Fal. Some fack, Francis.

P: Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

Fal. Ha! a baftard fon of the King's! and art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Henry. Why, thou globe of finful continents, what a life doft thou lead?

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 bless that sweet face of

thine what, are you come from Wales?

:

Fal. Thou whorfon 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 whorfon candle-myne, you, how vilely did you fpeak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Hoft. 'Bleffing on your good heart, and fo fhe is, by my troth..

Fal. Didft thou hear me?

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

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

P. Henry. I fhall drive you then to confefs the wilful abufe, and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abufe, Hal, on my honour, no abuse.

P. Henry. Not to difpraise 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; honest Ned, none. I difprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked

K 4

might

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 for it. No abufe, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

P. Henry. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardife doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to clofe with us? Is the of the wicked? is thine Hoftefs here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honeft 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 mault-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil out-bids him too.

P. Henry. For the women,

Fal. For one of them, fhe is in hell already, and burns poor fouls: : for the other, I owe her mony; and whether he 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.

Hot. 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 fo loud at door? look to the door there, Francis..

Enter Peto.

P. Henry. Peto, how now? what news?
Peto. The King your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied Pofts
Come from the North; and, as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,

Bare

Bare-headed, fweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Henry. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,

So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempeft of commotion, 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, presently: dozen captains ftay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the muficians, 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 post, I will fee you a gain, ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burft. well, fweet Jack, have a care of thy self.

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.

Ho. O run, Dol, run; run, good Del

[Exeunt

f

SCENE, the Palace in LONDON:

Enter King Henry in bis Night-gown, with
Page.

K. HENRY.

O, call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

G But, cre they come, bid them o'er-read thefe

letters.

And well confider of them: make good speed.

[Exit Page.

How many thousands of my pooreft 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 feep my fenfes in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in fmoaky cribs,
Upon uneafie 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 loathfom beds, and leav'ft the kingly couch
A watch cafe, or a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
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,
Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flip'ry fhrouds,
That, with the hurley, death it self awakes?
Can't thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose

To

To the wet fea-boy in an hour fo rude?
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a King? then, happy low! lye down;
Uneafie lyes the head, that wears a Crown.

Enter Warwick and Surrey.

War. Many good morrows to your Majefty!
K. Henry. Is it good morrow, lords?

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

K. Henry. (12) Why, then, good morrow to you: Well, my lords,

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

War: We have, my Liege.

K. Henry. Then you perceive the body of our Kingdom,

How foul it is; what rank difeafes grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.
War. It is but as a body, yet diftemper'd,
Which to its former ftrength may be restor'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 it felf

Into the Sea; and, other times, to fee

The beachy girdle of the Ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips: how Chances mock,

(12) Why then good morrow to you all, my Lords:

Have you read o'er, &c.] I must account for the Change I have ventur'd at here. In the preceding Page the King fends Letters to Surrey and Warwick, with Charge that they should read them and attend him. Accordingly here Surrey and Warwick come, and no body elfe, in Obedience to that Summons. The King would hardly have faid Good morrow to You All, to two Peers, and no more. My Emendation wants no further Support, than This naked Stating of the Cafe,

And