Act One: The Prince and the Rebels

King Henry IV was tired. "So shaken as we are, so wan with care," he had hoped, now that the civil wars were over, to lead a crusade to the Holy Land — to make amends, though he did not say so, for the death of Richard. But news came from the borders: in Wales, the rebel Owen Glendower had defeated and captured Edmund Mortimer; in the north, young Harry Percy — Hotspur, the son of the Earl of Northumberland — had won a great victory over the Scots at Holmedon, and taken many prisoners, among them the Earl of Douglas.

The King envied Northumberland his son: "a son who is the theme of honour's tongue" — while he saw "riot and dishonour stain the brow of my young Harry." He wished it could be proved that some night-tripping fairy had exchanged them in their cradles. But Hotspur was refusing to hand over his prisoners to the King.

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In London, the King's son, Prince Hal, was idling with his favourite companion, Sir John Falstaff: an old, enormously fat knight, a drinker, a thief, a liar, a coward, and the wittiest man in England. "Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?" "Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack . . . that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day?" They bantered; Falstaff begged the Prince not to hang thieves when he was king.

Another of their crew, Poins, came with a plan: there would be pilgrims and traders riding to London early the next morning by Gad's Hill, with rich offerings and fat purses; they would rob them. The Prince refused; then Poins took him aside and explained the real jest: Falstaff and the others would rob the travellers, and then the Prince and Poins, in disguise, would rob Falstaff — and hear the lies he would tell afterwards.

Alone, the Prince told us the truth about himself:

"I know you all, and will awhile uphold the unyoked humour of your idleness: yet herein will I imitate the sun, who doth 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 wondered at . . . So, when this loose behaviour I throw off and pay the debt I never promisèd, by how much better than my word I am, by so much shall I falsify men's hopes . . . I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; redeeming time when men think least I will."

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At court, Hotspur explained himself to the King. He had not refused the prisoners; but after the battle, hot and weary, leaning on his sword, a perfumed popinjay of a lord had come from the King, holding a pouncet-box to his nose, chattering of guns and wounds — and Hotspur, angry, had answered he knew not what. He would give up the prisoners only if the King ransomed his wife's brother, Mortimer, from Glendower. The King refused: Mortimer had married Glendower's daughter; he was a traitor. And besides — though the King did not say it — Mortimer had a claim to the throne, for Richard had named him his heir.

When the King had gone, Hotspur raged, and his uncle, the Earl of Worcester, and his father let him run on. "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 . . . and pluck up drownèd honour by the locks." Then Worcester told him the plan: the Percies, who had helped Henry to his throne and been repaid with suspicion, would join with Glendower, Mortimer, the Scots under Douglas, and the Archbishop of York, and rise against the King.