More rushes, more rushes.
The trumpets have sounded twice.
'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the
coronation: dispatch, dispatch.
Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will
make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him as
a' comes by; and do but mark the countenance that he
will give me.
God bless thy lungs, good knight.
Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. O, if I had had
time to have made new liveries, I would have
bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. But
'tis no matter; this poor show doth better: this
doth infer the zeal I had to see him.
It doth so.
It shows my earnestness of affection,--
It doth so.
My devotion,--
It doth, it doth, it doth.
As it were, to ride day and night; and not to
deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience
to shift me,--
It is best, certain.
But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with
desire to see him; thinking of nothing else,
putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there
were nothing else to be done but to see him.
'Tis 'semper idem,' for 'obsque hoc nihil est:'
'tis all in every part.
'Tis so, indeed.
My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver,
And make thee rage.
Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
Is in base durance and contagious prison;
Haled thither
By most mechanical and dirty hand:
Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell
Alecto's snake,
For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.
I will deliver her.
There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.
God save thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal!
The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!
God save thee, my sweet boy!
My lord chief-justice, speak to that vain man.
Have you your wits? know you what 'tis to speak?
My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers;
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane;
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest:
Presume not that I am the thing I was;
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
To see perform'd the tenor of our word. Set on.
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.
Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me
have home with me.
That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you
grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to
him: look you, he must seem thus to the world:
fear not your advancements; I will be the man yet
that shall make you great.
I cannot well perceive how, unless you should give
me your doublet and stuff me out with straw. I
beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred
of my thousand.
Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you
heard was but a colour.
A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.
Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: come,
Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph: I shall be sent
for soon at night.
Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet:
Take all his company along with him.
My lord, my lord,--
I cannot now speak: I will hear you soon.
Take them away.
Si fortune me tormenta, spero contenta.
I like this fair proceeding of the king's:
He hath intent his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for;
But all are banish'd till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.
And so they are.
The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord.
He hath.
I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,
We bear our civil swords and native fire
As far as France: I beard a bird so sing,
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
Come, will you hence?