The Second Part of Henry the Fourth, Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5696 1106026950 9781106026958 Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License Revised version of The texts were originally prepared by Trevor Howard-Hill for use in his single volume concordances to Shakespeare (OUP, 1969f). They have since been reformatted to modern standards and carefully proofread by staff of Oxford University Press' Shakespeare Department for use in the new "Old Spelling" Oxford Shakespeare, under the general editorship of Dr Stanley Wells: The complete works / William Shakespeare; general editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor ; editors Stanley Wells ... [et al.] ; with introductions by Stanley Wells. -- Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1986. -- (Oxford Shakespeare). -- ISBN 0-19-812926-2 The Second Part of Henry the Fourth, Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Lee, Sidney, Sir, 1859-1926 xxxv, 908 p. : facsims. ; 39 cm. Clarendon Press Oxford 1902 "One thousand copies of this facsimile have been printed"--verso of half t.p. Facsim. reprint of ed. published, London : printed by Issac Iaggard and Ed.[ward] Blount, 1623 with original t.p.: Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Original colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W.[illiam] Iaggard, Ed.[ward] Blount, I.[ohn] Smithweeke [i.e. Smethwick], and W.[illiam] Aspley, 1623 Contents: The tempest. The two gentlemen of Verona. The merry wives of Windsor. Measvre, for measure. The comedie of errors. Much adoe about nothing. Loues labour's lost. A midsommer nights dreame. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfe night, or what you will. The winters tale. The life and death of King Iohn. The life and death of King Richard the second. The first part of Henry the fourth. The second part of Henry the fourth. The life of Henry the fift. The first part of Henry the sixt. The second part of Henry the sixt. The third part of Henry the sixt. The tragedy of Richard the third. The famous history of the life of King Henry the eight. The tragedie of Troylus and Cressida. The tragedy of Coriolanvs. The lamentable tragedy of Titus Andronicus. The tragedie of Romeo and Ivliet. The life of Tymon of Athens. The tragedie of Ivlivs Caesar. The tragedie of Macbeth. The tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. The tragedie of King Lear. The tragedie of Othello, the moore of Venice. The tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. The tragedie of Cymbeline Lower case y with smaller lower case u above Abbreviation for thou in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythou Lower case y with smaller lower case e above Abbreviation for the in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythe Lower case y with smaller lower case t above Abbreviation for that in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythat Lower case w with smaller lower case c above Abbreviation for which in Elizabethan typesetting entity wwhich University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings Library of Congress Subject Headings English Plays -- England -- 16th century Plays -- England -- 17th century Comedies -- England -- 16th century Comedies -- England -- 17th century Tragedies -- England -- 16th century Tragedies -- England -- 17th century Header normalised The Second Part of Henry the Fourth,Containing his Death: and the Coronationof King Henry the Fift.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
INDVCTION. Enter Rumour. Open your Eares: For which of you will stopThe vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor speakes?I, from the Orient, to the drooping West(Making the winde my Post-horse) still vnfoldThe Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride,The which, in euery Language, I pronounce,Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports:I speake of Peace, while couert Enmitie(Vnder the smile of Safety) wounds the World:And who but Rumour, who but onely IMake fearfull Musters, and prepar'd Defence,Whil'st the bigge yeare, swolne with some other griefes,Is thought with childe, by the sterne Tyrant, Warre,And no such matter? Rumour, is a PipeBlowne by Surmises, Ielousies, Coniectures;And of so easie, and so plaine a stop,That the blunt Monster, with vncounted heads,The still discordant, wauering Multitude,Can play vpon it. But what neede I thusMy well-knowne Body to AnathomizeAmong my houshold? Why is Rumour heere?I run before King Harries victory,Who in a bloodie field by ShrewsburieHath beaten downe yong Hotspurre, and his Troopes,Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion,Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane ITo speake so true at first? My Office isTo noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fellVnder the Wrath of Noble Hotspurres Sword:And that the King, before the Dowglas RageStoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.This haue I rumour'd through the peasant-Townes,Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie,And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone,Where Hotspurres Father, old Northumberland,Lyes crafty sicke. The Postes come tyring on,And not a man of them brings other newesThen they haue learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues,They bring smooth-Comforts-false, worse then True-wrongs. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter. L.Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere hoa?Where is the Earle? Por. What shall I say you are? Bar. Tell thou the EarleThat the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere. Por. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard,Please it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate,And he himselfe will answer. Enter Northumberland. L.Bar. Heere comes the Earle. Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'ry minute nowShould be the Father of some Stratagem;The Times are wilde: Contention (like a HorseFull of high Feeding) madly hath broke loose,And beares downe all before him. L.Bar. Noble Earle,I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury. Nor. Good, and heauen will. L.Bar. As good as heart can wish:The King is almost wounded to the death:And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne,Prince Harrie slaine out-right: and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince Iohn, And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field.And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn)Is prisoner to your Sonne. O, such a Day,(So fought, so follow'd, and so fairely wonne)Came not, till now, to dignifie the TimesSince Caesars Fortunes. Nor. How is this deriu'd?Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury? L.Bar. I spake with one (my L[ord].) that came fro[m] thence,A Gentleman well bred, and of good name,That freely render'd me these newes for true. Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I sentOn Tuesday last, to listen after Newes. Enter Trauers. L.Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way,And he is furnish'd with no certainties,More then he (haply) may retaile from me. Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes fro[m] you? Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Vmfreuill turn'd me backeWith ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd)Out-rod me. After him, came spurring headA Gentleman (almost fore-spent with speed)That stopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horse.He ask'd the way to Chester: And of himI did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury:He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke,And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold.With that he gaue his able Horse the head,And bending forwards strooke his able heelesAgainst the panting sides of his poore IadeVp to the Rowell head, and starting so,He seem'd in running, to deuoure the way,Staying no longer question. North. Ha? Againe:Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold?(Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion,Had met ill lucke? L.Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what,If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day,Vpon mine Honor, for a silken pointIle giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it. Nor. Why should the Gentleman that rode by Trauers Giue then such instances of Losse? L.Bar. Who, he?He was some hielding Fellow, that had stolneThe Horse he rode-on: and vpon my lifeSpeake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes. Enter Morton. Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title-leafe,Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume:So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious FloodHath left a witnest Vsurpation.Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury? Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord)Where hatefull death put on his vgliest MaskeTo fright our party. North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy CheekeIs apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse,So dull, so dead in looke, so woe-be-gone,Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night,And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue:And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'st it.This, thou would'st say: Your Sonne did thus, and thus:Your Brother, thus. So fought the Noble Dowglas, Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds.But in the end (to stop mine Eare indeed)Thou hast a Sigh, to blow away this Praise,Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead. Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet:But for my Lord, your Sonne. North. Why, he is dead.See what a ready tongue Suspition hath:He that but feares the thing, he would not know,Hath by Instinct, knowledge from others Eyes,That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet speake (Morton)Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination Lies,And I will take it, as a sweet Disgrace,And make thee rich, for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great, to be (by me) gainsaid:Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine. North. Yet for all this, say not that Percies dead.I see a strange Confession in thine Eye:Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it Feare, or Sinne,To speake a truth. If he be slaine, say so:The Tongue offends not, that reports his death:And he doth sinne that doth belye the dead:Not he, which sayes the dead is not aliue:Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome NewesHath but a loosing Office: and his Tongue,Sounds euer after as a sullen BellRemembred, knolling a departing Friend. L.Bar. I cannot thinke (my Lord) your son is dead. Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to beleeueThat, which I would to heauen, I had not seene.But these mine eyes, saw him in bloody state,Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd)To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downeThe neuer-daunted Percie to the earth,From whence (with life) he neuer more sprung vp.In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire,Euen to the dullest Peazant in his Campe)Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate awayFrom the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.For from his Mettle, was his Party steel'd;Which once, in him abated, all the restTurn'd on themselues, like dull and heauy Lead:And as the Thing, that's heauy in it selfe,Vpon enforcement, flyes with greatest speede,So did our Men, heauy in Hotspurres losse,Lend to this weight, such lightnesse with their Feare,That Arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme,Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their safety)Fly from the field. Then was that Noble WorcesterToo soone ta'ne prisoner: and that furious Scot,(The bloody Dowglas) whose well-labouring swordHad three times slaine th' appearance of the King,Gan vaile his stomacke, and did grace the shameOf those that turn'd their backes: and in his flight,Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The summe of all,Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath sent outA speedy power, to encounter you my Lord,Vnder the Conduct of yong LancasterAnd Westmerland. This is the Newes at full. North. For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes(Hauing beene well) that would haue made me sicke,Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.And as the Wretch, whose Feauer-weakned ioynts,Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fireOut of his keepers armes: Euen so, my Limbes(Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'd with greefe,Are thrice themselues. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,A scalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of SteeleMust gloue this hand. And hence thou sickly Quoife,Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,Which Princes, flesh'd with Conquest, ayme to hit.Now binde my Browes with Iron and approachThe ragged'st houre, that Time and Spight dare bringTo frowne vpon th' enrag'd Northumberland.Let Heauen kisse Earth: now let not Natures handKeepe the wilde Flood confin'd: Let Order dye,And let the world no longer be a stageTo feede Contention in a ling'ring Act:But let one spirit of the First-borne Caine Reigne in all bosomes, that each heart being setOn bloody Courses, the rude Scene may end,And darknesse be the burier of the dead. L.Bar. Sweet Earle, diuorce not wisedom from your Honor. Mor. The liues of all your louing ComplicesLeane-on your health, the which if you giue-o'reTo stormy Passion, must perforce decay.You cast th' euent of Warre (my Noble Lord)And summ'd the accompt of Chance, before you saidLet vs make head: It was your presurmize,That in the dole of blowes, your Son might drop.You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edgeMore likely to fall in, then to get o're:You were aduis'd his flesh was capeableOf Wounds, and Scarres; and that his forward SpiritWould lift him, where most trade of danger rang'd,Yet did you say go forth: and none of this(Though strongly apprehended) could restraineThe stiffe-borne Action: What hath then befalne?Or what hath this bold enterprize bring forth,More then that Being, which was like to be? L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this losse,Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous Seas,That if we wrought out life, was ten to one:And yet we ventur'd for the gaine propos'd,Choak'd the respect of likely perill fear'd,And since we are o're-set, venture againe.Come, we will all put forth; Body, and Goods, Mor. 'Tis more then time: And (my most Noble Lord)I heare for certaine, and do speake the truth:The gentle Arch-bishop of Yorke is vpWith well appointed Powres: he is a manWho with a double Surety bindes his Followers.My Lord (your Sonne) had onely but the Corpes,But shadowes, and the shewes of men to fight.For that same word (Rebellion) did diuideThe action of their bodies, from their soules,And they did fight with queasinesse, constrain'dAs men drinke Potions; that their Weapons onlySeem'd on our side: but for their Spirits and Soules,This word (Rebellion) it had froze them vp,As Fish are in a Pond. But now the BishopTurnes Insurrection to Religion,Suppos'd sincere, and holy in his Thoughts:He's follow'd both with Body, and with Minde:And doth enlarge his Rising, with the bloodOf faire King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones,Deriues from heauen, his Quarrell, and his Cause:Tels them, he doth bestride a bleeding Land,Gasping for life, vnder great Bullingbrooke, And more, and lesse, do flocke to follow him. North. I knew of this before. But to speake truth,This present greefe had wip'd it from my minde.Go in with me, and councell euery manThe aptest way for safety, and reuenge:Get Posts, and Letters, and make Friends with speed,Neuer so few, nor neuer yet more need. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe, and Page. Fal. Sirra, you giant, what saies the Doct[or]. to my water? Pag. He said sir, the water it selfe was a good healthywater: but for the party that ow'd it, he might haue morediseases then he knew for. Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at mee: thebraine of this foolish compounded Clay-man, is not ableto inuent any thing that tends to laughter, more then Iinuent, or is inuented on me. I am not onely witty in myselfe, but the cause that wit is in other men. I doe heerewalke before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd allher Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Ser-uice for any other reason, then to set mee off, why then Ihaue no iudgement. Thou horson Mandrake, thou artfitter to be worne in my cap, then to wait at my heeles. Iwas neuer mann'd with an Agot till now: but I will setteyou neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell, andsend you backe againe to your Master, for a Iewell. The Iuuenall (the Prince your Master) whose Chin is not yetfledg'd, I will sooner haue a beard grow in the Palme ofmy hand, then he shall get one on his cheeke: yet he willnot sticke to say, his Face is a Face-Royall. Heauen mayfinish it when he will, it is not a haire amisse yet: he maykeepe it still at a Face-Royall, for a Barber shall neuerearne six pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as ifhe had writ man euer since his Father was a Batchellour.He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almost out ofmine, I can assure him. What said M[aster]. Dombledon, aboutthe Satten for my short Cloake, and Slops? Pag. He said sir, you should procure him better Assu-rance, then Bardolfe: he wold not take his Bond & yours,he lik'd not the Security. Fal. Let him bee damn'd like the Glutton, may hisTongue be hotter, a horson Achitophel; a Rascally-yea-forsooth-knaue,to beare a Gentleman in hand, and thenstand vpon Security? The horson smooth-pates doe nowweare nothing but high shoes, and bunches of Keyes attheir girdles: and if a man is through with them in ho-nest Taking-vp, then they must stand vpon Securitie: Ihad as liefe they would put Rats-bane in my mouth, asoffer to stoppe it with Security. I look'd hee should hauesent me two and twenty yards of Satten (as I am trueKnight) and he sends me Security. Well, he may sleep inSecurity, for he hath the horne of Abundance: and thelightnesse of his Wife shines through it, and yet cannothe see, though he haue his owne Lanthorne to light him.Where's Bardolfe? Pag. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worshipa horse. Fal. I bought him in Paules, and hee'l buy mee a horsein Smithfield. If I could get mee a wife in the Stewes, Iwere Mann'd, Hors'd, and Wiu'd. Enter Chiefe Iustice, and Seruant. Pag. Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that committedthe Prince for striking him, about Bardolfe. Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. Ch.Iust. What's he that goes there? Ser. Falstaffe, and't please your Lordship. Iust. He that was in question for the Robbery? Ser. He my Lord, but he hath since done good seruiceat Shrewsbury: and (as I heare) is now going with someCharge, to the Lord Iohn of Lancaster. Iust. What to Yorke? Call him backe againe. Ser. Sir Iohn Falstaffe. Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deafe. Pag. You must speake lowder, my Master is deafe. Iust. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.Go plucke him by the Elbow, I must speake with him. Ser. Sir Iohn. Fal. What? a yong knaue and beg? Is there not wars? Isthere not imployment? Doth not the K[ing]. lack subiects? Donot the Rebels want Soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to begge, then tobe on the worst side, were it worse then the name of Re-bellion can tell how to make it. Ser. You mistake me Sir. Fal. Why sir? Did I say you were an honest man? Set-ting my Knight-hood, and my Souldiership aside, I hadlyed in my throat, if I had said so. Ser. I pray you (Sir) then set your Knighthood andyour Souldier-ship aside, and giue mee leaue to tell you,you lye in your throat, if you say I am any other then anhonest man. Fal. I giue thee leaue to tell me so? I lay a-side thatwhich growes to me? If thou get'st any leaue of me, hangme: if thou tak'st leaue, thou wer't better be hang'd: youHunt-counter, hence: Auant. Ser. Sir, my Lord would speake with you. Iust. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, a word with you. Fal. My good Lord: giue your Lordship good time ofthe day. I am glad to see your Lordship abroad: I heardsay your Lordship was sicke. I hope your Lordship goesabroad by aduise. Your Lordship (though not clean pastyour youth) hath yet some smack of age in you: some rel-lish of the saltnesse of Time, and I most humbly beseechyour Lordship, to haue a reuerend care of your health. Iust. Sir Iohn, I sent you before your Expedition, toShrewsburie. Fal. If it please your Lordship, I heare his Maiestie isreturn'd with some discomfort from Wales. Iust. I talke not of his Maiesty: you would not comewhen I sent for you? Fal. And I heare moreouer, his Highnesse is falne intothis same whorson Apoplexie. Iust. Well, heauen mend him. I pray let me speak with you. Fal. This Apoplexie is (as I take it) a kind of Lethar-gie, a sleeping of the blood, a horson Tingling. Iust. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. Fal. It hath it originall from much greefe; from studyand perturbation of the braine. I haue read the cause ofhis effects in Galen. It is a kinde of deafenesse. Iust. I thinke you are falne into the disease: For youheare not what I say to you. Fal. Very well (my Lord) very well: rather an't pleaseyou) it is the disease of not Listning, the malady of notMarking, that I am troubled withall. Iust. To punish you by the heeles, would amend theattention of your eares, & I care not if I be your Physitian Fal. I am as poore as Iob, my Lord; but not so Patient:your Lordship may minister the Potion of imprisonmentto me, in respect of Pouertie: but how I should bee yourPatient, to follow your prescriptions, the wise may makesome dram of a scruple, or indeede, a scruple it selfe. Iust. I sent for you (when there were matters againstyou for your life) to come speake with me. Fal. As I was then aduised by my learned Councel, inthe lawes of this Land-seruice, I did not come. Iust. Wel, the truth is (sir Iohn) you liue in great infamy Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, ca[n]not liue in lesse. Iust. Your Meanes is very slender, and your wast great. Fal. I would it were otherwise: I would my Meaneswere greater, and my waste slenderer. Iust. You haue misled the youthfull Prince. Fal. The yong Prince hath misled mee. I am the Fel-low with the great belly, and he my Dogge. Iust. Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd wound: yourdaies seruice at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded oueryour Nights exploit on Gads-hill. You may thanke thevnquiet time, for your quiet o're-posting that Action. Fal. My Lord? Iust. But since all is wel, keep it so: wake not a sleeping Wolfe. Fal. To wake a Wolfe, is as bad as to smell a Fox. Iu. What? you are as a candle, the better part burnt out Fal. A Wassell-Candle, my Lord; all Tallow: if I didsay of wax, my growth would approue the truth. Iust. There is not a white haire on your face, but sholdhaue his effect of grauity. Fal. His effect of grauy, grauy, grauy. Iust. You follow the yong Prince vp and downe, likehis euill Angell. Fal. Not so (my Lord) your ill Angell is light: but Ihope, he that lookes vpon mee, will take mee without,weighing: and yet, in some respects I grant, I cannot go:I cannot tell. Vertue is of so little regard in these Costor-mongers, that true valor is turn'd Beare-heard. Pregnan-cie is made a Tapster, and hath his quicke wit wasted ingiuing Recknings: all the other gifts appertinent to man(as the malice of this Age shapes them) are not woorth aGooseberry. You that are old, consider not the capaci-ties of vs that are yong: you measure the heat of our Li-uers, with the bitternes of your gals: & we that are in thevaward of our youth, I must confesse, are wagges too. Iust. Do you set downe your name in the scrowle ofyouth, that are written downe old, with all the Charrac-ters of age? Haue you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yel-low cheeke? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an incresingbelly? Is not your voice broken? your winde short? yourwit single? and euery part about you blasted with Anti-quity? and wil you cal your selfe yong? Fy, fy, fy, sir Iohn. Fal. My Lord, I was borne with a white head, & som-thing a round belly. For my voice, I haue lost it with hal-lowing and singing of Anthemes. To approue my youthfarther, I will not: the truth is, I am onely olde in iudge-ment and vnderstanding: and he that will caper with meefor a thousand Markes, let him lend me the mony, & haueat him. For the boxe of th' eare that the Prince gaue you,he gaue it like a rude Prince, and you tooke it like a sensi-ble Lord. I haue checkt him for it, and the yong Lion re-pents: Marry not in ashes and sacke-cloath, but in newSilke, and old Sacke. Iust. Wel, heauen send the Prince a better companion. Fal. Heauen send the Companion a better Prince: Icannot rid my hands of him. Iust. Well, the King hath seuer'd you and Prince Har-ry, I heare you are going with Lord Iohn of Lancaster, a-gainst the Archbishop, and the Earle of Northumberland Fal. Yes, I thanke your pretty sweet wit for it: butlooke you pray, (all you that kisse my Ladie Peace, athome) that our Armies ioyn not in a hot day: for if I takebut two shirts out with me, and I meane not to sweat ex-traordinarily: if it bee a hot day, if I brandish any thingbut my Bottle, would I might neuer spit white againe:There is not a daungerous Action can peepe out his head,but I am thrust vpon it. Well, I cannot last euer. Iust. Well, be honest, be honest, and heauen blesse yourExpedition. Fal. Will your Lordship lend mee a thousand pound,to furnish me forth? Iust. Not a peny, not a peny: you are too impatientto beare crosses. Fare you well. Commend mee to myCosin Westmerland. Fal. If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A mancan no more separate Age and Couetousnesse, then he canpart yong limbes and letchery: but the Gowt galles the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the De-grees preuent my curses. Boy? Page. Sir. Fal. What money is in my purse? Page. Seuen groats, and two pence. Fal. I can get no remedy against this Consumption ofthe purse. Borrowing onely lingers, and lingers it out,but the disease is incureable. Go beare this letter to myLord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earle ofWestmerland, and this to old Mistris Vrsula, whome Ihaue weekly sworne to marry, since I perceiu'd the firstwhite haire on my chin. About it: you know where tofinde me. A pox of this Gowt, or a Gowt of this Poxe:for the one or th' other playes the rogue with my greattoe: It is no matter, if I do halt, I haue the warres for mycolour, and my Pension shall seeme the more reasonable.A good wit will make vse of any thing: I will turne dis-eases to commodity. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Archbishop, Hastings, Mowbray, andLord Bardolfe. Ar. Thus haue you heard our causes, & kno our Means:And my most noble Friends, I pray you allSpeake plainly your opinions of our hopes,And first (Lord Marshall) what say you to it? Mow. I well allow the occasion of our Armes,But gladly would be better satisfied,How (in our Meanes) we should aduance our seluesTo looke with forhead bold and big enoughVpon the Power and puisance of the King. Hast. Our present Musters grow vpon the FileTo fiue and twenty thousand men of choice:And our Supplies, liue largely in the hopeOf great Northumberland, whose bosome burnesWith an incensed Fire of Iniuries. L.Bar. The question then (Lord Hastings) standeth thusWhether our present fiue and twenty thousandMay hold-vp-head, without Northumberland: Hast. With him, we may. L.Bar. I marry, there's the point:But if without him we be thought to feeble,My iudgement is, we should not step too farreTill we had his Assistance by the hand.For in a Theame so bloody fac'd, as this,Coniecture, Expectation, and SurmiseOf Aydes incertaine, should not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeedIt was yong Hotspurres case, at Shrewsbury. L.Bar. It was (my Lord) who lin'd himself with hope,Eating the ayre, on promise of Supply,Flatt'ring himselfe with Proiect of a power,Much smaller, then the smallest of his Thoughts,And so with great imagination(Proper to mad men) led his Powers to death,And (winking) leap'd into destruction. Hast. But (by your leaue) it neuer yet did hurt,To lay downe likely-hoods, and formes of hope. L.Bar. Yes, if this present quality of warre,Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot,Liues so in hope: As in an early Spring,We see th' appearing buds, which to proue fruite,Hope giues not so much warrant, as DispaireThat Frosts will bite them. When we meane to build,We first suruey the Plot, then draw the Modell,And when we see the figure of the house,Then must we rate the cost of the Erection,Which if we finde out-weighes Ability,What do we then, but draw a-new the ModellIn fewer offices? Or at least, desistTo builde at all? Much more, in this great worke,(Which is (almost) to plucke a Kingdome downe,And set another vp) should we surueyThe plot of Situation, and the Modell;Consent vpon a sure Foundation:Question Surueyors, know our owne estate,How able such a Worke to vndergo,To weigh against his Opposite? Or else,We fortifie in Paper, and in Figures,Vsing the Names of men, instead of men:Like one, that drawes the Modell of a houseBeyond his power to builde it; who (halfe through)Giues o're, and leaues his part-created CostA naked subiect to the Weeping Clouds,And waste, for churlish Winters tyranny. Hast. Grant that our hopes (yet likely of faire byrth)Should be still-borne: and that we now possestThe vtmost man of expectation:I thinke we are a Body strong enough(Euen as we are) to equall with the King. L.Bar. What is the King but fiue & twenty thousand? Hast. To vs no more: nay not so much Lord Bardolf. For0his diuisions (as the Times do braul)Are in three Heads: one Power against the French,And one against Glendower: Perforce a thirdMust take vp vs: So is the vnfirme KingIn three diuided: and his Coffers soundWith hollow Pouerty, and Emptinesse. Ar. That he should draw his seuerall strengths togitherAnd come against vs in full puissanceNeed not be dreaded. Hast. If he should do so,He leaues his backe vnarm'd, the French, and WelchBaying him at the heeles: neuer feare that. L.Bar. Who is it like should lead his Forces hither? Hast. The Duke of Lancaster, and Westmerland:Against the Welsh himselfe, and Harrie Monmouth. But who is substituted 'gainst the French,I haue no certaine notice. Arch. Let vs on:And publish the occasion of our Armes.The Common-wealth is sicke of their owne Choice,Their ouer-greedy loue hath surfetted:An habitation giddy, and vnsureHath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.O thou fond Many, with what loud applauseDid'st thou beate heauen with blessing Bullingbrooke, Before he was, what thou would'st haue him be?And being now trimm'd in thine owne desires,Thou (beastly Feeder) art so full of him,That thou prouok'st thy selfe to cast him vp.So, so, (thou common Dogge) did'st thou disgorgeThy glutton-bosome of the Royall Richard, And now thou would'st eate thy dead vomit vp,And howl'st to finde it. What trust is in these Times?They, that when Richard liu'd, would haue him dye,Are now become enamour'd on his graue.Thou that threw'st dust vpon his goodly headWhen through proud London he came sighing on,After th' admired heeles of Bullingbrooke, Cri'st now, O Earth, yeeld vs that King againe, And take thou this (O thoughts of men accurs'd)"Past, and to Come, seemes best; things Present, worst. Mow. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? Hast. We are Times subiects, and Time bids, be gon.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Hostesse, with two Officers, Fang, and Snare. Hostesse. Mr. Fang, haue you entred the Action? Fang. It is enter'd. Hostesse. Wher's your Yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman?Will he stand to it? Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Hostesse. I, I, good M[aster]. Snare. Snare. Heere, heere. Fang. Snare, we must Arrest Sir Iohn Falstaffe. Host. I good M[aster]. Snare, I haue enter'd him, and all. Sn. It may chance cost some of vs our liues: he wil stab Hostesse. Alas the day: take heed of him: he stabd mein mine owne house, and that most beastly: he cares notwhat mischeefe he doth, if his weapon be out. Hee willfoyne like any diuell, he will spare neither man, woman,nor childe. Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. Hostesse. No, nor I neither: Ile be at your elbow. Fang. If I but fist him once: if he come but within myVice. Host. I am vndone with his going: I warrant he is aninfinitiue thing vpon my score. Good M[aster]. Fang hold himsure: good M[aster]. Snare let him not scape, he comes continu-antly to Py-Corner (sauing your manhoods) to buy a sad-dle, and hee is indited to dinner to the Lubbars head inLombardstreet, to M[aster]. Smoothes the Silkman. I pra' ye, sincemy Exion is enter'd, and my Case so openly known to theworld, let him be brought in to his answer: A 100. Markeis a long one, for a poore lone woman to beare: & I haueborne, and borne, and borne, and haue bin fub'd off, andfub'd-off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame tobe thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing, vnlesa woman should be made an Asse and a Beast, to beare e-uery Knaues wrong. Enter Falstaffe and Bardolfe. Yonder he comes, and that arrant Malmesey-Nose Bar-dolfe with him. Do your Offices, do your offices: M[aster]. Fang, & M[aster]. Snare, do me, do me, do me your Offices. Fal. How now? whose Mare's dead? what's the matter? Fang. Sir Iohn, I arrest you, at the suit of Mist. Quickly. Falst. Away Varlets, draw Bardolfe: Cut me off theVillaines head: throw the Queane in the Channel. Host. Throw me in the channell? Ile throw thee there.Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue. Murder, mur-der, O thou Hony-suckle villaine, wilt thou kill Gods of-ficers, and the Kings? O thou hony-seed Rogue, thou arta honyseed, a Man-queller, and a woman-queller. Falst. Keep them off, Bardolfe. Fang. A rescu, a rescu. Host. Good people bring a rescu. Thou wilt not? thouwilt not? Do, do thou Rogue: Do thou Hempseed. Page. Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you Fustil-lirian: Ile tucke your Catastrophe. Enter Ch. Iustice. Iust. What's the matter? Keepe the Peace here, hoa. Host. Good my Lord be good to mee. I beseech youstand to me. Ch.Iust. How now sir Iohn? What are you brauling here?Doth this become your place, your time, and businesse?You should haue bene well on your way to Yorke.Stand from him Fellow; wherefore hang'st vpon him? Host. Oh my most worshipfull Lord, and't please yourGrace, I am a poore widdow of Eastcheap, and he is arre-sted at my suit. Ch.Iust. For what summe? Host. It is more then for some (my Lord) it is for all: allI haue, he hath eaten me out of house and home; hee hathput all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I willhaue some of it out againe, or I will ride thee o' Nights,like the Mare. Falst. I thinke I am as like to ride the Mare, if I haueany vantage of ground, to get vp. Ch.Iust. How comes this, Sir Iohn? Fy, what a man ofgood temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?Are you not asham'd to inforce a poore Widdowe to sorough a course, to come by her owne? Falst. What is the grosse summe that I owe thee? Host. Marry (if thou wer't an honest man) thy selfe, &the mony too. Thou didst sweare to mee vpon a parcellgilt Goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber at the roundtable, by a sea-cole fire, on Wednesday in Whitson week,when the Prince broke thy head for lik'ning him to a sin-ging man of Windsor; Thou didst sweare to me then (as Iwas washing thy wound) to marry me, and make mee myLady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech the Butchers wife come in then, and cal me gossip Quick-ly?comming in to borrow a messe of Vinegar: telling vs,she had a good dish of Prawnes: whereby thou didst desire toeat some: whereby I told thee they were ill for a greenewound? And didst not thou (when she was gone downestaires) desire me to be no more familiar with such poorepeople, saying, that ere long they should call me Madam?And did'st thou not kisse me, and bid mee fetch thee 30.s? Iput thee now to thy Book-oath, deny it if thou canst? Fal. My Lord, this is a poore mad soule: and she sayesvp & downe the town, that her eldest son is like you. Shehath bin in good case, & the truth is, pouerty hath distra-cted her: but for these foolish Officers, I beseech you, Imay haue redresse against them. Iust. Sir Iohn, sir Iohn, I am well acquainted with yourmaner of wrenching the true cause, the false way. It is nota confident brow, nor the throng of wordes, that comewith such (more then impudent) sawcines from you, canthrust me from a leuell consideration, I know you ha' pra-ctis'dvpon the easie-yeelding spirit of this woman. Host. Yes in troth my Lord. Iust. Prethee peace: pay her the debt you owe her, andvnpay the villany you haue done her: the one you may dowith sterling mony, & the other with currant repentance. Fal. My Lord, I will not vndergo this sneape withoutreply. You call honorable Boldnes, impudent Sawcinesse:If a man wil curt'sie, and say nothing, he is vertuous: No,my Lord (your humble duty reme[m]bred) I will not be yoursutor. I say to you, I desire deliu'rance from these Officersbeing vpon hasty employment in the Kings Affaires. Iust. You speake, as hauing power to do wrong: Butanswer in the effect of your Reputation, and satisfie thepoore woman. Falst. Come hither Hostesse. Enter M[aster]. Gower Ch.Iust. Now Master Gower; What newes? Gow. The King (my Lord) and Henrie Prince of WalesAre neere at hand: The rest the Paper telles. Falst. As I am a Gentleman. Host. Nay, you said so before. Fal. As I am a Gentleman. Come, no more words of it Host. By this Heauenly ground I tread on, I must befaine to pawne both my Plate, and the Tapistry of my dy-ning Chambers. Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the onely drinking: and forthy walles a pretty slight Drollery, or the Storie of theProdigall, or the Germane hunting in Waterworke, isworth a thousand of these Bed-hangings, and these Fly-bitten Tapistries. Let it be tenne pound (if thou canst.)Come, if it were not for thy humors, there is not a betterWench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw thyAction: Come, thou must not bee in this humour withme, come, I know thou was't set on to this. Host. Prethee (Sir Iohn) let it be but twenty Nobles,I loath to pawne my Plate, in good earnest la. Fal. Let it alone, Ile make other shift: you'l be a foolstill. Host. Well, you shall haue it although I pawne myGowne. I hope you'l come to Supper: You'l pay me al-together? Fal. Will I liue? Go with her, with her: hooke-on,hooke-on. Host. Will you haue Doll Teare-sheet meet you at sup-per? Fal. No more words. Let's haue her. Ch.Iust. I haue heard bitter newes. Fal. What's the newes (my good Lord?) Ch.Iu. Where lay the King last night? Mes. At Basingstoke my Lord. Fal. I hope (my Lord) all's well. What is the newesmy Lord? Ch.Iust. Come all his Forces backe? Mes. No: Fifteene hundred Foot, fiue hundred HorseAre march'd vp to my Lord of Lancaster,Against Northumberland, and the Archbishop. Fal. Comes the King backe from Wales, my noble L[ord]? Ch.Iust. You shall haue Letters of me presently.Come, go along with me, good M[aster]. Gowre. Fal. My Lord. Ch.Iust. What's the matter? Fal. Master Gowre, shall I entreate you with mee todinner? Gow. I must waite vpon my good Lord heere.I thanke you, good Sir Iohn. Ch.Iust. Sir Iohn, you loyter heere too long being youare to take Souldiers vp, in Countries as you go. Fal. Will you sup with me, Master Gowre? Ch.Iust. What foolish Master taught you these man-ners, Sir Iohn? Fal. Master Gower, if they become mee not, hee was aFoole that taught them mee. This is the right Fencinggrace (my Lord) tap for tap, and so part faire. Ch.Iust. Now the Lord lighten thee, thou art a greatFoole. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe,and Page. Prin. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. Poin. Is it come to that? I had thought wearines durstnot haue attach'd one of so high blood. Prin. It doth me: though it discolours the complexionof my Greatnesse to acknowledge it. Doth it not shewvildely in me, to desire small Beere? Poin. Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied,as to remember so weake a Composition. Prince. Belike then, my Appetite was not Princelygot: for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Crea-ture, Small Beere. But indeede these humble considera-tions make me out of loue with my Greatnesse. What adisgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to knowthy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire ofSilk stockings thou hast? (Viz. these, and those that were thypeach-colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thyshirts, as one for superfluity, and one other, for vse. Butthat the Tennis-Court-keeper knowes better then I, forit is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'stnot Racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, be-cause the rest of thy Low Countries, haue made a shift toeate vp thy Holland. Poin. How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd sohard, you should talke so idlely? Tell me how many goodyong Princes would do so, their Fathers lying so sicke, asyours is? Prin. Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz? Poin. Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing. Prin. It shall serue among wittes of no higher breed-ing then thine. Poin. Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, thatyou'l tell. Prin. Why, I tell thee, it is not meet, that I should besad now my Father is sicke: albeit I could tell to thee (asto one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend)I could be sad, and sad indeed too. Poin. Very hardly, vpon such a subiect. Prin. Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, asthou, and Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let theend try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inward-ly, that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild com-pany as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all osten-tation of sorrow. Poin. The reason? Prin. What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep? Poin. I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite. Prin. It would be euery mans thought: and thou arta blessed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer amans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way betterthen thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite in-deede. And what accites your most worshipful thoughtto thinke so? Poin. Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and somuch ingraffed to Falstaffe. Prin. And to thee. Pointz. Nay, I am well spoken of, I can heare it withmine owne eares: the worst that they can say of me is, thatI am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe ofmy hands: and those two things I confesse I canot helpe.Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe. Prince. And the Boy that I gaue Falstaffe, he had himfrom me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not trans-form'dhim Ape. Enter Bardolfe. Bar. Saue your Grace. Prin. And yours, most Noble Bardolfe. Poin. Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole,must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? whata Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such amatter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head? Page. He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a redLattice, and I could discerne no part of his face from the window: at last I spy'd his eyes, and me thought he hadmade two holes in the Ale-wiues new Petticoat, & pee-ped through. Prin. Hath not the boy profited? Bar. Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away. Page. Away, you rascally Altheas dreame, away. Prin. Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy? Page. Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, she was de-liuer'dof a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream. Prince. A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation:There it is, Boy. Poin. O that this good Blossome could bee kept fromCankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee. Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you,the gallowes shall be wrong'd. Prince. And how doth thy Master, Bardolph? Bar. Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Gracescomming to Towne. There's a Letter for you. Poin. Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth theMartlemas, your Master? Bard. In bodily health Sir. Poin. Marry, the immortall part needes a Physitian:but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyesnot. Prince. I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar withme, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke youhe writes. Poin. Letter. Iohn Falstaffe Knight: (Euery man mustknow that, as oft as hee hath occasion to name himselfe:)Euen like those that are kinne to the King, for they neuerpricke their finger, but they say, there is som of the kingsblood spilt. How comes that (sayes he) that takes vponhim not to conceiue? the answer is as ready as a borrow-ed cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir. Prince. Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetchit from Iaphet. But to the Letter: —— Sir Iohn Falstaffe, Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, HarriePrince of Wales, greeting. Poin. Why this is a Certificate. Prin. Peace. I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie. Poin. Sure he meanes breuity in breath: short-winded. I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leaue thee. Bee not too familiar with Pointz, for hee misuses thy Fauours so much, that he sweares thou art to marrie his Sister Nell. Re-pent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thouvsest him. Iacke Falstaffe with my Familiars: Iohn with my Brothers and Sister: & Sir Iohn, with all Europe. My Lord, I will steepe this Letter in Sack, and make himeate it. Prin. That's to make him eate twenty of his Words.But do you vse me thus Ned? Must I marry your Sister? Poin. May the Wench haue no worse Fortune. But Ineuer said so. Prin. Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time, &the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Isyour Master heere in London? Bard. Yes my Lord. Prin. Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede inthe old Franke? Bard. At the old place my Lord, in East-cheape. Prin. What Company? Page. Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church. Prin. Sup any women with him? Page. None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly, and M[istris]. Doll Teare-sheet. Prin. What Pagan may that be? Page. A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswomanof my Masters. Prin. Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to theTowne-Bull?Shall we steale vpon them (Ned) at Supper? Poin. I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you. Prin. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to yourMaster that I am yet in Towne.There's for your silence. Bar. I haue no tongue, sir. Page. And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it. Prin. Fare ye well: go.This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode. Poin. I warrant you, as common as the way betweeneS[aint]. Albans, and London. Prin. How might we see Falstaffe bestow himselfe tonight, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene? Poin. Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, andwaite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers. Prin. From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: Itwas Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low trans-formation, that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the pur-pose must weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Northumberland, his Ladie, and HarriePercies Ladie. North. I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter,Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires:Put not you on the visage of the Times,And be like them to Percie, troublesome. Wife. I haue giuen ouer, I will speak no more,Do what you will: your Wisedome, be your guide. North. Alas (sweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne,And but my going, nothing can redeeme it. La. Oh yet, for heauens sake, go not to these Warrs;The Time was (Father) when you broke your word,When you were more endeer'd to it, then now,When your owne Percy, when my heart-deere- Harry, Threw many a Northward looke, to see his FatherBring vp his Powres: but he did long in vaine.Who then perswaded you to stay at home?There were two Honors lost; Yours, and your Sonnes.For Yours, may heauenly glory brighten it:For His, it stucke vpon him, as the SunneIn the gray vault of Heauen: and by his LightDid all the Cheualrie of England moueTo do braue Acts. He was (indeed) the GlasseWherein the Noble-Youth did dresse themselues.He had no Legges, that practic'd not his Gate:And speaking thicke (which Nature made his blemish)Became the Accents of the Valiant.For those that could speake low, and tardily,Would turne their owne Perfection, to Abuse,To seeme like him. So that in Speech, in Gate,In Diet, in Affections of delight,In Militarie Rules, Humors of Blood, He was the Marke, and Glasse, Coppy, and Booke,That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous! him,O Miracle of Men! Him did you leaue(Second to none) vn-seconded by you,To looke vpon the hideous God of Warre,In dis-aduantage, to abide a field,Where nothing but the sound of Hotspurs NameDid seeme defensible: so you left him.Neuer, O neuer doe his Ghost the wrong,To hold your Honor more precise and niceWith others, then with him. Let them alone:The Marshall and the Arch-bishop are strong.Had my sweet Harry had but halfe their Numbers,To day might I (hanging on Hotspurs Necke)Haue talk'd of Monmouth's Graue. North. Beshrew your heart,(Faire Daughter) you doe draw my Spirits from me,With new lamenting ancient Ouer-sights.But I must goe, and meet with Danger there,Or it will seeke me in another place,And finde me worse prouided. Wife. O flye to Scotland,Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons,Haue of their Puissance made a little taste. Lady. If they get ground, and vantage of the King,Then ioyne you with them, like a Ribbe of Steele,To make Strength stronger. But, for all our loues,First let them trye themselues. So did your Sonne,He was so suffer'd; so came I a Widow:And neuer shall haue length of Life enough,To raine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes,That it may grow, and sprowt, as high as Heauen,For Recordation to my Noble Husband. North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my MindeAs with the Tyde, swell'd vp vnto his height,That makes a still-stand, running neyther way.Faine would I goe to meet the Arch-bishop,But many thousand Reasons hold me backe.I will resolue for Scotland: there am I,Till Time and Vantage craue my company. Exeunt.
Scaena Quarta. Enter two Drawers. 1.Drawer. What hast thou brought there? Apple-Iohns?Thou know'st Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn. 2.Draw. Thou say'st true: the Prince once set a Dishof Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiuemore Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, said, I will nowtake my leaue of these sixe drie, round, old-wither'dKnights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath for-got that. 1.Draw. Why then couer, and set them downe: andsee if thou canst finde out Sneakes Noyse; Mistris Teare-sheet would faine haue some Musique. 2.Draw. Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Master Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins,and Aprons, and Sir Iohn must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. 1.Draw. Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an ex-cellent stratagem. 2.Draw. Ile see if I can finde out Sneake. Exit. Enter Hostesse, and Dol. Host. Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an ex-cellent good temperalitie: your Pulsidge beates as ex-traordinarily, as heart would desire; and your Colour(I warrant you) is as red as any Rose: But you hauedrunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous sear-ching Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can saywhat's this. How doe you now? Dol. Better then I was: Hem. Host. Why that was well said: A good heart's worthGold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn. Enter Falstaffe. Falst. When Arthur first in Court —— (emptie the Iordan) and was a worthy King: How now Mistris Dol? Host. Sick of a Calme: yea, good-sooth. Falst. So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme,they are sick. Dol. You muddie Rascall, is that all the comfort yougiue me? Falst. You make fat Rascalls, Mistris Dol. Dol. I make them? Gluttonie and Diseases makethem, I make them not. Falst. If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe tomake the Diseases (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catchof you: Grant that, my poore Vertue, grant that. Dol. I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels. Falst. Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For toserue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to comeoff the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surge-rie brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambersbrauely. Host. Why this is the olde fashion: you two neuermeete, but you fall to some discord: you are both (ingood troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Tostes, you can-not one beare with anothers Confirmities. What thegood-yere? One must beare, and that must bee you:you are the weaker Vessell; as they say, the emptierVessell. Dol. Can a weake emptie Vessell beare such a hugefull Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Ventureof Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not seene a Hulkebetter stufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether Ishall euer see thee againe, or no, there is no bodycares. Enter Drawer. Drawer. Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and wouldspeake with you. Dol. Hang him, swaggering Rascall, let him notcome hither: it is the foule-mouth'dst Rogue in Eng-land. Host. If hee swagger, let him not come here: I mustliue amongst my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I amin good name, and fame, with the very best: shut thedoore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue notliu'd all this while, to haue swaggering now: shut thedoore, I pray you. Falst. Do'st thou heare, Hostesse? Host. 'Pray you pacifie your selfe (Sir Iohn) there comesno Swaggerers heere. Falst. Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient. Host. Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancientSwaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me,it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was bythen: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those thatare Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: nowhee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you arean honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore takeheede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) noswaggering Companions. There comes none heere. Youwould blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile noSwaggerers. Falst. Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater,hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Grey-hound: hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, ifher feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Callhim vp (Drawer.) Host. Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honestman my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swag-gering; I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: FeeleMasters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you. Dol. So you doe, Hostesse. Host. Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an As-pen Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers. Enter Pistol, and Bardolph and his Boy. Pist. 'Saue you, Sir Iohn. Falst. Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I chargeyou with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mineHostesse. Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with twoBullets. Falst. She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly of-fend her. Host. Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: Iwill drinke no more then will doe me good, for no manspleasure, I. Pist. Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will chargeyou. Dol. Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion)what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate:away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat foryour Master. Pist. I know you, Mistris Dorothie. Dol. Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung,away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldieChappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Awayyou Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you.Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points onyour shoulder? much. Pist. I will murther your Ruffe, for this. Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweeteCaptaine. Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater,art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaineswere of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for ta-king their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them.You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a pooreWhores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hanghim Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, anddry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will makethe word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines hadneede looke to it. Bard. 'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient. Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol. Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, Icould teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her. Page. 'Pray thee goe downe. Pist. Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake,to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vildealso. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downeDogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here? Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late:I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler. Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall Pack-Horses,and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which can-not goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Caesar, andwith Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damnethem with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shallwee fall foule for Toyes? Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitterwords. Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to aBrawle anon. Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes:Haue we not Hiren here? Host. On my word (Captaine) there's none such here.What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?I pray be quiet. Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come,giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me con-tente. Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire:Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there:Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's no-thing? Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haueseene the seuen Starres. Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure sucha Fustian Rascall. Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Gallo-way Nagges? Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groatshilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, heeshall be nothing here. Bard. Come, get you downe stayres. Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee em-brew? then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefulldayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds,vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say. Host. Here's good stuffe toward. Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy. Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw. Fal. Get you downe stayres. Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keepinghouse, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Mur-ther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Wea-pons, put vp your naked Weapons. Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah,you whorson little valiant Villaine, you. Host. Are you not hurt i'th' Groyne? me thought heemade a shrewd Thrust at your Belly. Fal. Haue you turn'd him out of doores? Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurthim (Sir) in the shoulder. Fal. A Rascall to braue me. Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape,how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Comeon, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamem-non, and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ahVillaine. Fal. A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blan-ket. Dol. Doe, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou doo'st,Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes. Enter Musique. Page. The Musique is come, Sir. Fal. Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol. A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me likeQuick-siluer. Dol. And thou followd'st him like a Church: thouwhorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wiltthou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, andbegin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen? Enter the Prince and Poines disguis'd. Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deaths-head: doe not bid me remember mine end. Dol. Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of? Fal. A good shallow young fellow: hee would hauemade a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Breadwell. Dol. They say Poines hath a good Wit. Fal. Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit isas thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more con-ceit in him, then is in a Mallet. Dol. Why doth the Prince loue him so then? Fal. Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: andhee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell,and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and ridesthe wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'd-stooles, and sweares with a good grace, and weares hisBoot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; andbreedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and suchother Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weakeMinde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admitshim; for the Prince himselfe is such another: theweight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their Haber-de-pois. Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue hisEares cut off? Poin. Let vs beat him before his Whore. Prince. Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Pollclaw'd like a Parrot. Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so manyyeeres out-liue performance? Fal. Kisse me Dol. Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?What sayes the Almanack to that? Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,his Councell-keeper? Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses. Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constantheart. Fal. I am olde, I am olde. Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie youngBoy of them all. Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shallreceiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappeto morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late,wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I amgone. Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so:proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy re-turne: well, hearken the end. Fal. Some Sack, Francis. Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir. Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art notthou Poines, his Brother? Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, whata life do'st thou lead? Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou arta Drawer. Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you outby the Eares. Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Wel-come to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Faceof thine: what, are you come from Wales? Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: bythis light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome. Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you. Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your re-uenge, and turne all to a merryment, if you take not theheat. Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildlydid you speake of me euen now, before this honest, ver-tuous, ciuill Gentlewoman? Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is bymy troth. Fal. Didst thou heare me? Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when youranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience. Fal. No, no, no: not so: I did not thinke, thou wastwithin hearing. Prince. I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfullabuse, and then I know how to handle you. Fal. No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse. Prince. Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, andBread-chopper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse (Hal.) Poin. No abuse? Fal. No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none.I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wickedmight not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I hauedone the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, andthy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:)none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none. Prince. See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cow-ardise, doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentle-woman, to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thineHostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of theWicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in hisNose) of the Wicked? Poin. Answere thou dead Elme, answere. Fal. The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecoue-rable, and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where heedoth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy,there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill out-bids him too. Prince. For the Women? Fal. For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, andburnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Mo-ney; and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I knownot. Host. No, I warrant you. Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quitfor that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee,for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary tothe Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle. Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt ofMutton, or two, in a whole Lent? Prince. You, Gentlewoman. Dol. What sayes your Grace? Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebellsagainst. Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to thedoore there, Francis? Enter Peto. Prince. Peto, how now? what newes? Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,Come from the North: and as I came along,I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe. Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,So idly to prophane the precious time,When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.Giue me my Sword, and Cloake: Falstaffe, good night. Exit. Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of thenight, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. Moreknocking at the doore? How now? what's the mat-ter? Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently,A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you. Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse,farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men ofMerit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, whenthe man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches:if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere Igoe. Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readieto burst—— Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thyselfe. Falst. Farewell, farewell. Exit. Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne theethese twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but anhonester, and truer-hearted man—— Well, fare theewell. Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet. Host. What's the matter? Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master. Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter the King, with a Page. King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick:But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters,And well consider of them: make good speed. Exit. How many thousand of my poorest SubiectsAre at this howre asleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe,Natures soft Nurse, how haue I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe,And steepe my Sences in Forgetfulnesse?Why rather (Sleepe) lyest thou in smoakie Cribs,Vpon vneasie Pallads stretching thee,And huisht with bussing Night, flyes to thy slumber,Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great?Vnder the Canopies of costly State,And lull'd with sounds of sweetest Melodie?O thou dull God, why lyest thou with the vilde,In loathsome Beds, and leau'st the Kingly Couch,A Watch-case, or a common Larum-Bell?Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Mast,Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines,In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,And in the visitation of the Windes,Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top,Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging themWith deaff'ning Clamors in the slipp'ry Clouds,That with the hurley, Death it selfe awakes?Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy ReposeTo the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre so rude:And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,With all appliances, and meanes to boote,Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne. Enter Warwicke and Surrey. War. Many good-morrowes to your Maiestie. King. Is it good-morrow, Lords? War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past. King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:)Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you? War. We haue (my Liege.) King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,And with what danger, neere the Heart of it? War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,Which to his former strength may be restor'd,With good aduice, and little Medicine:My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd. King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,And see the reuolution of the TimesMake Mountaines leuell, and the Continent(Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfeInto the Sea: and other Times, to seeThe beachie Girdle of the OceanToo wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocksAnd Changes fill the Cuppe of AlterationWith diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,This Percie was the man, neerest my Soule,Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires,And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot:Yea, for my sake, euen to the eyes of Richard Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by(You Cousin Neuil, as I may remember)When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares,(Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland)Did speake these words (now prou'd a Prophecie:) Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which My Cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne:(Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no such intent,But that necessitie so bow'd the State,That I and Greatnesse were compell'd to kisse:)The Time shall come (thus did hee follow it)The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head,Shall breake into Corruption: so went on,Fore-telling this same Times Condition,And the diuision of our Amitie. War. There is a Historie in all mens Liues,Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd:The which obseru'd, a man may prophecieWith a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things,As yet not come to Life, which in their SeedesAnd weake beginnings lye entreasured:Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time;And by the necessarie forme of this,King Richard might create a perfect guesse,That great Northumberland, then false to him,Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falsenesse,Which should not finde a ground to roote vpon,Vnlesse on you. King. Are these things then Necessities?Then let vs meete them like Necessities;And that same word, euen now cryes out on vs:They say, the Bishop and Northumberland Are fiftie thousand strong. War. It cannot be (my Lord:)Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,The numbers of the feared. Please it your GraceTo goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord)The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue sent forth,Shall bring this Prize in very easily.To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'dA certaine instance, that Glendour is dead.Your Maiestie hath beene this fort-night ill,And these vnseason'd howres perforce must addeVnto your Sicknesse. King. I will take your counsaile:And were these inward Warres once out of hand,Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Shallow and Silence: with Mouldie, Shadow,Wart, Feeble, Bull-calfe. Shal. Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee yourHand, Sir; giue mee your Hand, Sir: an early stirrer, bythe Rood. And how doth my good Cousin Silence? Sil. Good-morrow, good Cousin Shallow. Shal. And how doth my Cousin, your Bed-fellow?and your fairest Daughter, and mine, my God-Daughter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a blacke Ouzell (Cousin Shallow.) Shal. By yea and nay, Sir. I dare say my Cousin William is become a good Scholler? hee is at Oxford still, is heenot? Sil. Indeede Sir, to my cost. Shal. Hee must then to the Innes of Court shortly: Iwas once of Clements Inne; where (I thinke) they willtalke of mad Shallow yet. Sil. You were call'd lustie Shallow then (Cousin.) Shal. I was call'd any thing: and I would haue doneany thing indeede too, and roundly too. There was I, andlittle Iohn Doit of Staffordshire, and blacke George Bare, and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squele a Cot-sal-man, youhad not foure such Swindge-bucklers in all the Innes ofCourt againe: And I may say to you, wee knew wherethe Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all atcommandement. Then was Iacke Falstaffe (now Sir Iohn)a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor-folke. Sil. This Sir Iohn (Cousin) that comes hither anon a-bout Souldiers? Shal. The same Sir Iohn, the very same: I saw himbreake Scoggan's Head at the Court-Gate, when hee wasa Crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fightwith one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inne.Oh the mad dayes that I haue spent! and to seehow many of mine olde Acquaintance are dead? Sil. Wee shall all follow (Cousin.) Shal. Certaine: 'tis certaine: very sure, very sure:Death is certaine to all, all shall dye. How a good Yokeof Bullocks at Stamford Fayre? Sil. Truly Cousin, I was not there. Shal. Death is certaine. Is old Double of your Towneliuing yet? Sil. Dead, Sir. Shal. Dead? See, see: hee drew a good Bow: anddead? hee shot a fine shoote. Iohn of Gaunt louedhim well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead?hee would haue clapt in the Clowt at Twelue-score, andcarryed you a fore-hand Shaft at foureteene, and foure-teene and a halfe, that it would haue done a mans heartgood to see. How a score of Ewes now? Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good Ewesmay be worth tenne pounds. Shal. And is olde Double dead? Enter Bardolph and his Boy. Sil. Heere come two of Sir Iohn Falstaffes Men (as Ithinke.) Shal. Good-morrow, honest Gentlemen. Bard. I beseech you, which is Iustice Shallow? Shal. I am Robert Shallow (Sir) a poore Esquire of thisCountie, and one of the Kings Iustices of the Peace:What is your good pleasure with me? Bard. My Captaine (Sir) commends him to you:my Captaine, Sir Iohn Falstaffe: a tall Gentleman, and amost gallant Leader. Shal. Hee greetes me well: (Sir) I knew him agood Back-Sword-man. How doth the good Knight?may I aske, how my Lady his Wife doth? Bard. Sir, pardon: a Souldier is better accommoda-ted, then with a Wife. Shal. It is well said, Sir; and it is well said, indeede,too: Better accommodated? it is good, yea indeede isit: good phrases are surely, and euery where very com-mendable. Accommodated, it comes of Accommodo: very good, a good Phrase. Bard. Pardon, Sir, I haue heard the word. Phrasecall you it? by this Day, I know not the Phrase: butI will maintaine the Word with my Sword, to bee aSouldier-like Word, and a Word of exceeding goodCommand. Accommodated: that is, when a man is(as they say) accommodated: or, when a man is, being whereby he thought to be accommodated, which is anexcellent thing. Enter Falstaffe. Shal. It is very iust: Looke, heere comes good Sir Iohn. Giue me your hand, giue me your Worships goodhand: Trust me, you looke well: and beare your yearesvery well. Welcome, good Sir Iohn. Fal. I am glad to see you well, good M[aster]. Robert Shal-low: Master Sure-card as I thinke? Shal. No sir Iohn, it is my Cosin Silence: in Commissi-on with mee. Fal. Good M[aster]. Silence, it well befits you should be ofthe peace. Sil. Your good Worship is welcome. Fal. Fye, this is hot weather (Gentlemen) haue youprouided me heere halfe a dozen of sufficient men? Shal. Marry haue we sir: Will you sit? Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. Shal. Where's the Roll? Where's the Roll? Where'sthe Roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see: so, so, so, so:yea marry Sir. Raphe Mouldie: let them appeare as I call:let them do so, let them do so: Let mee see, Where is Mouldie? Moul. Heere, if it please you. Shal. What thinke you (Sir Iohn) a good limb'd fel-low: yong, strong, and of good friends. Fal. Is thy name Mouldie? Moul. Yea, if it please you. Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert vs'd. Shal. Ha, ha, ha, most excellent. Things that are moul-die, lacke vse: very singular good. Well saide Sir Iohn, very well said. Fal. Pricke him. Moul. I was prickt well enough before, if you couldhaue let me alone: my old Dame will be vndone now, forone to doe her Husbandry, and her Drudgery; you neednot to haue prickt me, there are other men fitter to goeout, then I. Fal. Go too: peace Mouldie, you shall goe. Mouldie, it is time you were spent. Moul. Spent? Shallow. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: Know youwhere you are? For the other sir Iohn: Let me see: SimonShadow. Fal. I marry, let me haue him to sit vnder: he's like tobe a cold souldier. Shal. Where's Shadow? Shad. Heere sir. Fal. Shadow, whose sonne art thou? Shad. My Mothers sonne, Sir. Falst. Thy Mothers sonne: like enough, and thy Fa-thers shadow: so the sonne of the Female, is the shadowof the Male: it is often so indeede, but not of the Fatherssubstance. Shal. Do you like him, sir Iohn? Falst. Shadow will serue for Summer: pricke him: Forwee haue a number of shadowes to fill vppe the Muster-Booke. Shal. Thomas Wart? Falst. Where's he? Wart. Heere sir. Falst. Is thy name Wart? Wart. Yea sir. Fal. Thou art a very ragged Wart. Shal. Shall I pricke him downe,Sir Iohn? Falst. It were superfluous: for his apparrel is built vp-on his backe, and the whole frame stands vpon pins: prickhim no more. Shal. Ha, ha, ha, you can do it sir: you can doe it: Icommend you well. Francis Feeble. Feeble. Heere sir. Shal. What Trade art thou Feeble? Feeble. A Womans Taylor sir. Shal. Shall I pricke him, sir? Fal. You may:But if he had beene a mans Taylor, he would haue prick'dyou. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemies Bat-taile, as thou hast done in a Womans petticote? Feeble. I will doe my good will sir, you can haue nomore. Falst. Well said, good Womans Tailour: Well saydeCouragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrath-full Doue, or most magnanimous Mouse. Pricke the wo-mans Taylour well Master Shallow, deepe Maister Shal-low. Feeble. I would Wart might haue gone sir. Fal. I would thou wert a mans Tailor, that thou might'stmend him, and make him fit to goe. I cannot put him toa priuate souldier, that is the Leader of so many thou-sands. Let that suffice, most Forcible Feeble. Feeble. It shall suffice. Falst. I am bound to thee, reuerend Feeble. Who isthe next? Shal. Peter Bulcalfe of the Greene. Falst. Yea marry, let vs see Bulcalfe. Bul. Heere sir. Fal. Trust me, a likely Fellow. Come, pricke me Bul-calfe till he roare againe. Bul. Oh, good my Lord Captaine. Fal. What? do'st thou roare before th'art prickt. Bul. Oh sir, I am a diseased man. Fal. What disease hast thou? Bul. A whorson cold sir, a cough sir, which I caughtwith Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronationday, sir. Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the Warres in a Gowne:we will haue away thy Cold, and I will take such order,that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is heere all? Shal. There is two more called then your number:you must haue but foure heere sir, and so I pray you go inwith me to dinner. Fal. Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannottarry dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth, Master Shallow. Shal. O sir Iohn, doe you remember since wee lay allnight in the Winde-mill, in S[aint]. Georges Field. Falstaffe. No more of that good Master Shallow: Nomore of that. Shal. Ha? it was a merry night. And is Iane Night-worke aliue? Fal. She liues, M[aster]. Shallow. Shal. She neuer could away with me. Fal. Neuer, neuer: she would alwayes say shee couldnot abide M[aster]. Shallow. Shal. I could anger her to the heart: shee was then a Bona-Roba. Doth she hold her owne well. Fal. Old, old, M[aster]. Shallow. Shal. Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be old: certaine shee's old: and had Robin Night-worke, byold Night-worke, before I came to Clements Inne. Sil. That's fiftie fiue yeeres agoe. Shal. Hah, Cousin Silence, that thou hadst seene that,that this Knight and I haue seene: hah, Sir Iohn, said Iwell? Falst. Wee haue heard the Chymes at mid-night, Ma-ster Shallow. Shal. That wee haue, that wee haue; in faith, Sir Iohn, wee haue: our watch-word was, Hem-Boyes. Come,let's to Dinner; come, let's to Dinner: Oh the dayes thatwee haue seene. Come, come. Bul. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand myfriend, and heere is foure Harry tenne shillings in FrenchCrownes for you: in very truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'dsir, as goe: and yet, for mine owne part, sir, I do not care;but rather, because I am vnwilling, and for mine ownepart, haue a desire to stay with my friends: else, sir, I didnot care, for mine owne part, so much. Bard. Go-too: stand aside. Mould. And good Master Corporall Captaine, for myold Dames sake, stand my friend: shee hath no body todoe any thing about her, when I am gone: and she is old,and cannot helpe her selfe: you shall haue fortie, sir. Bard. Go-too: stand aside. Feeble. I care not, a man can die but once: wee owe adeath. I will neuer beare a base minde: if it be my desti-nie, so: if it be not, so: no man is too good to serue hisPrince: and let it goe which way it will, he that dies thisyeere, is quit for the next. Bard. Well said, thou art a good fellow. Feeble. Nay, I will beare no base minde. Falst. Come sir, which men shall I haue? Shal. Foure of which you please. Bard. Sir, a word with you: I haue three pound, tofree Mouldie and Bull-calfe. Falst. Go-too: well. Shal. Come, sir Iohn, which foure will you haue? Falst. Doe you chuse for me. Shal. Marry then, Mouldie, Bull-calfe, Feeble, and Shadow. Falst. Mouldie, and Bull-calfe: for you Mouldie, stayat home, till you are past seruice: and for your part, Bull-calfe, grow till you come vnto it: I will none of you. Shal. Sir Iohn, Sir Iohn, doe not your selfe wrong, theyare your likelyest men, and I would haue you seru'd withthe best. Falst. Will you tell me (Master Shallow) how to chusea man? Care I for the Limbe, the Thewes, the stature,bulke, and bigge assemblance of a man? giue mee thespirit (Master Shallow.) Where's Wart? you see whata ragged appearance it is: hee shall charge you, anddischarge you, with the motion of a Pewterers Ham-mer: come off, and on, swifter then hee that gibbets onthe Brewers Bucket. And this same halfe-fac'd fellow, Shadow, giue me this man: hee presents no marke to theEnemie, the foe-man may with as great ayme leuell atthe edge of a Pen-knife: and for a Retrait, how swiftlywill this Feeble, the Womans Taylor, runne off. O, giueme the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me aCalyuer into Warts hand, Bardolph. Bard. Hold Wart, Trauerse: thus, thus, thus. Falst. Come, manage me your Calyuer: so: very well,go-too, very good, exceeding good. O, giue me alwayesa little, leane, old, chopt, bald Shot. Well said Wart, thouart a good Scab: hold, there is a Tester for thee. Shal. Hee is not his Crafts-master, hee doth not doeit right. I remember at Mile-end-Greene, when I layat Clements Inne, I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthurs Show: there was a little quiuer fellow, and hee wouldmanage you his Peece thus: and hee would about,and about, and come you in, and come you in: Rah,tah, tah, would hee say, Bownce would hee say, andaway againe would hee goe, and againe would he come:I shall neuer see such a fellow. Falst. These fellowes will doe well, Master Shallow. Farewell Master Silence, I will not vse many wordes withyou: fare you well, Gentlemen both: I thanke you:I must a dozen mile to night. Bardolph, giue the SouldiersCoates. Shal. Sir Iohn, Heauen blesse you, and prosper yourAffaires, and send vs Peace. As you returne, visitmy house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: per-aduenture I will with you to the Court. Falst. I would you would, Master Shallow. Shal. Go-too: I haue spoke at a word. Fare youwell. Exit. Falst. Fare you well, gentle Gentlemen. On Bar-dolph, leade the men away. As I returne, I will fetch offthese Iustices: I doe see the bottome of Iustice Shal-low. How subiect wee old men are to this vice of Ly-ing? This same staru'd Iustice hath done nothing butprate to me of the wildenesse of his Youth, and theFeates hee hath done about Turnball-street, and euerythird word a Lye, duer pay'd to the hearer, then theTurkes Tribute. I doe remember him at Clements Inne,like a man made after Supper, of a Cheese-paring. Whenhee was naked, hee was, for all the world, like a forkedRadish, with a Head fantastically caru'd vpon it with aKnife. Hee was so forlorne, that his Dimensions (toany thicke sight) were inuincible. Hee was the very Genius of Famine: hee came euer in the rere-ward ofthe Fashion: And now is this Vices Dagger become aSquire, and talkes as familiarly of Iohn of Gaunt, as ifhee had beene sworne Brother to him: and Ile be swornehee neuer saw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then heburst his Head, for crowding among the Marshals men.I saw it, and told Iohn of Gaunt, hee beat his owneName, for you might haue truss'd him and all his Ap-parrell into an Eele-skinne: the Case of a Treble Hoe-boy was a Mansion for him: a Court: and now hathhee Land, and Beeues. Well, I will be acquainted withhim, if I returne: and it shall goe hard, but I will makehim a Philosophers two Stones to me. If the youngDace be a Bayt for the old Pike, I see no reason, in theLaw of Nature, but I may snap at him. Let time shape,and there an end. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings,Westmerland, Coleuile. Bish. What is this Forrest call'd? Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forrest, and't shall please yourGrace. Bish. Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth,To know the numbers of our Enemies. Hast. Wee haue sent forth alreadie. Bish. 'Tis well done.My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires)I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'dNew-dated Letters from Northumberland: Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus.Here doth hee wish his Person, with such PowersAs might hold sortance with his Qualitie,The which hee could not leuie: whereuponHee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes,To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers,That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard,And fearefull meeting of their Opposite. Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground,And dash themselues to pieces. Enter a Messenger. Hast. Now? what newes? Mess. West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile,In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie:And by the ground they hide, I iudge their numberVpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand. Mow. The iust proportion that we gaue them out.Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field. Enter Westmerland. Bish. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here? Mow. I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland. West. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall,The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster. Bish. Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace:What doth concerne your comming? West. Then (my Lord)Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresseThe substance of my Speech. If that RebellionCame like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs,Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage,And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie:I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare,In his true, natiue, and most proper shape,You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords)Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly formeOf base, and bloodie Insurrection,With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop,Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd,Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd,Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd,Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence,The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace.Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe,Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace,Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre?Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood,Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuineTo a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre. Bish. Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands.Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd,And with our surfetting, and wanton howres,Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer,And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease,Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland)I take not on me here as a Physician,Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace,Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men:But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre,To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse,And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stopOur very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely.I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd,What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences.Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne,And are enforc'd from our most quiet there,By the rough Torrent of Occasion,And haue the summarie of all our Griefes(When time shall serue) to shew in Articles;Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King,And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience:When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes,Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person,Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong.The dangers of the dayes but newly gone,Whose memorie is written on the EarthWith yet appearing blood; and the examplesOf euery Minutes instance (present now)Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes:Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it,But to establish here a Peace indeede,Concurring both in Name and Qualitie. West. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd?Wherein haue you beene galled by the King?What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you,That you should seale this lawlesse bloody BookeOf forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine? Bish. My Brother generall, the Common-wealth, I make my Quarrell, in particular. West. There is no neede of any such redresse:Or if there were, it not belongs to you. Mow. Why not to him in part, and to vs all,That feele the bruizes of the dayes before,And suffer the Condition of these TimesTo lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors? West. O my good Lord Mowbray, Construe the Times to their Necessities,And you shall say (indeede) it is the Time,And not the King, that doth you iniuries.Yet for your part, it not appeares to me,Either from the King, or in the present Time,That you should haue an ynch of any groundTo build a Griefe on: were you not restor'dTo all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories,Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers? Mow. What thing, in Honor, had my Father lost,That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me?The King that lou'd him, as the State stood then,Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to banish him:And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and heeBeing mounted, and both rowsed in their Seates,Their neighing Coursers daring of the Spurre,Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe,Their eyes of fire, sparkling through sights of Steele,And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together:Then, then, when there was nothing could haue stay'dMy Father from the Breast of Bullingbrooke; O, when the King did throw his Warder downe,(His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw)Then threw hee downe himselfe, and all their Liues,That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword,Haue since mis-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke. West. You speak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what.The Earle of Hereford was reputed thenIn England the most valiant Gentleman.Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue smil'd?But if your Father had beene Victor there,Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry.For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.But this is meere digression from my purpose.Here come I from our Princely Generall,To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,That hee will giue you Audience: and whereinIt shall appeare, that your demands are iust,You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,That might so much as thinke you Enemies. Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue. West. Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it so:This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,Vpon mine Honor, all too confidentTo giue admittance to a thought of feare.Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours,Our Men more perfect in the vse of Armes,Our Armor all as strong, our Cause the best;Then Reason will, our hearts should be as good.Say you not then, our Offer is compell'd. Mow. Well, by my will, wee shall admit no Parley. West. That argues but the shame of your offence:A rotten Case abides no handling. Hast. Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commission,In very ample vertue of his Father,To heare, and absolutely to determineOf what Conditions wee shall stand vpon? West. That is intended in the Generals Name:I muse you make so slight a Question. Bish. Then take (my Lord of Westmerland) this Schedule,For this containes our generall Grieuances:Each seuerall Article herein redress'd,All members of our Cause, both here, and hence,That are insinewed to this Action,Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,And present execution of our wills,To vs, and to our purposes confin'd,Wee come within our awfull Banks againe,And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace. West. This will I shew the Generall. Please you Lords,In sight of both our Battailes, wee may meeteAt either end in peace: which Heauen so frame,Or to the place of difference call the Swords,Which must decide it. Bish. My Lord, wee will doe so. Mow. There is a thing within my Bosome tells me,That no Conditions of our Peace can stand. Hast. Feare you not, that if wee can make our PeaceVpon such large termes, and so absolute,As our Conditions shall consist vpon,Our Peace shall stand as firme as Rockie Mountaines. Mow. I, but our valuation shall be such,That euery slight, and false-deriued Cause,Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reason,Shall, to the King, taste of this Action:That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue,Wee shall be winnowed with so rough a winde,That euen our Corne shall seeme as light as Chaffe,And good from bad finde no partition. Bish. No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearieOf daintie, and such picking Grieuances:For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death,Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life.And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane,And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie,That may repeat, and Historie his losse,To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes,Hee cannot so precisely weede this Land,As his mis-doubts present occasion:His foes are so en-rooted with his friends,That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie,Hee doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend.So that this Land, like an offensiue wife,That hath enrag'd him on, to offer strokes,As he is striking, holds his Infant vp,And hangs resolu'd Correction in the Arme, That was vprear'd to execution. Hast. Besides, the King hath wasted all his Rods,On late Offenders, that he now doth lackeThe very Instruments of Chasticement:So that his power, like to a Fanglesse LionMay offer, but not hold. Bish. 'Tis very true:And therefore be assur'd (my good Lord Marshal)If we do now make our attonement well,Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited)Grow stronger, for the breaking. Mow. Be it so:Heere is return'd my Lord of Westmerland. Enter Westmerland. West. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your LordshipTo meet his Grace, iust distance 'tweene our Armies? Mow. Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name thenforward. Bish. Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come. Enter Prince Iohn. Iohn. You are wel encountred here (my cosin Mowbray)Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop,And so to you Lord Hastings, and to all.My Lord of Yorke, it better shew'd with you,When that your Flocke (assembled by the Bell)Encircled you, to heare with reuerenceYour exposition on the holy Text,Then now to see you heere an Iron manChearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme,Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death: That man that sits within a Monarches heart,And ripens in the Sunne-shine of his fauor,Would hee abuse the Countenance of the King,Alack, what Mischiefes might hee set abroach,In shadow of such Greatnesse? With you, Lord Bishop,It is euen so. Who hath not heard it spoken,How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen?To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament;To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it selfe:The very Opener, and Intelligencer,Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen;And our dull workings. O, who shall beleeue,But you mis-vse the reuerence of your Place,Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen,As a false Fauorite doth his Princes Name,In deedes dis-honorable? You haue taken vp, Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen,The Subiects of Heauens Substitute, my Father,And both against the Peace of Heauen, and him,Haue here vp-swarmed them. Bish. Good my Lord of Lancaster,I am not here against your Fathers Peace:But (as I told my Lord of Westmerland)The Time (mis-order'd) doth in common senceCrowd vs, and crush vs, to this monstrous Forme,To hold our safetie vp. I sent your GraceThe parcels, and particulars of our Griefe,The which hath been with scorne shou'd from the Court:Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne,Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleepe,With graunt of our most iust and right desires;And true Obedience, of this Madnesse cur'd,Stoope tamely to the foot of Maiestie. Mow. If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes,To the last man. Hast. And though wee here fall downe,Wee haue Supplyes, to second our Attempt:If they mis-carry, theirs shall second them.And so, successe of Mischiefe shall be borne,And Heire from Heire shall hold this Quarrell vp,Whiles England shall haue generation. Iohn. You are too shallow (Hastings)Much too shallow,To sound the bottome of the after-Times. West. Pleaseth your Grace, to answere them directly,How farre-forth you doe like their Articles. Iohn. I like them all, and doe allow them well:And sweare here, by the honor of my blood,My Fathers purposes haue beene mistooke,And some, about him, haue too lauishlyWrested his meaning, and Authoritie.My Lord, these Griefes shall be with speed redrest:Vpon my Life, they shall. If this may please you,Discharge your Powers vnto their seuerall Counties,As wee will ours: and here, betweene the Armies,Let's drinke together friendly, and embrace,That all their eyes may beare those Tokens home,Of our restored Loue, and Amitie. Bish. I take your Princely word, for these redresses. Iohn. I giue it you, and will maintaine my word:And thereupon I drinke vnto your Grace. Hast. Goe Captaine, and deliuer to the ArmieThis newes of Peace: let them haue pay, and part:I know, it will well please them.High thee Captaine. Exit. Bish. To you, my Noble Lord of Westmerland. West. I pledge your Grace:And if you knew what paines I haue bestow'd,To breede this present Peace,You would drinke freely: but my loue to ye,Shall shew it selfe more openly hereafter. Bish. I doe not doubt you. West. I am glad of it.Health to my Lord, and gentle Cousin Mowbray. Mow. You wish me health in very happy season,For I am, on the sodaine, something ill. Bish. Against ill Chances, men are euer merry,But heauinesse fore-runnes the good euent. West. Therefore be merry (Cooze) since sodaine sorrowSerues to say thus: some good thing comes to morrow. Bish. Beleeue me, I am passing light in spirit. Mow. So much the worse, if your owne Rule be true. Iohn. The word of Peace is render'd: hearke howthey showt. Mow. This had been chearefull, after Victorie. Bish. A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest:For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,And neither partie looser. Iohn. Goe (my Lord)And let our Army be discharged too:And good my Lord (so please you) let our TrainesMarch by vs, that wee may peruse the men Exit. Wee should haue coap'd withall. Bish. Goe, good Lord Hastings: And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. Exit. Iohn. I trust (Lords) wee shall lye to night together. Enter Westmerland. Now Cousin, wherefore stands our Army still? West. The Leaders hauing charge from you to stand,Will not goe off, vntill they heare you speake. Iohn. They know their duties. Enter Hastings. Hast. Our Army is dispers'd:Like youthfull Steeres, vnyoak'd, they tooke their courseEast, West, North, South: or like a Schoole, broke vp,Each hurryes towards his home, and sporting place. West. Good tidings (my Lord Hastings) for the which,I doe arrest thee (Traytor) of high Treason:And you Lord Arch-bishop, and you Lord Mowbray, Of Capitall Treason, I attach you both. Mow. Is this proceeding iust, and honorable? West. Is your Assembly so? Bish. Will you thus breake your faith? Iohn. I pawn'd thee none:I promis'd you redresse of these same GrieuancesWhereof you did complaine; which, by mine Honor,I will performe, with a most Christian care.But for you (Rebels) looke to taste the dueMeet for Rebellion, and such Acts as yours.Most shallowly did you these Armes commence,Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.Strike vp our Drummes, pursue the scatter'd stray,Heauen, and not wee, haue safely fought to day.Some guard these Traitors to the Block of Death,Treasons true Bed, and yeelder vp of breath. Exeunt. Enter Falstaffe and Colleuile. Falst. What's your Name, Sir? of what Condition areyou? and of what place, I pray? Col. I am a Knight, Sir:And my Name is Colleuile of the Dale. Falst. Well then, Colleuile is your Name, a Knight isyour Degree, and your Place, the Dale. Colleuile shallstill be your Name, a Traytor your Degree, and the Dun-geon your Place, a place deepe enough: so shall you bestill Colleuile of the Dale. Col. Are not you Sir Iohn Falstaffe? Falst. As good a man as he sir, who ere I am: doe yeeyeelde sir, or shall I sweate for you? if I doe sweate, theyare the drops of thy Louers, and they weep for thy death,therefore rowze vp Feare and Trembling, and do obser-uance to my mercy. Col. I thinke you are Sir Iohn Falstaffe, & in that thoughtyeeld me. Fal. I haue a whole Schoole of tongues in this belly ofmine, and not a Tongue of them all, speakes anie otherword but my name: and I had but a belly of any indiffe-rencie, I were simply the most actiue fellow in Europe:my wombe, my wombe, my wombe vndoes mee. Heerecomes our Generall. Enter Prince Iohn, and Westmerland. Iohn. The heat is past, follow no farther now:Call in the Powers, good Cousin Westmerland. Now Falstaffe, where haue you beene all this while?When euery thing is ended, then you come.These tardie Tricks of yours will (on my life)One time, or other, breake some Gallowes back. Falst. I would bee sorry (my Lord) but it should beethus: I neuer knew yet, but rebuke and checke was thereward of Valour. Doe you thinke me a Swallow, an Ar-row, or a Bullet? Haue I, in my poore and olde Motion,the expedition of Thought? I haue speeded hither withthe very extremest ynch of possibilitie. I haue fowndrednine score and odde Postes: and heere (trauell-taintedas I am) haue, in my pure and immaculate Valour, takenSir Iohn Colleuile of the Dale, a most furious Knight, andvalorous Enemie: But what of that? hee saw mee, andyeelded: that I may iustly say with the hooke-nos'dfellow of Rome, I came, saw, and ouer-came. Iohn. It was more of his Courtesie, then your deser-uing. Falst. I know not: heere hee is, and heere I yeeldhim: and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd, withthe rest of this dayes deedes; or I sweare, I will haue itin a particular Ballad, with mine owne Picture on the topof it (Colleuile kissing my foot:) To the which course, ifI be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pencesto me; and I, in the cleare Skie of Fame, o're-shine youas much as the Full Moone doth the Cynders of the Ele-ment (which shew like Pinnes-heads to her) beleeue notthe Word of the Noble: therefore let mee haue right,and let desert mount. Iohn. Thine's too heauie to mount. Falst. Let it shine then. Iohn. Thine's too thick to shine. Falst. Let it doe something (my good Lord) that maydoe me good, and call it what you will. Iohn. Is thy Name Colleuile? Col. It is (my Lord.) Iohn. A famous Rebell art thou, Colleuile. Falst. And a famous true Subiect tooke him. Col. I am (my Lord) but as my Betters are,That led me hither: had they beene rul'd by me,You should haue wonne them dearer then you haue. Falst. I know not how they sold themselues, but thoulike a kinde fellow, gau'st thy selfe away; and I thankethee, for thee. Enter Westmerland. Iohn. Haue you left pursuit? West. Retreat is made, and Execution stay'd. Iohn. Send Colleuile, with his Confederates,To Yorke, to present Execution. Blunt, leade him hence, and see you guard him sure. Exit with Colleuile. And now dispatch we toward the Court (my Lords)I heare the King, my Father, is sore sicke.Our Newes shall goe before vs, to his Maiestie,Which (Cousin) you shall beare, to comfort him:And wee with sober speede will follow you. Falst. My Lord, I beseech you, giue me leaue to goethrough Gloucestershire: and when you come to Court,stand my good Lord, 'pray, in your good report. Iohn. Fare you well, Falstaffe: I, in my condition,Shall better speake of you, then you deserue. Exit. Falst. I would you had but the wit: 'twere betterthen your Dukedome. Good faith, this same young so-ber-bloodedBoy doth not loue me, nor a man cannotmake him laugh: but that's no maruaile, hee drinkes noWine. There's neuer any of these demure Boyes cometo any proofe: for thinne Drinke doth so ouer-cooletheir blood, and making many Fish-Meales, that theyfall into a kinde of Male Greene-sicknesse: and then,when they marry, they get Wenches. They are generallyFooles, and Cowards; which some of vs should be too,but for inflamation. A good Sherris-Sack hath a two-foldoperation in it: it ascends me into the Braine, dryesme there all the foolish, and dull, and cruddie Vapours,which enuiron it: makes it apprehensiue, quicke, forge-tiue, full of nimble, fierie, and delectable shapes; whichdeliuer'd o're to the Voyce, the Tongue, which is theBirth, becomes excellent Wit. The second propertie ofyour excellent Sherris, is, the warming of the Blood:which before (cold, and setled) left the Liuer white, andpale; which is the Badge of Pusillanimitie, and Cowar-dize: but the Sherris warmes it, and makes it coursefrom the inwards, to the parts extremes: it illuminateththe Face, which (as a Beacon) giues warning to all therest of this little Kingdome (Man) to Arme: and thenthe Vitall Commoners, and in-land pettie Spirits, musterme all to their Captaine, the Heart; who great, and pufftvp with his Retinue, doth any Deed of Courage: and thisValour comes of Sherris. So, that skill in the Weaponis nothing, without Sack (for that sets it a-worke:) andLearning, a meere Hoord of Gold, kept by a Deuill, tillSack commences it, and sets it in act, and vse. Hereofcomes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold bloodhee did naturally inherite of his Father, hee hath, likeleane, stirrill, and bare Land, manured, husbanded, andtyll'd, with excellent endeauour of drinking good, andgood store of fertile Sherris, that hee is become very hot,and valiant. If I had a thousand Sonnes, the first PrincipleI would teach them, should be to forsweare thinne Pota-tions, and to addict themselues to Sack. Enter Bardolph. How now Bardolph? Bard. The Armie is discharged all, and gone. Falst. Let them goe: Ile through Gloucestershire,and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire: Ihaue him alreadie tempering betweene my finger and mythombe, and shortly will I seale with him. Come away. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter King, Warwicke, Clarence, Gloucester. King. Now Lords, if Heauen doth giue successefull endTo this Debate, that bleedeth at our doores,Wee will our Youth lead on to higher Fields,And draw no Swords, but what are sanctify'd.Our Nauie is addressed, our Power collected,Our Substitutes, in absence, well inuested,And euery thing lyes leuell to our wish;Onely wee want a little personall Strength:And pawse vs, till these Rebels, now a-foot,Come vnderneath the yoake of Gouernment. War. Both which we doubt not, but your MaiestieShall soone enioy. King. Humphrey (my Sonne of Gloucester) where isthe Prince, your Brother? Glo. I thinke hee's gone to hunt (my Lord) at Wind-sor. King. And how accompanied? Glo. I doe not know (my Lord.) King. Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, withhim? Glo. No (my good Lord) hee is in presence heere. Clar. What would my Lord, and Father? King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.How chance thou art not with the Prince, thy Brother?Hee loues thee, and thou do'st neglect him (Thomas.)Thou hast a better place in his Affection,Then all thy Brothers: cherish it (my Boy)And Noble Offices thou may'st effectOf Mediation (after I am dead)Betweene his Greatnesse, and thy other Brethren.Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue,Nor loose the good aduantage of his Grace,By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will.For hee is gracious, if hee be obseru'd:Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a HandOpen (as Day) for melting Charitie:Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint,As humorous as Winter, and as sudden,As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day.His temper therefore must be well obseru'd:Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently,When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth:But being moodie, giue him Line, and scope,Till that his passions (like a Whale on ground)Confound themselues with working. Learne this Thomas, And thou shalt proue a shelter to thy friends,A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in:That the vnited Vessell of their Blood(Mingled with Venome of Suggestion,As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in)Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strongAs Aconitum, or rash Gun-powder. Clar. I shall obserue him with all care, and loue. King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him (Tho-mas?) Clar. Hee is not there to day: hee dines in Lon-don. King. And how accompanyed? Canst thou tellthat? Clar. With Pointz, and other his continuall fol-lowers. King. Most subiect is the fattest Soyle to Weedes:And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth)Is ouer-spread with them: therefore my griefeStretches it selfe beyond the howre of death.The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe shape(In formes imaginarie) th' vnguided Dayes,And rotten Times, that you shall looke vpon,When I am sleeping with my Ancestors.For when his head-strong Riot hath no Curbe,When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counsailors,When Meanes and lauish Manners meete together;Oh, with what Wings shall his Affections flyeTowards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay? War. My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite:The Prince but studies his Companions,Like a strange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language,'Tis needfull, that the most immodest wordBe look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd,Your Highnesse knowes, comes to no farther vse,But to be knowne, and hated. So, like grosse termes,The Prince will, in the perfectnesse of time,Cast off his followers: and their memorieShall as a Patterne, or a Measure, liue,By which his Grace must mete the liues of others,Turning past-euills to aduantages. King. 