The Second part of King Henry the Fourth

1Open your ears; for which of you will stop

2The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?

3I, from the orient to the drooping west,

4Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold

5The acts commenced on this ball of earth:

6Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,

7The which in every language I pronounce,

8Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

9I speak of peace, while covert enmity

10Under the smile of safety wounds the world:

11And who but Rumour, who but only I,

12Make fearful musters and prepared defence,

13Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,

14Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,

15And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe

16Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures

17And of so easy and so plain a stop

18That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,

19The still-discordant wavering multitude,

20Can play upon it. But what need I thus

21My well-known body to anatomize

22Among my household? Why is Rumour here?

23I run before King Harry's victory;

24Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury

25Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,

26Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

27Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I

28To speak so true at first? my office is

29To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell

30Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,

31And that the king before the Douglas' rage

32Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.

33This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns

34Between that royal field of Shrewsbury

35And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,

36Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,

37Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,

38And not a man of them brings other news

39Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues

40They bring smooth comforts false, worse than

41true wrongs.

1Who keeps the gate here, ho?

2Where is the earl?

3What shall I say you are?

4Tell thou the earl

5That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

6His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;

7Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,

8And he himself wilt answer.

9Here comes the earl.

10What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now

11Should be the father of some stratagem:

12The times are wild: contention, like a horse

13Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose

14And bears down all before him.

15Noble earl,

16I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

17Good, an God will!

18As good as heart can wish:

19The king is almost wounded to the death;

20And, in the fortune of my lord your son,

21Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts

22Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John

23And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;

24And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,

25Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,

26So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,

27Came not till now to dignify the times,

28Since Caesar's fortunes!

29How is this derived?

30Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

31I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,

32A gentleman well bred and of good name,

33That freely render'd me these news for true.

34Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent

35On Tuesday last to listen after news.

36My lord, I over-rode him on the way;

37And he is furnish'd with no certainties

38More than he haply may retail from me.

39Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

40My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back

41With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,

42Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard

43A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,

44That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.

45He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him

46I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:

47He told me that rebellion had bad luck

48And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.

49With that, he gave his able horse the head,

50And bending forward struck his armed heels

51Against the panting sides of his poor jade

52Up to the rowel-head, and starting so

53He seem'd in running to devour the way,

54Staying no longer question.

55Ha! Again:

56Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?

57Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion

58Had met ill luck?

59My lord, I'll tell you what;

60If my young lord your son have not the day,

61Upon mine honour, for a silken point

62I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

63Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers

64Give then such instances of loss?

65Who, he?

66He was some hilding fellow that had stolen

67The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,

68Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

69Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,

70Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:

71So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood

72Hath left a witness'd usurpation.

73Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

74I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;

75Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask

76To fright our party.

77How doth my son and brother?

78Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek

79Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.

80Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

81So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,

82Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,

83And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;

84But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,

85And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.

86This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;

87Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'

88Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:

89But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,

90Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,

91Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'

92Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;

93But, for my lord your son--

94Why, he is dead.

95See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

96He that but fears the thing he would not know

97Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes

98That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;

99Tell thou an earl his divination lies,

100And I will take it as a sweet disgrace

101And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

102You are too great to be by me gainsaid:

103Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

104Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.

105I see a strange confession in thine eye:

106Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin

107To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;

108The tongue offends not that reports his death:

109And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,

110Not he which says the dead is not alive.

111Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news

112Hath but a losing office, and his tongue

113Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,

114Remember'd tolling a departing friend.

115I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

116I am sorry I should force you to believe

117That which I would to God I had not seen;

118But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

119Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,

120To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down

121The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

122From whence with life he never more sprung up.

123In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire

124Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,

125Being bruited once, took fire and heat away

126From the best temper'd courage in his troops;

127For from his metal was his party steel'd;

128Which once in him abated, all the rest

129Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:

130And as the thing that's heavy in itself,

131Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,

132So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

133Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear

134That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim

135Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,

136Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester

137Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,

138The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword

139Had three times slain the appearance of the king,

140'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame

141Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,

142Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

143Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out

144A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,

145Under the conduct of young Lancaster

146And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

147For this I shall have time enough to mourn.

148In poison there is physic; and these news,

149Having been well, that would have made me sick,

150Being sick, have in some measure made me well:

151And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,

152Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,

153Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

154Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,

155Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,

156Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!

157A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

158Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!

159Thou art a guard too wanton for the head

160Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.

161Now bind my brows with iron; and approach

162The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring

163To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!

164Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand

165Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!

166And let this world no longer be a stage

167To feed contention in a lingering act;

168But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

169Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

170On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

171And darkness be the burier of the dead!

172This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

173Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

174The lives of all your loving complices

175Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er

176To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

177You cast the event of war, my noble lord,

178And summ'd the account of chance, before you said

179'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise,

180That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop:

181You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,

182More likely to fall in than to get o'er;

183You were advised his flesh was capable

184Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit

185Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:

186Yet did you say 'Go forth;' and none of this,

187Though strongly apprehended, could restrain

188The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,

189Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,

190More than that being which was like to be?

191We all that are engaged to this loss

192Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas

193That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one;

194And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed

195Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;

196And since we are o'erset, venture again.

197Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

198'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,

199I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,

200The gentle Archbishop of York is up

201With well-appointed powers: he is a man

202Who with a double surety binds his followers.

203My lord your son had only but the corpse,

204But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;

205For that same word, rebellion, did divide

206The action of their bodies from their souls;

207And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,

208As men drink potions, that their weapons only

209Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,

210This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,

211As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop

212Turns insurrection to religion:

213Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,

214He's followed both with body and with mind;

215And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

216Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;

217Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;

218Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,

219Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;

220And more and less do flock to follow him.

221I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,

222This present grief had wiped it from my mind.

223Go in with me; and counsel every man

224The aptest way for safety and revenge:

225Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed:

226Never so few, and never yet more need.

1Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?

2He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy

3water; but, for the party that owed it, he might

4have more diseases than he knew for.

5Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the

6brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not

7able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more

8than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only

9witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other

10men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that

11hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the

12prince put thee into my service for any other reason

13than to set me off, why then I have no judgment.

14Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn

15in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never

16manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you

17neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and

18send you back again to your master, for a jewel,--

19the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is

20not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in

21the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his

22cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is

23a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis

24not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a

25face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence

26out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had

27writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He

28may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine,

29I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about

30the satin for my short cloak and my slops?

31He said, sir, you should procure him better

32assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his

33band and yours; he liked not the security.

34Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his

35tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally

36yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand,

37and then stand upon security! The whoreson

38smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and

39bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is

40through with them in honest taking up, then they

41must stand upon security. I had as lief they would

42put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with

43security. I looked a' should have sent me two and

44twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he

45sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security;

46for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness

47of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he

48see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him.

49Where's Bardolph?

50He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse.

51I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in

52Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the

53stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.

54Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the

55Prince for striking him about Bardolph.

56Wait, close; I will not see him.

57What's he that goes there?

58Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

59He that was in question for the robbery?

60He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at

61Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some

62charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.

63What, to York? Call him back again.

64Sir John Falstaff!

65Boy, tell him I am deaf.

66You must speak louder; my master is deaf.

67I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.

68Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.

69Sir John!

70What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not

71wars? is there not employment? doth not the king

72lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?

73Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it

74is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side,

75were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell

76how to make it.

77You mistake me, sir.

78Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting

79my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied

80in my throat, if I had said so.

81I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our

82soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you,

83you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other

84than an honest man.

85I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that

86which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me,

87hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be

88hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt!

89Sir, my lord would speak with you.

90Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

91My good lord! God give your lordship good time of

92day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard

93say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship

94goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not

95clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in

96you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must

97humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care

98of your health.

99Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to

100Shrewsbury.

101An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is

102returned with some discomfort from Wales.

103I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when

104I sent for you.

105And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into

106this same whoreson apoplexy.

107Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with

108you.

109This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,

110an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the

111blood, a whoreson tingling.

112What tell you me of it? be it as it is.

113It hath its original from much grief, from study and

114perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of

115his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness.

116I think you are fallen into the disease; for you

117hear not what I say to you.

118Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please

119you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady

120of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

121To punish you by the heels would amend the

122attention of your ears; and I care not if I do

123become your physician.

124I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient:

125your lordship may minister the potion of

126imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how

127should I be your patient to follow your

128prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a

129scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.

130I sent for you, when there were matters against you

131for your life, to come speak with me.

132As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the

133laws of this land-service, I did not come.

134Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.

135He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less.

136Your means are very slender, and your waste is great.

137I would it were otherwise; I would my means were

138greater, and my waist slenderer.

139You have misled the youthful prince.

140The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow

141with the great belly, and he my dog.

142Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your

143day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded

144over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may

145thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting

146that action.

147My lord?

148But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a

149sleeping wolf.

150To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox.

151What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt

152out.

153A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say

154of wax, my growth would approve the truth.

155There is not a white hair on your face but should

156have his effect of gravity.

157His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.

158You follow the young prince up and down, like his

159ill angel.

160Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope

161he that looks upon me will take me without weighing:

162and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I

163cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these

164costermonger times that true valour is turned

165bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath

166his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the

167other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of

168this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry.

169You that are old consider not the capacities of us

170that are young; you do measure the heat of our

171livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we

172that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess,

173are wags too.

174Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth,

175that are written down old with all the characters of

176age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a

177yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an

178increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your

179wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and

180every part about you blasted with antiquity? and

181will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John!

182My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the

183afternoon, with a white head and something a round

184belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing

185and singing of anthems. To approve my youth

186further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in

187judgment and understanding; and he that will caper

188with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the

189money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that

190the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince,

191and you took it like a sensible lord. I have

192chequed him for it, and the young lion repents;

193marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk

194and old sack.

195Well, God send the prince a better companion!

196God send the companion a better prince! I cannot

197rid my hands of him.

198Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I

199hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster

200against the Archbishop and the Earl of

201Northumberland.

202Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look

203you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home,

204that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the

205Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean

206not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day,

207and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I

208might never spit white again. There is not a

209dangerous action can peep out his head but I am

210thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it

211was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if

212they have a good thing, to make it too common. If

213ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give

214me rest. I would to God my name were not so

215terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be

216eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to

217nothing with perpetual motion.

218Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your

219expedition!

220Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to

221furnish me forth?

222Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to

223bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my

224cousin Westmoreland.

225If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man

226can no more separate age and covetousness than a'

227can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout

228galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and

229so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy!

230Sir?

231What money is in my purse?

232Seven groats and two pence.

233I can get no remedy against this consumption of the

234purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out,

235but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter

236to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this

237to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old

238Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry

239since I perceived the first white hair on my chin.

240About it: you know where to find me.

241A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for

242the one or the other plays the rogue with my great

243toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars

244for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more

245reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing:

246I will turn diseases to commodity.

1Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;

2And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,

3Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:

4And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?

5I well allow the occasion of our arms;

6But gladly would be better satisfied

7How in our means we should advance ourselves

8To look with forehead bold and big enough

9Upon the power and puissance of the king.

10Our present musters grow upon the file

11To five and twenty thousand men of choice;

12And our supplies live largely in the hope

13Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns

14With an incensed fire of injuries.

15The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus;

16Whether our present five and twenty thousand

17May hold up head without Northumberland?

18With him, we may.

19Yea, marry, there's the point:

20But if without him we be thought too feeble,

21My judgment is, we should not step too far

22Till we had his assistance by the hand;

23For in a theme so bloody-faced as this

24Conjecture, expectation, and surmise

25Of aids incertain should not be admitted.

26'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed

27It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

28It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope,

29Eating the air on promise of supply,

30Flattering himself in project of a power

31Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:

32And so, with great imagination

33Proper to madmen, led his powers to death

34And winking leap'd into destruction.

35But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt

36To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.

