Henry IV Part Iby William Shakespeare
'Craik's commentary is particularly ample and detailed... he builds up a distinct though traditionalist reading which, critically sympathetic and undogmatic, finds the play at once simple and subtle.'John Jowett, Shakespeare Survey'With the exceptionally thorough Arden notes, and the extensive editorial coverage, including recent stage history, this Henry V is the one to have.'Times Higher Education Supplement'Craik's commentary is exemplary in its thorough treatment of critical concerns, glossaries and explanations, theatrical matters, and source material.'Shakespeare Quarterly
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Read an Excerpt
Open your ears, for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumor speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth.
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace while covert enmity Under the smile of safety wounds the world.
And who but Rumor, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepared defense
Whiles the big year, swoll'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wav'ring multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumor here?
I run before King Harry's victory,
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? My office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the King before the Douglas' rage
Stooped his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumored through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten [hold] of ragged stone,
(Where) Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learnt of me. From Rumor's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
Copyright © 1999 by The Folger Shakespeare Library
Meet the Author
About the Editor:
Roma Gill's interest in Shakespeare spans over 30 years, with a career as a teacher, lecturer, writer, and editor. In 1994 she was awarded the Order of the British Empire for her services to English Literature.
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