Give me my fword and cloak. Falftaff, good night. [Exeunt Prince and Poins. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morfel of the night; and we must hence, and leave it unpick'd. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter? Bard. You must away to court, Sir, presently: a dozen captains stay at door for you. Fal. Pay the musicians, firrah Farewell, hoftefs; farewell, Doll. You fee, my good wenches, how men of merit are fought after; the undeferver may sleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches; if I be not fent away poft, I will fee you' again ere I go. Dol. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to -Well, fweet Jack, have a care of thyself. burft Hal. Farewell, farewell. [Exit. Foft. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come pefcod-time; but an honester 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. ACT III. SCENE I. The palace in London. [Exeunt. Enter King Henry in his night-gown, with a Page. K. Henry. Go, O, call the Earls of Surrey and of But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 6 [Exit Page. How many thousands of my pooreft fubjects Why rather, Sleep, ly't thou in fmoaky cribs, • Upon uneafy pallets ftretching thee, R 2 (And And hufh'd 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? And in the vilitation of the winds, 'Who take the ruffiar billows by the top, SCENE II. Enter Warwick and Surrey. K. Henry. Why, then, good morrow to you. Well, my Lords, Have you read o'er the letters I fent you? K. Henry. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom, How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it. My This alludes to the watchmen fet in garrifon-towns upon fome eminence, attending upon an alarum-bell, which he was to ring out in cafe of fire, or any approaching danger. He had a cafe or box to fhelter him from the weather; but at his utmoft peril he was not to fleep whilst he was upon duty. These alarum-bells are mentioned in feveral other places of Shakespeare. Oxford Editor. My Lord Northumberland will foon be fchool'd. K. Henry. Oh, heav'n, that one might read the book And fee the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of folid firmnefs, melt itself Into the fea; and, other times, to fee The beachy girdle of the ocean [of fate, Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, With divers liquors! O, if this were feen, Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, [To War. That I and greatnefs were compell'd to kifs:) War. There is a history in all mens' lives, R 3 Such Such things become the hatch and brood of time; King Richard might create a perfect guefs, K. Henry. Are thefe things then neceffities? And that fame word even now cries out on us. War. It cannot be : Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd your K. Henry. I will take your counfel: And were thefe inward wars once out of hand, SCENE III. [Exeunt. Changes to Fuftice Shallow's feat in Glouceflershire. Enter Shallow and Silence, juftices; with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, Sir; an early ftirrer, by the rood *. And how doth my good coufin Silence? Sil. Good morrow, good coufin Shallow. Shal. And how doth my coufin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, coufin Shallow. Shal. By yea and nay, Sir, I dare fay my coufin William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford ftill, is he not? Sil. Indeed, Sir, to my coft. Shal. He must then to the inns of court fhortly; I was once of Clement's inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Sil. You were call'd lufty Shallow then, coufin. Shal. I was call'd any thing, and I would have done any thing, indeed, too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotfwold man, you had not four fuch fwinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again; and I may fay to you, we knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, (now Sir John) a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Sil. This Sir John, coufin, that comes hither anon about foldiers? Shal. The fame Sir John, the very fame: I faw him break Schoggan's head at the court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus high; and the very fame day I did fight with one Samfon Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's-Inn. O the mad days that I have fpent! and to fee how many of mine old acquaintance are dead? Sil. We fhall all follow, coufin. Shal. Certain, 'tis certain, very fure, very fure: death (as the Pfalmift faith) is certain to all; all fhall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair? Sil. Truly, coufin, I was not there. Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet? Sil. Dead, Sir. Shal. Dead! fee, fee, he drew a good bow: and dead! he fhot a fine fhoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! he would have clapp'd in the clowt‡ at twelve score, and carried you a fore-hand fhaft at fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to fee.- -How a fcore of ewes now? Sil. i. e. Hit the white mark. |