Overview

Shakespeare's drama tells the story of a young man who can only come into his own upon his father's death and the father who longs for immortality. Using only Shakespeare's words, this adaptation tells the deeply personal story of Prince Hal's coming of age and his relationships with two father figures: the mistrustful King Henry IV and the hilarious, irrepressible Falstaff.While his son Price Hal spends time in the taverns, King Henry IV argues with his former ally Hotspur. Angry, Hotspur gathers a rebellion, and Henry and Hal go to battle to stop him. Henry's army wins the battle, while Hal redeems himself from his wild youth and kills Hotspur.King Henry IV suffers from illness, so his youngest son Prince John fights the rebels, while Prince Hal prepares to be king. Meanwhile, Hal's friend Falstaff causes trouble, recruits, and speaks ill of Hal. Henry dies, and Hal becomes King Henry V. He banishes Falstaff from court, ready to wage war on France.London. The palace.[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]KING HENRY IVSo shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broilsTo be commenced in strands afar remote.No more the thirsty entrance of this soilShall daub her lips with her own children's blood;Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofsOf hostile paces: those opposed eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shockAnd furious close of civil butcheryShall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, March all one way and be no more opposedAgainst acquaintance, kindred and allies: The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, Whose soldier now, under whose blessed crossWe are impressed and engaged to fight, Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' wombTo chase these pagans in those holy fieldsOver whose acres walk'd those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nail'dFor our advantage on the bitter cross.But this our purpose now is twelve month old, And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go: Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hearOf you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, What yesternight our council did decreeIn forwarding this dear expedience.WESTMORELANDMy liege, this haste was hot in question, And many limits of the charge set downBut yesternight: when all athwart there cameA post from Wales loaden with heavy news;Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wild Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, A thousand of his people butchered;Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, Such beastly shameless transformation, By those Welshwomen done as may not beWithout much shame

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