Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Francis. Enter PETO. P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news? Peto. The king your father is at Westminster: And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, Come from the north; and, as I came along, I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, So idly to profane the precious time; When tempest of commotion, like the south [Exeunt PRINCE HENRY, POINS, PETO, Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door? Re-enter BARDOLPH. 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, sirrah. [To the Page.] -Farewell, hostess;-farewell, Doll.-You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. Dol. I cannot speak ;-if my heart be not ready to burst:-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester, and truer-hearted man,-Well, fare thee well. Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet,- Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master. Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY in his Nightgown, with a Page. K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them: Make good Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slum. ber; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Enter WARWICK and SURREY. War. Many good morrows to your majesty! K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? War. We have, my liege. K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And see the revolution of the times into the sea! and, other times, to see Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration What perils past, what crosses to ensue,Would sbut the book, and sit him down and die. 'Tis not ten years gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feast together, and, in two years after, [To WARWICK. When Richard,-with his eye brimfull of tears, War. There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd: The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life; which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time; And, by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess, That great Northumberland, then false to him, Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness; Which should not find a ground to root upon, Unless on you. K. Hen. Are these things then necessities? Then let us meet them like necessities:And that same word even now cries out on us; They say, the bishop and Northumberland Are fifty thousand strong. War. It cannot be, my lord; Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the fear'd;-Please it your grace To go to bed; upon my life, my lord, The powers that you already have sent forth, To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd K. Hen. VOL. IV. U [Exeunt. SCENE II. Court before Justice Shallow's House in Gloucestershire. Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULL-CALF, and Servants, behind. Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence? Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin William is become a good scholar: He is at Oxford, still, is he not? Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost. Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly: I was once of Clement's-inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Sil. You were called-lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick bone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man, you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again: and, I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas 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, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers? Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I saw him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he was a crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. O, the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead! Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. |