'Tis seldome, when the Bee doth leaue her CombeIn the dead Carrion. Enter Westmerland. Who's heere? Westmerland? West. Health to my Soueraigne, and new happinesseAdded to that, that I am to deliuer.Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kisse your Graces Hand: Mowbray, the Bishop, Scroope, Hastings, and all,Are brought to the Correction of your Law.There is not now a Rebels Sword vnsheath'd,But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where:The manner how this Action hath beene borne,Here (at more leysure) may your Highnesse reade,With euery course, in his particular. King. O Westmerland, thou art a Summer Bird,Which euer in the haunch of Winter singsThe lifting vp of day. Enter Harcourt. Looke, heere's more newes. Harc. From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maiestie:And when they stand against you, may they fall,As those that I am come to tell you of.The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe, With a great Power of English, and of Scots,Are by the Sherife of Yorkeshire ouerthrowne:The manner, and true order of the fight,This Packet (please it you) containes at large. King. And wherefore should these good newesMake me sicke?Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full,But write her faire words still in foulest Letters?Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode,(Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast,And takes away the Stomack (such are the Rich,That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.)I should reioyce now, at this happy newes,And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie.O me, come neere me, now I am much ill. Glo. Comfort your Maiestie. Cla. Oh, my Royall Father. West. My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, lookevp. War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these FitsAre with his Highnesse very ordinarie.Stand from him, giue him ayre:Hee'le straight be well. Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs,Th' incessant care, and labour of his Minde,Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in,So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out. Glo. The people feare me: for they doe obserueVnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature:The Seasons change their manners, as the YeereHad found some Moneths asleepe, and leap'd them ouer. Clar. The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene:And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles)Say it did so, a little time beforeThat our great Grand-sire Edward sick'd, and dy'de. War. Speake lower (Princes) for the King reco-uers. Glo. This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end. King. I pray you take me vp, and beare me henceInto some other Chamber: softly 'pray.Let there be no noyse made (my gentle friends)Vnlesse some dull and fauourable handWill whisper Musicke to my wearie Spirit. War. Call for the Musicke in the other Roome. King. Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here. Clar. His eye is hollow, and hee changes much. War. Lesse noyse, lesse noyse. Enter Prince Henry. P.Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? Clar. I am here (Brother) full of heauinesse. P.Hen. How now? Raine within doores, and noneabroad? How doth the King? Glo. Exceeding ill. P.Hen. Heard hee the good newes yet?Tell it him. Glo. Hee alter'd much, vpon the hearing it. P.Hen. If hee be sicke with Ioy,Hee'le recouer without Physicke. War. Not so much noyse (my Lords)Sweet Prince speake lowe,The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleepe. Clar. Let vs with-draw into the other Roome. War. Wil't please your Grace to goe along with vs? P.Hen. No: I will sit, and watch here, by the King.Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow,Being so troublesome a Bed-fellow?O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide,To many a watchfull Night: sleepe with it now,Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete,As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound)Snores out the Watch of Night. O Maiestie!When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sitLike a rich Armor, worne in heat of day,That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath,There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not:Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlnePerforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father,This sleepe is sound indeede: this is a sleepe,That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'dSo many English Kings. Thy due, from me,Is Teares, and heauie Sorrowes of the Blood,Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tendernesse,Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteously.My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne,Which (as immediate from thy Place, and Blood)Deriues it selfe to me. Loe, heere it sits,Which Heauen shall guard:And put the worlds whole strength into one gyant Arme,It shall not force this Lineall Honor from me.This, from thee, will I to mine leaue,As 'tis left to me. Exit. Enter Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence. King. Warwicke, Gloucester, Clarence. Clar. Doth the King call? War. What would your Maiestie? how fares yourGrace? King. Why did you leaue me here alone (my Lords?) Cla. We left the Prince (my Brother) here (my Liege)Who vndertooke to sit and watch by you. King. The Prince of Wales? where is hee? let meesee him. War. This doore is open, hee is gone this way. Glo. Hee came not through the Chamber where weestayd. King. Where is the Crowne? who tooke it from myPillow? War. When wee with-drew (my Liege) wee left itheere. King. The Prince hath ta'ne it hence:Goe seeke him out.Is hee so hastie, that hee doth supposeMy sleepe, my death? Finde him (my Lord of Warwick)Chide him hither: this part of his conioynesWith my disease, and helpes to end me.See Sonnes, what things you are:How quickly Nature falls into reuolt,When Gold becomes her Obiect?For this, the foolish ouer-carefull FathersHaue broke their sleepes with thoughts,Their braines with care, their bones with industry.For this, they haue ingrossed and pyl'd vpThe canker'd heapes of strange-atchieued Gold:For this, they haue beene thoughtfull, to inuestTheir Sonnes with Arts, and Martiall Exercises:When, like the Bee, culling from euery flowerThe vertuous Sweetes, our Thighes packt with Wax,Our Mouthes with Honey, wee bring it to the Hiue;And like the Bees, are murthered for our paines.This bitter taste yeelds his engrossements,To the ending Father. Enter Warwicke. Now, where is hee, that will not stay so long,Till his Friend Sicknesse hath determin'd me? War. My Lord, I found the Prince in the next Roome,Washing with kindly Teares his gentle Cheekes,With such a deepe demeanure, in great sorrow,That Tyranny, which neuer quafft but blood,Would (by beholding him) haue wash'd his KnifeWith gentle eye-drops. Hee is comming hither. King. But wherefore did hee take away the Crowne? Enter Prince Henry. Loe, where hee comes. Come hither to me (Harry.)Depart the Chamber, leaue vs heere alone. Exit. P.Hen. I neuer thought to heare you speake againe. King. Thy wish was Father (Harry) to that thought:I stay too long by thee, I wearie thee.Do'st thou so hunger for my emptie Chayre,That thou wilt needes inuest thee with mine Honors,Before thy howre be ripe? O foolish Youth!Thou seek'st the Greatnesse, that will ouer-whelme thee.Stay but a little: for my Cloud of DignitieIs held from falling, with so weake a winde,That it will quickly drop: my Day is dimme.Thou hast stolne that, which after some few howresWere thine, without offence: and at my deathThou hast seal'd vp my expectation.Thy Life did manifest, thou lou'dst me not,And thou wilt haue me dye assur'd of it.Thou hid'st a thousand Daggers in thy thoughts,Which thou hast whetted on thy stonie heart,To stab at halfe an howre of my Life.What? canst thou not forbeare me halfe an howre? Then get thee gone, and digge my graue thy selfe,And bid the merry Bels ring to thy eareThat thou art Crowned, not that I am dead.Let all the Teares, that should bedew my HearseBe drops of Balme, to sanctifie thy head:Onely compound me with forgotten dust.Giue that, which gaue thee life, vnto the Wormes:Plucke downe my Officers, breake my Decrees;For now a time is come, to mocke at Forme.Henry the fift is Crown'd: Vp Vanity,Downe Royall State: All you sage Counsailors, hence:And to the English Court, assemble nowFrom eu'ry Region, Apes of Idlenesse.Now neighbor-Confines, purge you of your Scum:Haue you a Ruffian that will sweare? drinke? dance?Reuell the night? Rob? Murder? and commitThe oldest sinnes, the newest kinde of wayes?Be happy, he will trouble you no more:England, shall double gill'd, his trebble guilt.England, shall giue him Office, Honor, Might:For the Fift Harry, from curb'd License pluckesThe muzzle of Restraint; and the wilde DoggeShall flesh his tooth in euery Innocent.O my poore Kingdome (sicke, with ciuill blowes)When that my Care could not with-hold thy Ryots,What wilt thou do, when Ryot is thy Care?O, thou wilt be a Wildernesse againe,Peopled with Wolues (thy old Inhabitants.) Prince. O pardon me (my Liege)But for my Teares,The most Impediments vnto my Speech,I had fore-stall'd this deere, and deepe Rebuke,Ere you (with greefe) had spoke, and I had heardThe course of it so farre. There is your Crowne,And he that weares the Crowne immortally,Long guard it yours. If I affect it more,Then as your Honour, and as your Renowne,Let me no more from this Obedience rise,Which my most true, and inward duteous SpiritTeacheth this prostrate, and exteriour bending.Heauen witnesse with me, when I heere came in,And found no course of breath within your Maiestie,How cold it strooke my heart. If I do faine,O let me, in my present wildenesse, dye,And neuer liue, to shew th' incredulous World,The Noble change that I haue purposed.Comming to looke on you, thinking you dead,(And dead almost (my Liege) to thinke you were)I spake vnto the Crowne (as hauing sense)And thus vpbraided it. The Care on thee depending,Hath fed vpon the body of my Father,Therefore, thou best of Gold, art worst of Gold.Other, lesse fine in Charract, is more precious,Preseruing life, in Med'cine potable:But thou, most Fine, most Honour'd, most Renown'd,Hast eate the Bearer vp.Thus (my Royall Liege)Accusing it, I put it on my Head,To try with it (as with an Enemie,That had before my face murdred my Father)The Quarrell of a true Inheritor.But if it did infect my blood with Ioy,Or swell my Thoughts, to any straine of Pride,If any Rebell, or vaine spirit of mine,Did, with the least Affection of a Welcome,Giue entertainment to the might of it,Let heauen, for euer, keepe it from my head,And make me, as the poorest Vassaile is,That doth with awe, and terror kneele to it. King. O my Sonne!Heauen put it in thy minde to take it hence,That thou might'st ioyne the more, thy Fathers loue,Pleading so wisely, in excuse of it.Come hither Harrie, sit thou by my bedde,And heare (I thinke, the very latest CounsellThat euer I shall breath: Heauen knowes, my Sonne)By what by-pathes, and indirect crook'd-wayesI met this Crowne: and I my selfe know wellHow troublesome it sate vpon my head.To thee, it shall descend with better Quiet,Better Opinion, better Confirmation:For all the soyle of the Atchieuement goesWith me, into the Earth. It seem'd in mee,But as an Honour snatch'd with boyst'rous hand,And I had many liuing, to vpbraideMy gaine of it, by their Assistances,Which dayly grew to Quarrell, and to Blood-shed,Wounding supposed Peace.All these bold Feares,Thou seest (with perill) I haue answered:For all my Reigne, hath beene but as a SceneActing that argument. And now my deathChanges the Moode: For what in me, was purchas'd,Falles vpon thee, in a more Fayrer sort.So thou, the Garland wear'st successiuely.Yet, though thou stand'st more sure, then I could do,Thou art not firme enough, since greefes are greene:And all thy Friends, which thou must make thy FriendsHaue but their stings, and teeth, newly tak'n out,By whose fell working, I was first aduanc'd,And by whose power, I well might lodge a FeareTo be againe displac'd. Which to auoyd,I cut them off: and had a purpose nowTo leade out many to the Holy Land;Least rest, and lying still, might make them lookeToo neere vnto my State.Therefore (my Harrie)Be it thy course to busie giddy MindesWith Forraigne Quarrels: that Action hence borne out,May waste the memory of the former dayes.More would I, but my Lungs are wasted so,That strength of Speech it vtterly deni'de mee.How I came by the Crowne, O heauen forgiue:And grant it may, with thee, in true peace liue. Prince. My gracious Liege:You wonne it, wore it: kept it, gaue it me,Then plaine and right must my possession be;Which I, with more, then with a Common paine,'Gainst all the World, will rightfully maintaine. Enter Lord Iohn of Lancaster,and Warwicke. King. Looke, looke,Heere comes my Iohn of Lancaster: Iohn. Health, Peace, and Happinesse,To my Royall Father. King. Thou bring'st me happinesse and Peace(Sonne Iohn:)But health (alacke) with youthfull wings is flowneFrom this bare, wither'd Trunke. Vpon thy sightMy worldly businesse makes a period. Where is my Lord of Warwicke? Prin. My Lord of Warwicke. King. Doth any name particular, belongVnto the Lodging, where I first did swoon'd? War. 'Tis call'd Ierusalem, my Noble Lord. King. Laud be to heauen:Euen there my life must end.It hath beene prophesi'de to me many yeares,I should not dye, but in Ierusalem: Which (vainly) I suppos'd the Holy-Land.But beare me to that Chamber, there Ile lye:In that Ierusalem, shall Harry dye. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scoena Prima. Enter Shallow, Silence, Falstaffe, Bardolfe,Page, and Dauie. Shal. By Cocke and Pye, you shall not away to night.What Dauy, I say. Fal. You must excuse me, M[aster]. Robert Shallow. Shal. I will not excuse you: you shall not be excused.Excuses shall not be admitted: there is no excuse shallserue: you shall not be excus'd.Why Dauie. Dauie. Heere sir. Shal. Dauy, Dauy, Dauy, let me see (Dauy) let me see: William Cooke, bid him come hither. Sir Iohn, you shalnot be excus'd. Dauy. Marry sir, thus: those Precepts cannot beeseru'd: and againe sir, shall we sowe the head-land withWheate? Shal. With red Wheate Dauy. But for William Cook:are there no yong Pigeons? Dauy. Yes Sir.Heere is now the Smithes note, for Shooing,And Plough-Irons. Shal. Let it be cast, and payde: Sir Iohn, you shallnot be excus'd. Dauy. Sir, a new linke to the Bucket must needes beehad: And Sir, doe you meane to stoppe any of Williams Wages, about the Sacke he lost the other day, at Hinckley Fayre? Shal. He shall answer it:Some Pigeons Dauy, a couple of short-legg'd Hennes: aioynt of Mutton, and any pretty little tine Kickshawes,tell William Cooke. Dauy. Doth the man of Warre, stay all night sir? Shal. Yes Dauy: I will vse him well. A Friend i'th Court, is better then apenny in purse. Vse his men well Dauy, for they are ar-rant Knaues, and will backe-bite. Dauy. No worse then they are bitten, sir: For theyhaue maruellous fowle linnen. Shallow. Well conceited Dauy: about thy Businesse, Dauy. Dauy. I beseech you sir,To countenance William Visor of Woncot, against Cle-ment Perkes of the hill. Shal. There are many Complaints Dauy, against that Visor, that Visor is an arrant Knaue, on my know-ledge. Dauy. I graunt your Worship, that he is a knaue (Sir:)But yet heauen forbid Sir, but a Knaue should haue someCountenance, at his Friends request. An honest man sir,is able to speake for himselfe, when a Knaue is not. I haueseru'd your Worshippe truely sir, these eight yeares: andif I cannot once or twice in a Quarter beare out a knaue,against an honest man, I haue but a very litle credite withyour Worshippe. The Knaue is mine honest Friend Sir,therefore I beseech your Worship, let him bee Counte-nanc'd. Shal. Go too,I say he shall haue no wrong: Looke about Dauy. Where are you Sir Iohn? Come, off with your Boots.Giue me your hand M[aster]. Bardolfe. Bard. I am glad to see your Worship. Shal. I thanke thee, with all my heart, kinde Master Bardolfe: and welcome my tall Fellow:Come Sir Iohn. Falstaffe. Ile follow you, good Master Robert Shallow. Bardolfe, looke to our Horsses. If I were saw'de intoQuantities, I should make foure dozen of such beardedHermites staues, as Master Shallow. It is a wonderfullthing to see the semblable Coherence of his mens spirits,and his: They, by obseruing of him, do beare themselueslike foolish Iustices: Hee, by conuersing with them, isturn'd into a Iustice-like Seruingman. Their spirits areso married in Coniunction, with the participation of So-ciety, that they flocke together in consent, like so ma-ny Wilde-Geese. If I had a suite to Mayster Shallow, Iwould humour his men, with the imputation of beeingneere their Mayster. If to his Men, I would currie withMaister Shallow, that no man could better command hisSeruants. It is certaine, that either wise bearing, or ig-norant Carriage is caught, as men take diseases, one ofanother: therefore, let men take heede of their Compa-nie. I will deuise matter enough out of this Shallow, tokeepe Prince Harry in continuall Laughter, the wearingout of sixe Fashions (which is foure Tearmes) or two Ac-tions, and he shall laugh with Interuallums. O it is muchthat a Lye (with a slight Oath) and a iest (with a saddebrow) will doe, with a Fellow, that neuer had the Achein his shoulders. O you shall see him laugh, till his Facebe like a wet Cloake, ill laid vp. Shal. Sir Iohn. Falst. I come Master Shallow, I come Master Shallow. