vow that is both a genuine turning point and a performance calculated to give his father what he needs. We cannot be entirely sure which it is.
If this happened today…
A CEO who built the company through ruthless maneuvering calls his heir into the corner office and says: I don't know if you have what it takes. Your rival — younger, hungrier, more focused — is outworking you every day. I used to be like him. Are you going to make me regret everything? The son says: I'll prove it at the next board meeting. And he means it. Probably.