Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Henry. Very true, Sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Hoft. Oh, the lord preferve thy good Grace! Welcome to London.-Now heav'n blefs that fweet face of thine: what, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whorefon-mad compound of majefty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon Dol.

Dol. How! you fat fool, I fcorn you.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

P. Henry. You whorefon candle-myne, you, how vilely did you fpeak of me even now, before this honeft, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Hoft. 'Bleffing on your good heart, and so she is, by my troth.

Fal. Didft thou hear me?

P., Henry. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill; you knew, I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not fo; I did not think, thou waft within hearing.

P. Henry. I fhall drive you then to confefs the wilful abufe, and then I know how to handle you. Fal. No abuse, Hal, on my honour, no abuse.

P. Henry. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what !

Fal. No abufe, Hal.

Poins. No abuse!

Fal. No abufe, Ned, in the world; honeft Ned, none. I difprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true fubject, and thy father is to give me thanks forit. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardife doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to clofe with us? Is fhe of the wicked? is thine Hoftefs here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honest Bardolph, whofe zeal burns in his nofe, of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead Elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roaft malt-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil outbids him too.

P. Henry. For the women,

Fal. For one of them, fhe is in hell already, and burns, poor foul! for the other, I owe her money; and whether fhe be damn'd for that, I know not. Hoft. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think, thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry there is another indictment upon thee, for fuffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which, I think, thou wilt howl.

Hoft. All victuallers do fo: what is a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Henry. You, gentlewoman,

Dol. What fays your Grace?

Fal. His Grace fays That, which his flesh rebels against

Hoft. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there Francis.

P. Henry. PETO, how now? what news? Peto. The King your father is at Westminster.

And

And there are twenty weak and waried Posts
Come from the North; and, as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bear-headed, fweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Henry. By heav'n, Poins, I feel me much to
blame,

So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempeft of cómmotion, like the South
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my fword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morfel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpick't. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter?

Bard. You muft away to Court, Sir, prefently: a dozen captains ftay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, Sirrah: farewel, Hostess; farewel, Dol. You fee, my good wenches, how men of merit are fought after; the undeferver may fleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not fent away poft, I will fee you again, ere I go.

Dol. I cannot fpeak; if my heart be not ready to burft-well, fweet Jack, have a care of thyfelf. Fal. Farewel, farewel.

[Exit. Hoft. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee thefe twenty nine years, come pefcod-time; but an honefter and truer-hearted man -well, fare thee well.

Bard. Mrs. Tear-fheet,

Hoft. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid Miftrefs Tear-fheet come to my mafter. Host. O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Palace in LONDON.

Enter King Henry in his Night-gown, with a Page.
K. HENRY.

O, call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick:

Go

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

letters,

And well confider of them: make good speed.
Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest Subjects
Are at this hour afleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature's foft Nurfe, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my fenfes in forgetfulness?
Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in fmoky cribs,
Upon uneafy pallets ftretching thee,

And hufht with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,
Under the Canopies of coftly State,

And lull'd with founds of fweetest melody?
O thou dull God, why ly'ft thou with the vile
In loathfome beds, and leav'it the kingly couch
A watch-cafe to a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy maft,
Seal up the fhip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious Surge;
And in the vifitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

A watch cafe, &c.] This alludes to the Watchmen fet in Garrifon-towns upon fome Eminence attending upon an Alarumbell, which he was to ring out in cafe of Fire, or any approaching Danger. He had a Cafe or Box to shelter him from the Weather, but at his utmoft Peril he was not to fleep whilft he was upon Duty. These Alarum-bells are metioned in several other places of Shakespear. VOL. V. Curling

H.

Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flip'ry shrouds,
That, with the hurley, death itself awakes?
Can't thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet fea boy in an hour fo rude?
And, in the calmest and the ftilleft night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a King? then, happy low! lie down;
Uneafy lies the head, that wears a Crown.

War.

Enter Warwick and Surrey.

ANY good-morrows to your Majesty!
K. Henry. Is it good-morrow, lords?

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Henry. Why, then, good-morrow to you. Well, my lords,

Have you read o'er the letters I fent you?

War. We have, my Liege.

[dom,

K. Henry. Then you perceive the body of our King-
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.

War. It is but as a body flight diftemper'd,
Which to its former ftrength may be reftor'd,
With good advice and little medicine;
My lord Northumberland will foon be cool'd.

K. Henry. Oh heav'n, that one might read the book of fate,

And fee the revolution of the times

Make Mountains level, and the Continent,

Weary of folid firmness, melt itself

Into the Sea; and, other times, to fee

The beachy girdle of the Ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips: how Chances mock, And Changes fill the cup of alteration

With divers liquors! O, if this were feen,

The