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter the Earle of Warwicke, and the LordChiefe Iustice. Warwicke. How now, my Lord Chiefe Iustice, whe-ther away? Ch.Iust. How doth the King? Warw. Exceeding well: his CaresAre now, all ended. Ch.Iust. I hope, not dead. Warw. Hee's walk'd the way of Nature,And to our purposes, he liues no more. Ch.Iust. I would his Maiesty had call'd me with him,The seruice, that I truly did his life,Hath left me open to all iniuries. War. Indeed I thinke the yong King loues you not. Ch.Iust. I know he doth not, and do arme my selfeTo welcome the condition of the Time,Which cannot looke more hideously vpon me,Then I haue drawne it in my fantasie. Enter Iohn of Lancaster, Gloucester,and Clarence. War. Heere come the heauy Issue of dead Harrie: O, that the liuing Harrie had the temperOf him, the worst of these three Gentlemen:How many Nobles then, should hold their places,That must strike saile, to Spirits of vilde sort? Ch.Iust. Alas, I feare, all will be ouer-turn'd. Iohn. Good morrow Cosin Warwick, good morrow. Glou. Cla. Good morrow, Cosin. Iohn. We meet, like men, that had forgot to speake. War. We do remember: but our ArgumentIs all too heauy, to admit much talke. Ioh. Well: Peace be with him, that hath made vs heauy Ch.Iust. Peace be with vs, least we be heauier. Glou. O, good my Lord, you haue lost a friend indeed:And I dare sweare, you borrow not that faceOf seeming sorrow, it is sure your owne. Iohn. Though no man be assur'd what grace to finde,You stand in coldest expectation.I am the sorrier, would 'twere otherwise. Cla. Wel, you must now speake Sir Iohn Falstaffe faire,Which swimmes against your streame of Quality. Ch.Iust. Sweet Princes: what I did, I did in Honor,Led by th' Imperiall Conduct of my Soule,And neuer shall you see, that I will beggeA ragged, and fore-stall'd Remission.If Troth, and vpright Innocency fayle me,Ile to the King (my Master) that is dead,And tell him, who hath sent me after him. War. Heere comes the Prince. Enter Prince Henrie. Ch.Iust. Good morrow: and heauen saue your Maiesty Prince. This new, and gorgeous Garment, Maiesty,Sits not so easie on me, as you thinke.Brothers, you mixe your Sadnesse with some Feare:This is the English, not the Turkish Court:Not Amurah, an Amurah succeeds,But Harry, Harry: Yet be sad (good Brothers)For (to speake truth) it very well becomes you:Sorrow, so Royally in you appeares,That I will deeply put the Fashion on,And weare it in my heart. Why then be sad,But entertaine no more of it (good Brothers)Then a ioynt burthen, laid vpon vs all.For me, by Heauen (I bid you be assur'd)Ile be your Father, and your Brother too:Let me but beare your Loue, Ile beare your Cares;But weepe that Harrie's dead, and so will I.But Harry liues, that shall conuert those TearesBy number, into houres of Happinesse. Iohn, &c. We hope no other from your Maiesty. Prin. You all looke strangely on me: and you most,You are (I thinke) assur'd, I loue you not. Ch.Iust. I am assur'd (if I be measur'd rightly)Your Maiesty hath no iust cause to hate mee. Pr. No? How might a Prince of my great hopes forgetSo great Indignities you laid vpon me?What? Rate? Rebuke? and roughly send to PrisonTh' immediate Heire of England? Was this easie?May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? Ch.Iust. I then did vse the Person of your Father:The Image of his power, lay then in me,And in th' administration of his Law,Whiles I was busie for the Commonwealth,Your Highnesse pleased to forget my place,The Maiesty, and power of Law, and Iustice,The Image of the King, whom I presented,And strooke me in my very Seate of Iudgement:Whereon (as an Offender to your Father)I gaue bold way to my Authority,And did commit you. If the deed were ill,Be you contented, wearing now the Garland,To haue a Sonne, set your Decrees at naught?To plucke downe Iustice from your awefull Bench?To trip the course of Law, and blunt the SwordThat guards the peace, and safety of your Person?Nay more, to spurne at your most Royall Image,And mocke your workings, in a Second body?Question your Royall Thoughts, make the case yours:Be now the Father, and propose a Sonne:Heare your owne dignity so much prophan'd,See your most dreadfull Lawes, so loosely slighted;Behold your selfe, so by a Sonne disdained:And then imagine me, taking your part,And in your power, soft silencing your Sonne:After this cold considerance, sentence me;And, as you are a King, speake in your State,What I haue done, that misbecame my place,My person, or my Lieges Soueraigntie. Prin. You are right Iustice, and you weigh this well:Therefore still beare the Ballance, and the Sword:And I do wish your Honors may encrease,Till you do liue, to see a Sonne of mineOffend you, and obey you, as I did.So shall I liue, to speake my Fathers words:Happy am I, that haue a man so bold,That dares do Iustice, on my proper Sonne;And no lesse happy, hauing such a Sonne,That would deliuer vp his Greatnesse so,Into the hands of Iustice. You did commit me:For which, I do commit into your hand,Th' vnstained Sword that you haue vs'd to beare:With this Remembrance; That you vse the sameWith the like bold, iust, and impartiall spiritAs you haue done 'gainst me. There is my hand,You shall be as a Father, to my Youth:My voice shall sound, as you do prompt mine eare,And I will stoope, and humble my Intents,To your well-practis'd, wise Directions.And Princes all, beleeue me, I beseech you:My Father is gone wilde into his Graue,(For in his Tombe, lye my Affections)And with his Spirits, sadly I suruiue,To mocke the expectation of the World;To frustrate Prophesies, and to race outRotten Opinion, who hath writ me downeAfter my seeming. The Tide of Blood in me,Hath prowdly flow'd in Vanity, till now.Now doth it turne, and ebbe backe to the Sea,Where it shall mingle with the state of Floods,And flow henceforth in formall Maiesty.Now call we our High Court of Parliament,And let vs choose such Limbes of Noble Counsaile, That the great Body of our State may goIn equall ranke, with the best gouern'd Nation,That Warre, or Peace, or both at once may beAs things acquainted and familiar to vs,In which you (Father) shall haue formost hand.Our Coronation done, we will accite(As I before remembred) all our State,And heauen (consigning to my good intents)No Prince, nor Peere, shall haue iust cause to say,Heauen shorten Harries happy life, one day. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe, Shallow, Silence, Bardolfe,Page, and Pistoll. Shal. Nay, you shall see mine Orchard: where, in anArbor we will eate a last yeares Pippin of my owne graf-fing, with a dish of Carrawayes, and so forth. (Come Co-sin Silence, and then to bed. Fal. You haue heere a goodly dwelling, and a rich. Shal. Barren, barren, barren: Beggers all, beggers allSir Iohn: Marry, good ayre. Spread Dauy, spread Dauie: Well said Dauie. Falst. This Dauie serues you for good vses: he is yourSeruingman, and your Husband. Shal. A good Varlet, a good Varlet, a very good Var-let, Sir Iohn: I haue drunke too much Sacke at Supper. Agood Varlet. Now sit downe, now sit downe: ComeCosin. Sil. Ah sirra (quoth-a) we shall doe nothing but eate,and make good cheere, and praise heauen for the merrieyeere: when flesh is cheape, and Females deere, and lustieLads rome heere, and there: so merrily, and euer amongso merrily. Fal. There's a merry heart, good M[aster]. Silence, Ile giueyou a health for that anon. Shal. Good M[aster]. Bardolfe: some wine, Dauie. Da. Sweet sir, sit: Ile be with you anon: most sweetesir, sit. Master Page, good M[aster]. Page, sit: Proface. Whatyou want in meate, wee'l haue in drinke: but you beare,the heart's all. Shal. Be merry M[aster]. Bardolfe, and my little Souldiourthere, be merry. Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife ha's all.For women are Shrewes, both short, and tall:'Tis merry in Hall, when Beards wagge all;And welcome merry Shrouetide. Be merry, be merry. Fal. I did not thinke M[aster]. Silence had bin a man of thisMettle. Sil. Who I? I haue beene merry twice and once, erenow. Dauy. There is a dish of Lether-coats for you. Shal. Dauie. Dau. Your Worship: Ile be with you straight. A cupof Wine, sir? Sil. A Cup of Wine, that's briske and fine, & drinkevnto the Leman mine: and a merry heart liues long-a. Fal. Well said, M[aster]. Silence. Sil. If we shall be merry, now comes in the sweete ofthe night. Fal. Health, and long life to you, M[aster]. Silence. Sil. Fill the Cuppe, and let it come. Ile pledge you amile to the bottome. Shal. Honest Bardolfe, welcome: If thou want'st anything, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome mylittle tyne theefe, and welcome indeed too: Ile drinke toM[aster]. Bardolfe, and to all the Cauileroes about London. Dau. I hope to see London, once ere I die. Bar. If I might see you there, Dauie. Shal. You'l cracke a quart together? Ha, will you notM[aster]. Bardolfe? Bar. Yes Sir, in a pottle pot. Shal. I thanke thee: the knaue will sticke by thee, Ican assure thee that. He will not out, he is true bred. Bar. And Ile sticke by him, sir. Shal. Why there spoke a King: lack nothing, be merry.Looke, who's at doore there, ho: who knockes? Fal. Why now you haue done me right. Sil. Do me right, and dub me Knight, Samingo. Is'tnot so? Fal. 'Tis so. Sil. Is't so? Why then say an old man can do somwhat. Dau. If it please your Worshippe, there's one Pistoll come from the Court with newes. Fal. From the Court? Let him come in. Enter Pistoll. How now Pistoll? Pist. Sir Iohn, 'saue you sir. Fal. What winde blew you hither, Pistoll? Pist. Not the ill winde which blowes none to good,sweet Knight: Thou art now one of the greatest men inthe Realme. Sil. Indeed, I thinke he bee, but Goodman Puffe ofBarson. Pist. Puffe? puffe in thy teeth, most recreant Cowardbase. Sir Iohn, I am thy Pistoll, and thy Friend: helterskelter haue I rode to thee, and tydings do I bring, andluckie ioyes, and golden Times, and happie Newes ofprice. Fal. I prethee now deliuer them, like a man of thisWorld. Pist. A footra for the World, and Worldlings base,I speake of Affrica, and Golden ioyes. Fal. O base Assyrian Knight, what is thy newes?Let King Couitha know the truth thereof. Sil. And Robin-hood, Scarlet, and Iohn. Pist. Shall dunghill Curres confront the Hellicons?And shall good newes be baffel'd?Then Pistoll lay thy head in Furies lappe. Shal. Honest Gentleman,I know not your breeding. Pist. Why then Lament therefore. Shal. Giue me pardon, Sir.If sir, you come with news from the Court, I take it, thereis but two wayes, either to vtter them, or to concealethem. I am Sir, vnder the King, in some Authority. Pist. Vnder which King? Bezonian, speake, or dye. Shal. Vnder King Harry. Pist. Harry the Fourth? or Fift? Shal. Harry the Fourth. Pist. A footra for thine Office.Sir Iohn, thy tender Lamb-kinne, now is King, Harry the Fift's the man, I speake the truth.When Pistoll lyes, do this, and figge-me, likeThe bragging Spaniard. Fal. What, is the old King dead? Pist. As naile in doore.The things I speake, are iust. Fal. Away Bardolfe, Sadle my Horse,Master Robert Shallow, choose what Office thou wiltIn the Land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double charge theeWith Dignities. Bard. O ioyfull day:I would not take a Knighthood for my Fortune. Pist. What? I do bring good newes. Fal. Carrie Master Silence to bed: Master Shallow, myLord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am Fortunes Steward.Get on thy Boots, wee'l ride all night. Oh sweet Pistoll:Away Bardolfe: Come Pistoll, vtter more to mee: andwithall deuise something to do thy selfe good. Boote,boote Master Shallow, I know the young King is sick formee. Let vs take any mans Horsses: The Lawes of Eng-land are at my command'ment. Happie are they, whichhaue beene my Friendes: and woe vnto my Lord ChiefeIustice. Pist. Let Vultures vil'de seize on his Lungs also:Where is the life that late I led, say they?Why heere it is, welcome those pleasant dayes. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Hostesse Quickly, Dol Teare-sheete, and Beadles. Hostesse. No, thou arrant knaue: I would I might dy,that I might haue thee hang'd: Thou hast drawne myshoulder out of ioynt. Off. The Constables haue deliuer'd her ouer to mee:and shee shall haue Whipping cheere enough, I warranther. There hath beene a man or two (lately) kill'd abouther. Dol. Nut-hooke, nut-hooke, you Lye: Come on, Iletell thee what, thou damn'd Tripe-visag'd Rascall, if theChilde I now go with, do miscarrie, thou had'st betterthou had'st strooke thy Mother, thou Paper-fac'd Vil-laine. Host. O that Sir Iohn were come, hee would makethis a bloody day to some body. But I would the Fruiteof her Wombe might miscarry. Officer. If it do, you shall haue a dozen of Cushionsagaine, you haue but eleuen now. Come, I charge youboth go with me: for the man is dead, that you and Pi-stoll beate among you. Dol. Ile tell thee what, thou thin man in a Censor; Iwill haue you as soundly swindg'd for this, you blew-Bottel'dRogue: you filthy famish'd Correctioner, if yoube not swing'd, Ile forsweare halfe Kirtles. Off. Come, come, you shee-Knight-arrant, come. Host. O, that right should thus o'recome might. Welof sufferance, comes ease. Dol. Come you Rogue, come:Bring me to a Iustice. Host. Yes, come you staru'd Blood-hound. Dol. Goodman death, goodman Bones. Host. Thou Anatomy, thou. Dol. Come you thinne Thing:Come you Rascall. Off. Very well. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter two Groomes. 1.Groo. More Rushes, more Rushes. 2.Groo. The Trumpets haue sounded twice. 1.Groo. It will be two of the Clocke, ere they comefrom the Coronation. Exit Groo. Enter Falstaffe, Shallow, Pistoll, Bardolfe, and Page. Falstaffe. Stand heere by me, M[aster]. Robert Shallow, I willmake the King do you Grace. I will leere vpon him, ashe comes by: and do but marke the countenance that heewill giue me. Pistol. Blesse thy Lungs, good Knight. Falst. Come heere Pistol, stand behind me. O if I hadhad time to haue made new Liueries, I would haue be-stowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. But it isno matter, this poore shew doth better: this doth inferrethe zeale I had to see him. Shal. It doth so. Falst. It shewes my earnestnesse in affection. Pist. It doth so. Fal. My deuotion. Pist. It doth, it doth, it doth. Fal. As it were, to ride day and night,And not to deliberate, not to remember,Not to haue patience to shift me. Shal. It is most certaine. Fal. But to stand stained with Trauaile, and sweatingwith desire to see him, thinking of nothing else, puttingall affayres in obliuion, as if there were nothing els to beedone, but to see him. Pist. 'Tis semper idem: for obsque hoc nihil est. 'Tis allin euery part. Shal. 'Tis so indeed. Pist. My Knight, I will enflame thy Noble Liuer, andmake thee rage. Thy Dol, and Helen of thy noble thoghtsis in base Durance, and contagious prison: Hall'd thi-ther by most Mechanicall and durty hand. Rowze vppeReuenge from Ebon den, with fell Alecto's Snake, for Dol is in. Pistol, speakes nought but troth. Fal. I will deliuer her. Pistol. There roar'd the Sea: and Trumpet Clangoursounds. The Trumpets sound. Enter King Henrie theFift, Brothers, Lord ChiefeIustice. Falst. Saue thy Grace, King Hall, my Royall Hall. Pist. The heauens thee guard, and keepe, most royallImpe of Fame. Fal. 'Saue thee my sweet Boy. King. My Lord Chiefe Iustice, speake to that vaineman. Ch.Iust. Haue you your wits?Know you what 'tis you speake? Falst. My King, my Ioue; I speake to thee, my heart. King. I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy Prayers:How ill white haires become a Foole, and Iester? I haue long dream'd of such a kinde of man,So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so prophane:But being awake, I do despise my dreame.Make lesse thy body (hence) and more thy Grace,Leaue gourmandizing; Know the Graue doth gapeFor thee, thrice wider then for other men.Reply not to me, with a Foole-borne Iest,Presume not, that I am the thing I was,For heauen doth know (so shall the world perceiue)That I haue turn'd away my former Selfe,So will I those that kept me Companie.When thou dost heare I am, as I haue bin,Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou was'tThe Tutor and the Feeder of my Riots:Till then, I banish thee, on paine of death,As I haue done the rest of my Misleaders,Not to come neere our Person, by ten mile.For competence of life, I will allow you,That lacke of meanes enforce you not to euill:And as we heare you do reforme your selues,We will according to your strength, and qualities,Giue you aduancement. Be it your charge (my Lord)To see perform'd the tenure of our word. Set on. Exit King. Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. Shal. I marry Sir Iohn, which I beseech you to let mehaue home with me. Fal. That can hardly be, M[aster]. Shallow, do not you grieueat this: I shall be sent for in priuate to him: Looke you,he must seeme thus to the world: feare not your aduance-ment: I will be the man yet, that shall make you great. Shal. I cannot well perceiue how, vnlesse you shouldgiue me your Doublet, and stuffe me out with Straw. Ibeseech you, good Sir Iohn, let mee haue fiue hundred ofmy thousand. Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that youheard, was but a colour. Shall. A colour I feare, that you will dye in, Sir Iohn. Fal. Feare no colours, go with me to dinner:Come Lieutenant Pistol, come Bardolfe, I shall be sent for soone at night. Ch.Iust. Go carry Sir Iohn Falstaffe to the Fleete,Take all his Company along with him. Fal. My Lord, my Lord. Ch.Iust. I cannot now speake, I will heare you soone:Take them away. Pist. Si fortuna me tormento, spera me contento. Exit. Manent Lancaster and Chiefe Iustice. Iohn. I like this faire proceeding of the Kings:He hath intent his wonted FollowersShall all be very well prouided for:But all are banisht, till their conuersationsAppeare more wise, and modest to the world. Ch.Iust. And so they are. Iohn. The King hath call'd his Parliament,My Lord. Ch.Iust. He hath. Iohn. I will lay oddes, that ere this yeere expire,We beare our Ciuill Swords, and Natiue fireAs farre as France. I heare a Bird so sing,Whose Musicke (to my thinking) pleas'd the King.Come, will you hence? Exeunt FINIS.
EPILOGVE. First, my Feare: then, my Curtsie: last, my Speech. My Feare, is your Displeasure: My Curtsie, my Dutie: And my speech, to Begge your Pardons. If you looke for a good speech now, you vndoe me: For what I haue to say, is of mine owne making: and what (indeed) I should say, will (I doubt) prooue mine owne marring. But to the Purpose, and so to the Venture. Be it knowne to you (as it is very well) I was lately heere in the end of a displeasing Play, to pray your Patien{for it, and to promise you a Better: I did meane (indeede) to pay you with thi{which if (like an ill Venture) it come vnluckily home, I breake; and you, my{Creditors lose. Heere I promist you I would be, and heere I commit my Bodie to your Mercies: Bate me some, and I will pay you some, and (as most Debtors d{promise you infinitely. If my Tongue cannot entreate you to acquit me: will you command me to vse my Legges? And yet that were but light payment, to Dance out of your debt: But{a good Conscience, will make any possible satisfaction, and so will I. All the{heere haue forgiuen me, if the Gentlemen will not, then the Gentlemen do not agree with the Gentlewomen, which was neuer seene before, in such an As {One word more, I beseech you: if you be not too much cloid with Fat Meate, our humble Author will continue the Story (with Sir Iohn in it) and make yo{merry, with faire Katherine of France: where (for any thing I know) Fal-s shall dye of a sweat, vnlesse already he be kill'd with your hard Opinions: For Old-Castle dyed a Martyr, and this is not the man. My Tongue is wearie when my Legs are too, I will bid you good night; and so kneele downe before yo{But (indeed) to pray for the Queene.