37Yes, if this present quality of war,

38Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot

39Lives so in hope as in an early spring

40We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit,

41Hope gives not so much warrant as despair

42That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,

43We first survey the plot, then draw the model;

44And when we see the figure of the house,

45Then must we rate the cost of the erection;

46Which if we find outweighs ability,

47What do we then but draw anew the model

48In fewer offices, or at last desist

49To build at all? Much more, in this great work,

50Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down

51And set another up, should we survey

52The plot of situation and the model,

53Consent upon a sure foundation,

54Question surveyors, know our own estate,

55How able such a work to undergo,

56To weigh against his opposite; or else

57We fortify in paper and in figures,

58Using the names of men instead of men:

59Like one that draws the model of a house

60Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,

61Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost

62A naked subject to the weeping clouds

63And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.

64Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,

65Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd

66The utmost man of expectation,

67I think we are a body strong enough,

68Even as we are, to equal with the king.

69What, is the king but five and twenty thousand?

70To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph.

71For his divisions, as the times do brawl,

72Are in three heads: one power against the French,

73And one against Glendower; perforce a third

74Must take up us: so is the unfirm king

75In three divided; and his coffers sound

76With hollow poverty and emptiness.

77That he should draw his several strengths together

78And come against us in full puissance,

79Need not be dreaded.

80If he should do so,

81He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh

82Baying him at the heels: never fear that.

83Who is it like should lead his forces hither?

84The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;

85Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth:

86But who is substituted 'gainst the French,

87I have no certain notice.

88Let us on,

89And publish the occasion of our arms.

90The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;

91Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:

92An habitation giddy and unsure

93Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

94O thou fond many, with what loud applause

95Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,

96Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!

97And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,

98Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,

99That thou provokest thyself to cast him up.

100So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge

101Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;

102And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,

103And howl'st to find it. What trust is in

104these times?

105They that, when Richard lived, would have him die,

106Are now become enamour'd on his grave:

107Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head

108When through proud London he came sighing on

109After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,

110Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again,

111And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed!

112Past and to come seems best; things present worst.

113Shall we go draw our numbers and set on?

114We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

1Master Fang, have you entered the action?

2It is entered.

3Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a'

4stand to 't?

5Sirrah, where's Snare?

6O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.

7Here, here.

8Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.

9Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.

10It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.

11Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in

12mine own house, and that most beastly: in good

13faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his

14weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will

15spare neither man, woman, nor child.

16If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.

17No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.

18An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,--

19I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an

20infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang,

21hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not

22'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving

23your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to

24dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to

25Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my

26exion is entered and my case so openly known to the

27world, let him be brought in to his answer. A

28hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to

29bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and

30have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed

31off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame

32to be thought on. There is no honesty in such

33dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a

34beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he

35comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph,

36with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master

37Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices.

38How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter?

39Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.

40Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the

41villain's head: throw the quean in the channel.

42Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the

43channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly

44rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle

45villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the

46king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a

47honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller.

48Keep them off, Bardolph.

49A rescue! a rescue!

50Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't

51thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do,

52thou hemp-seed!

53Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You

54fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe.

55What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!

56Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.

57How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here?

58Doth this become your place, your time and business?

59You should have been well on your way to York.

60Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him?

61O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am

62a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.

63For what sum?

64It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all,

65all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home;

66he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of

67his: but I will have some of it out again, or I

68will ride thee o' nights like the mare.

69I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have

70any vantage of ground to get up.

71How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good

72temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?

73Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so

74rough a course to come by her own?

75What is the gross sum that I owe thee?

76Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the

77money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a

78parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber,

79at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon

80Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke

81thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of

82Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was

83washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady

84thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife

85Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me

86gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of

87vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns;

88whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I

89told thee they were ill for a green wound? And

90didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs,

91desire me to be no more so familiarity with such

92poor people; saying that ere long they should call

93me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me

94fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy

95book-oath: deny it, if thou canst.

96My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up

97and down the town that the eldest son is like you:

98she hath been in good case, and the truth is,

99poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish

100officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them.

101Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your

102manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It

103is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words

104that come with such more than impudent sauciness

105from you, can thrust me from a level consideration:

106you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the

107easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her

108serve your uses both in purse and in person.

109Yea, in truth, my lord.

110Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and

111unpay the villany you have done her: the one you

112may do with sterling money, and the other with

113current repentance.

114My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without

115reply. You call honourable boldness impudent

116sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say

117nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble

118duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say

119to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers,

120being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs.

121You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer

122in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this

123poor woman.

124Come hither, hostess.

125Now, Master Gower, what news?

126The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales

127Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.

128As I am a gentleman.

129Faith, you said so before.

130As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it.

131By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain

132to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my

133dining-chambers.

134Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy

135walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of

136the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work,

137is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these

138fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou

139canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's

140not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face,

141and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in

142this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I

143know thou wast set on to this.

144Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i'

145faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me,

146la!

147Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a

148fool still.

149Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I

150hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together?

151Will I live?

152Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on.

153Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?

154No more words; let's have her.

155I have heard better news.

156What's the news, my lord?

157Where lay the king last night?

158At Basingstoke, my lord.

159I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord?

160Come all his forces back?

161No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,

162Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster,

163Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.

164Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord?

165You shall have letters of me presently:

166Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.

167My lord!

168What's the matter?

169Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?

170I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you,

171good Sir John.

172Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to

173take soldiers up in counties as you go.

174Will you sup with me, Master Gower?

175What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John?

176Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool

177that taught them me. This is the right fencing

178grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair.

179Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool.

1Before God, I am exceeding weary.

2Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not

3have attached one of so high blood.

4Faith, it does me; though it discolours the

5complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth

6it not show vilely in me to desire small beer?

7Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as

8to remember so weak a composition.

9Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for,

10by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature,

11small beer. But, indeed, these humble

12considerations make me out of love with my

13greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember

14thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to

15take note how many pair of silk stockings thou

16hast, viz. these, and those that were thy

17peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy

18shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for

19use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better

20than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when

21thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done

22a great while, because the rest of thy low

23countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland:

24and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins

25of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the

26midwives say the children are not in the fault;

27whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are

28mightily strengthened.

29How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard,

30you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good

31young princes would do so, their fathers being so

32sick as yours at this time is?

33Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?

34Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.

35It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.

36Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you

37will tell.

38Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be

39sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell

40thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a

41better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad

42indeed too.

43Very hardly upon such a subject.

44By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's

45book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and

46persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell

47thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so

48sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art

49hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.

50The reason?

51What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?

52I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

53It would be every man's thought; and thou art a

54blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never

55a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way

56better than thine: every man would think me an

57hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most

58worshipful thought to think so?

59Why, because you have been so lewd and so much

60engraffed to Falstaff.

61And to thee.

62By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it

63with my own ears: the worst that they can say of

64me is that I am a second brother and that I am a

65proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I

66confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.

67And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from

68me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not

69transformed him ape.

70God save your grace!

71And yours, most noble Bardolph!

72Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you

73be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a

74maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a

75matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead?

76A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red

77lattice, and I could discern no part of his face

78from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and

79methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's

80new petticoat and so peeped through.

81Has not the boy profited?

82Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

83Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!

84Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?

85Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered

86of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.

87A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis,

88boy.

89O, that this good blossom could be kept from

90cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.

91An you do not make him hanged among you, the

92gallows shall have wrong.

93And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

94Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to

95town: there's a letter for you.

96Delivered with good respect. And how doth the

97martlemas, your master?

98In bodily health, sir.

99Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but

100that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies

101not.

102I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my

103dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes.

104[Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must

105know that, as oft as he has occasion to name

106himself: even like those that are kin to the king;

107for they never prick their finger but they say,

108'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How

109comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to

110conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's

111cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.'

112Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it

113from Japhet. But to the letter.

114[Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of

115the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of

116Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate.

117Peace!

118[Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in

119brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath,

120short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend

121thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with

122Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he

123swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent

124at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell.

125Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to

126say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my

127familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters,

128and SIR JOHN with all Europe.'

129My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.

130That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do

131you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

132God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.

133Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the

134spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.

135Is your master here in London?

136Yea, my lord.

137Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

138At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

139What company?

140Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.

141Sup any women with him?

142None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and

143Mistress Doll Tearsheet.

144What pagan may that be?

145A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

146Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town

147bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

148I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.

149Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your

150master that I am yet come to town: there's for

151your silence.

152I have no tongue, sir.

153And for mine, sir, I will govern it.

154Fare you well; go.

155This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.

156I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint

157Alban's and London.

158How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night

159in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

160Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait

161upon him at his table as drawers.

162From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was

163Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low

164transformation! that shall be mine; for in every

165thing the purpose must weigh with the folly.

166Follow me, Ned.

1I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,

2Give even way unto my rough affairs:

3Put not you on the visage of the times

4And be like them to Percy troublesome.

5I have given over, I will speak no more:

6Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.

7Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;

8And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

9O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!

10The time was, father, that you broke your word,

11When you were more endeared to it than now;

12When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,

13Threw many a northward look to see his father

14Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.

15Who then persuaded you to stay at home?

16There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.

17For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!

18For his, it stuck upon him as the sun

19In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light

20Did all the chivalry of England move

21To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass

22Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves:

23He had no legs that practised not his gait;

24And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,

25Became the accents of the valiant;

26For those that could speak low and tardily

27Would turn their own perfection to abuse,

28To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,

29In diet, in affections of delight,

30In military rules, humours of blood,

31He was the mark and glass, copy and book,

32That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him!

33O miracle of men! him did you leave,

34Second to none, unseconded by you,

35To look upon the hideous god of war

36In disadvantage; to abide a field

37Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name

38Did seem defensible: so you left him.

39Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong

40To hold your honour more precise and nice

41With others than with him! let them alone:

42The marshal and the archbishop are strong:

43Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,

44To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,

45Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

46Beshrew your heart,

47Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me

48With new lamenting ancient oversights.

49But I must go and meet with danger there,

50Or it will seek me in another place

51And find me worse provided.

52O, fly to Scotland,

53Till that the nobles and the armed commons

54Have of their puissance made a little taste.

55If they get ground and vantage of the king,

56Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,

57To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,

58First let them try themselves. So did your son;

59He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow;

60And never shall have length of life enough

61To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,

62That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,

63For recordation to my noble husband.

64Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind

65As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,

66That makes a still-stand, running neither way:

67Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,

68But many thousand reasons hold me back.

69I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,

70Till time and vantage crave my company.

1What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?

2thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

3Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish

4of apple-johns before him, and told him there were

5five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said

6'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,

7old, withered knights.' It angered him to the

8heart: but he hath forgot that.

9Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if

10thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress

11Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the

12room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

13Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins

14anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and

15aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph

16hath brought word.

17By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an

18excellent stratagem.

19I'll see if I can find out Sneak.

20I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an

21excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as

22extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your

23colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good

24truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much

25canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine,

26and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's

27this?' How do you now?

28Better than I was: hem!

29Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.

30Lo, here comes Sir John.

31[Singing] 'When Arthur first in court,'

32--Empty the jordan.

33--'And was a worthy king.' How now, Mistress Doll!

34Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

35So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

36You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

37You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

38I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I

39make them not.

40If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to

41make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we

42catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue grant that.

43Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

44'Your broaches, pearls, and ouches:' for to serve

45bravely is to come halting off, you know: to come

46off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to

47surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged

48chambers bravely,--

49Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

50By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never

51meet but you fall to some discord: you are both,

52i' good truth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you

53cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What

54the good-year! one must bear, and that must be

55you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the

56emptier vessel.

57Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full

58hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of

59Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk

60better stuffed in the hold. Come, I'll be friends

61with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and

62whether I shall ever see thee again or no, there is

63nobody cares.

64Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with

65you.

66Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come

67hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.

68If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my

69faith; I must live among my neighbours: I'll no

70swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the

71very best: shut the door; there comes no swaggerers

72here: I have not lived all this while, to have

73swaggering now: shut the door, I pray you.

74Dost thou hear, hostess?

75Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no

76swaggerers here.

77Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

78Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your ancient

79swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master

80Tisick, the debuty, t'other day; and, as he said to

81me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last, 'I'

82good faith, neighbour Quickly,' says he; Master

83Dumbe, our minister, was by then; 'neighbour

84Quickly,' says he, 'receive those that are civil;

85for,' said he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a'

86said so, I can tell whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you

87are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore

88take heed what guests you receive: receive,' says

89he, 'no swaggering companions.' There comes none

90here: you would bless you to hear what he said:

91no, I'll no swaggerers.

92He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'

93faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy

94greyhound: he'll not swagger with a Barbary hen, if

95her feathers turn back in any show of resistance.

96Call him up, drawer.

97Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my

98house, nor no cheater: but I do not love

99swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one

100says swagger: feel, masters, how I shake; look you,

101I warrant you.

102So you do, hostess.

103Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen

104leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

105God save you, Sir John!

106Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge

107you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

108I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

109She is Pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend

110her.

111Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets: I'll

112drink no more than will do me good, for no man's

113pleasure, I.

114Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

115Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What!

116you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen

117mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for

118your master.

119I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

120Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away!

121by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy

122chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away,

123you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale

124juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's

125light, with two points on your shoulder? much!

126God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.

127No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:

128discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.

129No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

130Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou

131not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were

132of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for

133taking their names upon you before you have earned

134them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for

135tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a

136captain! hang him, rogue! he lives upon mouldy

137stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain! God's

138light, these villains will make the word as odious

139as the word 'occupy;' which was an excellent good

140word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains

141had need look to 't.

142Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

143Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

144Not I I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could

145tear her: I'll be revenged of her.

146Pray thee, go down.

147I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake,

148by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and

149tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.

150Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not

151Hiren here?

152Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'

153faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

154These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses

155And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,

156Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,

157Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,

158And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with

159King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.

160Shall we fall foul for toys?

161By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

162Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to abrawl anon.

163Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we

164not Heren here?

165O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What

166the good-year! do you think I would deny her? For

167God's sake, be quiet.

168Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.

169Come, give's some sack.

170'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'

171Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:

172Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.

173Come we to full points here; and are etceteras nothing?

174Pistol, I would be quiet.

175Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen

176the seven stars.

177For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot

178endure such a fustian rascal.

179Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

180Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat

181shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing,

182a' shall be nothing here.

183Come, get you down stairs.

184What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?

185Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!

186Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds

187Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

188Here's goodly stuff toward!

189Give me my rapier, boy.

190I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

191Get you down stairs.

192Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping

193house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights.

194So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up

195your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

196I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone.

197Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you!

198He you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a

199shrewd thrust at your belly.

200Have you turned him out o' doors?

201Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him,

202sir, i' the shoulder.

203A rascal! to brave me!

204Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! alas, poor ape,

205how thou sweatest! come, let me wipe thy face;

206come on, you whoreson chops: ah, rogue! i'faith, I

207love thee: thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy,

208worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than

209the Nine Worthies: ah, villain!

210A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

211Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an thou dost,

212I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

213The music is come, sir.

214Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Doll.

215A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me

216like quicksilver.

217I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church.

218Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,

219when wilt thou leave fighting o' days and foining

220o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

221Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's-head;

222do not bid me remember mine end.

223Sirrah, what humour's the prince of?

224A good shallow young fellow: a' would have made a

225good pantler, a' would ha' chipp'd bread well.

226They say Poins has a good wit.

227He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit's as thick

228as Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him

229than is in a mallet.

230Why does the prince love him so, then?

231Because their legs are both of a bigness, and a'

232plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel,

233and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and

234rides the wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon

235joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and

236wears his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of

237the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet

238stories; and such other gambol faculties a' has,

239that show a weak mind and an able body, for the

240which the prince admits him: for the prince himself

241is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the

242scales between their avoirdupois.

243Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

244Let's beat him before his whore.

245Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll

246clawed like a parrot.

247Is it not strange that desire should so many years

248outlive performance?

249Kiss me, Doll.

250Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what

251says the almanac to that?

252And look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not

253lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book,

254his counsel-keeper.

255Thou dost give me flattering busses.

256By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

257I am old, I am old.

258I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young

259boy of them all.

260What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive

261money o' Thursday: shalt have a cap to-morrow. A

262merry song, come: it grows late; we'll to bed.

263Thou'lt forget me when I am gone.

264By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, an thou

265sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome

266till thy return: well, harken at the end.

267Some sack, Francis.

268Anon, anon, sir.

269Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art not thou

270Poins his brother?

271Why, thou globe of sinful continents! what a life

272dost thou lead!

273A better than thou: I am a gentleman; thou art a drawer.

274Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

275O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth,

276welcome to London. Now, the Lord bless that sweet

277face of thine! O, Jesu, are you come from Wales?

278Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light

279flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

280How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

281My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and

282turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

283You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you

284speak of me even now before this honest, virtuous,

285civil gentlewoman!

286God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is,

287by my troth.

288Didst thou hear me?

289Yea, and you knew me, as you did when you ran away

290by Gad's-hill: you knew I was at your back, and

291spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

292No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

293I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse;

294and then I know how to handle you.

295No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour, no abuse.

296Not to dispraise me, and call me pantier and

297bread-chipper and I know not what?

298No abuse, Hal.

299No abuse?

300No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. I

301dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked

302might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I

303have done the part of a careful friend and a true

304subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.

305No abuse, Hal: none, Ned, none: no, faith, boys, none.

306See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth

307not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to

308close with us? is she of the wicked? is thine

309hostess here of the wicked? or is thy boy of the

310wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his

311nose, of the wicked?

312Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

313The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable;

314and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he

315doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy,

316there is a good angel about him; but the devil

317outbids him too.

318For the women?

319For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns

320poor souls. For the other, I owe her money, and

321whether she be damned for that, I know not.

322No, I warrant you.

323No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for

324that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee,

325for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house,

326contrary to the law; for the which I think thou wilt howl.

327All victuallers do so; what's a joint of mutton or

328two in a whole Lent?

329You, gentlewoman,-

330What says your grace?

331His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.

332Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

333Peto, how now! what news?

334The king your father is at Westminster:

335And there are twenty weak and wearied posts

336Come from the north: and, as I came along,

337I met and overtook a dozen captains,

338Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,

339And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

340By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,

341So idly to profane the precious time,

342When tempest of commotion, like the south

343Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt

344And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

345Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.

346Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and

347we must hence and leave it unpicked.

348More knocking at the door!

349How now! what's the matter?

350You must away to court, sir, presently;

351A dozen captains stay at door for you.

352[To the Page] Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell,

353hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches,

354how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver

355may sleep, when the man of action is called on.

356Farewell good wenches: if I be not sent away post,

357I will see you again ere I go.

358I cannot speak; if my heart be not read to burst,--

359well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

360Farewell, farewell.

361Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these

362twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an

363honester and truer-hearted man,--well, fare thee well.

364[Within] Mistress Tearsheet!

365What's the matter?

366[Within] Good Mistress Tearsheet, come to my master.

367O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come.

368Yea, will you come, Doll?

1Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

2But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,

3And well consider of them; make good speed.

4How many thousand of my poorest subjects

5Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,

6Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

7That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down

8And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

9Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

10Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee

11And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

12Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,

13Under the canopies of costly state,

14And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

15O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile

16In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch

17A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?

18Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast

19Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains

20In cradle of the rude imperious surge

21And in the visitation of the winds,

22Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

23Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them

24With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds,

25That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?

26Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose

27To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,

28And in the calmest and most stillest night,

29With all appliances and means to boot,

30Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!

31Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

32Many good morrows to your majesty!

33Is it good morrow, lords?

34'Tis one o'clock, and past.

35Why, then, good morrow to you all, my lords.

36Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

37We have, my liege.

38Then you perceive the body of our kingdom

39How foul it is; what rank diseases grow

40And with what danger, near the heart of it.

41It is but as a body yet distemper'd;

42Which to his former strength may be restored

43With good advice and little medicine:

44My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

45O God! that one might read the book of fate,

46And see the revolution of the times

47Make mountains level, and the continent,

48Weary of solid firmness, melt itself

49Into the sea! and, other times, to see

50The beachy girdle of the ocean

51Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,

52And changes fill the cup of alteration

53With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,

54The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,

55What perils past, what crosses to ensue,

56Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.

57'Tis not 'ten years gone

58Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,

59Did feast together, and in two years after

60Were they at wars: it is but eight years since

61This Percy was the man nearest my soul,

62Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs

63And laid his love and life under my foot,

64Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard

65Gave him defiance. But which of you was by--

66You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember--

67When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears,

68Then cheque'd and rated by Northumberland,

69Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy?

70'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which

71My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;'

72Though then, God knows, I had no such intent,

73But that necessity so bow'd the state

74That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:

75'The time shall come,' thus did he follow it,

76'The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,

77Shall break into corruption:' so went on,

78Foretelling this same time's condition

79And the division of our amity.

80There is a history in all men's lives,

81Figuring the nature of the times deceased;

82The which observed, a man may prophesy,

83With a near aim, of the main chance of things

84As yet not come to life, which in their seeds

85And weak beginnings lie intreasured.

86Such things become the hatch and brood of time;

87And by the necessary form of this

88King Richard might create a perfect guess

89That great Northumberland, then false to him,

90Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;

91Which should not find a ground to root upon,

92Unless on you.

93Are these things then necessities?

94Then let us meet them like necessities:

95And that same word even now cries out on us:

96They say the bishop and Northumberland

97Are fifty thousand strong.

98It cannot be, my lord;

99Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,

100The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your grace

101To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,

102The powers that you already have sent forth

103Shall bring this prize in very easily.

104To comfort you the more, I have received

105A certain instance that Glendower is dead.

106Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill,

107And these unseason'd hours perforce must add

108Unto your sickness.

109I will take your counsel:

110And were these inward wars once out of hand,

111We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

1Come on, come on, come on, sir; give me your hand,

2sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by

3the rood! And how doth my good cousin Silence?

4Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

5And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your

6fairest daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

7Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!

8By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is

9become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

10Indeed, sir, to my cost.

11A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. I was

12once of Clement's Inn, where I think they will

13talk of mad Shallow yet.

14You were called 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.

15By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would

16have done any thing indeed too, and roundly too.

17There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire,

18and black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and

19Will Squele, a Cotswold man; you had not four such

20swinge-bucklers in all the inns o' court again: and

21I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were

22and had the best of them all at commandment. Then

23was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to

24Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

25This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers?

26The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break

27Skogan's head at the court-gate, when a' was a

28crack not thus high: and the very same day did I

29fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer,

30behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I

31have spent! and to see how many of my old

32acquaintance are dead!

33We shall all follow, cousin.

34Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: death,

35as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall

36die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair?

37By my troth, I was not there.

38Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living

39yet?

40Dead, sir.

41Jesu, Jesu, dead! a' drew a good bow; and dead! a'

42shot a fine shoot: John a Gaunt loved him well, and

43betted much money on his head. Dead! a' would have

44clapped i' the clout at twelve score; and carried

45you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a

46half, that it would have done a man's heart good to

47see. How a score of ewes now?

48Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may be

49worth ten pounds.

50And is old Double dead?

51Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as I think.

52Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech you, which

53is Justice Shallow?

54I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this

55county, and one of the king's justices of th e peace:

56What is your good pleasure with me?

57My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain,

58Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentleman, by heaven, and

59a most gallant leader.

60He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword

61man. How doth the good knight? may I ask how my

62lady his wife doth?

63Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than

64with a wife.

65It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said

66indeed too. Better accommodated! it is good; yea,

67indeed, is it: good phrases are surely, and ever

68were, very commendable. Accommodated! it comes of

69'accommodo' very good; a good phrase.

70Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. Phrase call

71you it? by this good day, I know not the phrase;

72but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a

73soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good

74command, by heaven. Accommodated; that is, when a

75man is, as they say, accommodated; or when a man is,

76being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated;

77which is an excellent thing.

78It is very just.

79Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good

80hand, give me your worship's good hand: by my

81troth, you like well and bear your years very well:

82welcome, good Sir John.

83I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert

84Shallow: Master Surecard, as I think?

85No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me.

86Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of

87the peace.

88Your good-worship is welcome.

89Fie! this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you

90provided me here half a dozen sufficient men?

91Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

92Let me see them, I beseech you.

93Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the

94roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so:

95yea, marry, sir: Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as

96I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me

97see; where is Mouldy?

98Here, an't please you.

99What think you, Sir John? a good-limbed fellow;

100young, strong, and of good friends.

101Is thy name Mouldy?

102Yea, an't please you.

103'Tis the more time thou wert used.

104Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that

105are mouldy lack use: very singular good! in faith,

106well said, Sir John, very well said.

107Prick him.

108I was pricked well enough before, an you could have

109let me alone: my old dame will be undone now for

110one to do her husbandry and her drudgery: you need

111not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter

112to go out than I.

113Go to: peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is

114time you were spent.

115Spent!

116Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: know you where

117you are? For the other, Sir John: let me see:

118Simon Shadow!

119Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under: he's like

120to be a cold soldier.

121Where's Shadow?

122Here, sir.

123Shadow, whose son art thou?

124My mother's son, sir.

125Thy mother's son! like enough, and thy father's

126shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow of

127the male: it is often so, indeed; but much of the

128father's substance!

129Do you like him, Sir John?

130Shadow will serve for summer; prick him, for we have

131a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book.

132Thomas Wart!

133Where's he?

134Here, sir.

135Is thy name Wart?

136Yea, sir.

137Thou art a very ragged wart.

138Shall I prick him down, Sir John?

139It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon

140his back and the whole frame stands upon pins:

141prick him no more.

142Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it: I

143commend you well. Francis Feeble!

144Here, sir.

145What trade art thou, Feeble?

146A woman's tailor, sir.

147Shall I prick him, sir?

148You may: but if he had been a man's tailor, he'ld

149ha' pricked you. Wilt thou make as many holes in

150an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?

151I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.

152Well said, good woman's tailor! well said,

153courageous Feeble! thou wilt be as valiant as the

154wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the

155woman's tailor: well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.

156I would Wart might have gone, sir.

157I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst

158mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him

159to a private soldier that is the leader of so many

160thousands: let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.

161It shall suffice, sir.

162I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?

163Peter Bullcalf o' the green!

164Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.

165Here, sir.

166'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf

167till he roar again.

168O Lord! good my lord captain,--

169What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?

170O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.

171What disease hast thou?

172A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught

173with ringing in the king's affairs upon his

174coronation-day, sir.

175Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we wilt

176have away thy cold; and I will take such order that

177my friends shall ring for thee. Is here all?

178Here is two more called than your number, you must

179have but four here, sir: and so, I pray you, go in

180with me to dinner.

181Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry

182dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.

183O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night

184in the windmill in Saint George's field?

185No more of that, good Master Shallow, no more of that.

186Ha! 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

187She lives, Master Shallow.

188She never could away with me.

189Never, never; she would always say she could not

190abide Master Shallow.

191By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. She

192was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?

193Old, old, Master Shallow.

194Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;

195certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork by old

196Nightwork before I came to Clement's Inn.

197That's fifty-five year ago.

198Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that

199this knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?

200We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.

201That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith,

202Sir John, we have: our watch-word was 'Hem boys!'

203Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner:

204Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come.

205Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend;

206and here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns

207for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be

208hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part, sir,

209I do not care; but rather, because I am unwilling,

210and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with

211my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own

212part, so much.

213Go to; stand aside.

214And, good master corporal captain, for my old

215dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody to do

216any thing about her when I am gone; and she is old,

217and cannot help herself: You shall have forty, sir.

218Go to; stand aside.

219By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once: we

220owe God a death: I'll ne'er bear a base mind:

221an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so: no man is

222too good to serve's prince; and let it go which way

223it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.

224Well said; thou'rt a good fellow.

225Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

226Come, sir, which men shall I have?

227Four of which you please.

228Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to free

229Mouldy and Bullcalf.

230Go to; well.

231Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

232Do you choose for me.

233Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble and Shadow.

234Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home

235till you are past service: and for your part,

236Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it: I will none of you.

237Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong: they are

238your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best.

239Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a

240man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature,

241bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the

242spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a

243ragged appearance it is; a' shall charge you and

244discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's

245hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets

246on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced

247fellow, Shadow; give me this man: he presents no

248mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim

249level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat;

250how swiftly will this Feeble the woman's tailor run

251off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the

252great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph.

253Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.

254Come, manage me your caliver. So: very well: go

255to: very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a

256little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot. Well said, i'

257faith, Wart; thou'rt a good scab: hold, there's a

258tester for thee.

259He is not his craft's master; he doth not do it

260right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at

261Clement's Inn--I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's

262show,--there was a little quiver fellow, and a'

263would manage you his piece thus; and a' would about

264and about, and come you in and come you in: 'rah,

265tah, tah,' would a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and

266away again would a' go, and again would a' come: I

267shall ne'er see such a fellow.

268These fellows will do well, Master Shallow. God

269keep you, Master Silence: I will not use many words

270with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank

271you: I must a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give

272the soldiers coats.

273Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your

274affairs! God send us peace! At your return visit

275our house; let our old acquaintance be renewed;

276peradventure I will with ye to the court.

277'Fore God, I would you would, Master Shallow.

278Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.

279Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.

280On, Bardolph; lead the men away.

281As I return, I will fetch off these justices: I do

282see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how

283subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This

284same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to

285me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he

286hath done about Turnbull Street: and every third

287word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's

288tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn like a

289man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a'

290was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked

291radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it

292with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that his

293dimensions to any thick sight were invincible: a'

294was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a

295monkey, and the whores called him mandrake: a' came

296ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those

297tunes to the overscutched huswives that he heard the

298carmen whistle, and swear they were his fancies or

299his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger

300become a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a

301Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and

302I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the

303Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head for crowding

304among the marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a

305Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might have

306thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the

307case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a

308court: and now has he land and beefs. Well, I'll

309be acquainted with him, if I return; and it shall

310go hard but I will make him a philosopher's two

311stones to me: if the young dace be a bait for the

312old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I

313may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.

1What is this forest call'd?

2'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your grace.

3Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth

4To know the numbers of our enemies.

5We have sent forth already.

6'Tis well done.

7My friends and brethren in these great affairs,

8I must acquaint you that I have received

9New-dated letters from Northumberland;

10Their cold intent, tenor and substance, thus:

11Here doth he wish his person, with such powers

12As might hold sortance with his quality,

13The which he could not levy; whereupon

14He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes,

15To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers

16That your attempts may overlive the hazard

17And fearful melting of their opposite.

18Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground

19And dash themselves to pieces.

20Now, what news?

21West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,

22In goodly form comes on the enemy;

23And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number

24Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.

25The just proportion that we gave them out

26Let us sway on and face them in the field.

27What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

28I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.

29Health and fair greeting from our general,

30The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.

31Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace:

32What doth concern your coming?

33Then, my lord,

34Unto your grace do I in chief address

35The substance of my speech. If that rebellion

36Came like itself, in base and abject routs,

37Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,

38And countenanced by boys and beggary,

39I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,

40In his true, native and most proper shape,

41You, reverend father, and these noble lords

42Had not been here, to dress the ugly form

43Of base and bloody insurrection

44With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,

45Whose see is by a civil peace maintained,

46Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,

47Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,

48Whose white investments figure innocence,

49The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,

50Wherefore do you so ill translate ourself

51Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace,

52Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war;

53Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,

54Your pens to lances and your tongue divine

55To a trumpet and a point of war?

56Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.

57Briefly to this end: we are all diseased,

58And with our surfeiting and wanton hours

59Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,

60And we must bleed for it; of which disease

61Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.

62But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,

63I take not on me here as a physician,

64Nor do I as an enemy to peace

65Troop in the throngs of military men;

66But rather show awhile like fearful war,

67To diet rank minds sick of happiness

68And purge the obstructions which begin to stop

69Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.

70I have in equal balance justly weigh'd

71What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,

72And find our griefs heavier than our offences.

73We see which way the stream of time doth run,

74And are enforced from our most quiet there

75By the rough torrent of occasion;

76And have the summary of all our griefs,

77When time shall serve, to show in articles;

78Which long ere this we offer'd to the king,

79And might by no suit gain our audience:

80When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs,

81We are denied access unto his person

82Even by those men that most have done us wrong.

83The dangers of the days but newly gone,

84Whose memory is written on the earth

85With yet appearing blood, and the examples

86Of every minute's instance, present now,

87Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms,

88Not to break peace or any branch of it,

89But to establish here a peace indeed,

90Concurring both in name and quality.

91When ever yet was your appeal denied?

92Wherein have you been galled by the king?

93What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,

94That you should seal this lawless bloody book

95Of forged rebellion with a seal divine

96And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?

97My brother general, the commonwealth,

98To brother born an household cruelty,

99I make my quarrel in particular.

100There is no need of any such redress;

101Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

102Why not to him in part, and to us all

103That feel the bruises of the days before,

104And suffer the condition of these times

105To lay a heavy and unequal hand

106Upon our honours?

107O, my good Lord Mowbray,

108Construe the times to their necessities,

109And you shall say indeed, it is the time,

110And not the king, that doth you injuries.

111Yet for your part, it not appears to me

112Either from the king or in the present time

113That you should have an inch of any ground

114To build a grief on: were you not restored

115To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories,

116Your noble and right well remember'd father's?

117What thing, in honour, had my father lost,

118That need to be revived and breathed in me?

119The king that loved him, as the state stood then,

120Was force perforce compell'd to banish him:

121And then that Harry Bolingbroke and he,

122Being mounted and both roused in their seats,

123Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,

124Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,

125Their eyes of fire sparking through sights of steel

126And the loud trumpet blowing them together,

127Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd

128My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,

129O when the king did throw his warder down,

130His own life hung upon the staff he threw;

131Then threw he down himself and all their lives

132That by indictment and by dint of sword

133Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.

134You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.

135The Earl of Hereford was reputed then

136In England the most valiant gentlemen:

137Who knows on whom fortune would then have smiled?

138But if your father had been victor there,

139He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:

140For all the country in a general voice

141Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love

142Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on

143And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the king.

144But this is mere digression from my purpose.

145Here come I from our princely general

146To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace

147That he will give you audience; and wherein

148It shall appear that your demands are just,

149You shall enjoy them, every thing set off

150That might so much as think you enemies.

151But he hath forced us to compel this offer;

152And it proceeds from policy, not love.

153Mowbray, you overween to take it so;

154This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:

155For, lo! within a ken our army lies,

156Upon mine honour, all too confident

157To give admittance to a thought of fear.

158Our battle is more full of names than yours,

159Our men more perfect in the use of arms,

160Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;

161Then reason will our heart should be as good

162Say you not then our offer is compell'd.

163Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.

164That argues but the shame of your offence:

165A rotten case abides no handling.

166Hath the Prince John a full commission,

167In very ample virtue of his father,

168To hear and absolutely to determine

169Of what conditions we shall stand upon?

170That is intended in the general's name:

171I muse you make so slight a question.