Bar. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. What company ?

Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church.
P. Hen. Sup any women with him?

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear-sheet.

P. Hen. What pagan may that be?

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

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

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

you.

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,-and Bardolph ;-no word to your master, that I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.

Bar. I have no tongue, sir.

Page. And for mine, sir,—I will govern it.

P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and Page.]-This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road.

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans and London.

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colors, and not ourselves be seen?

Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers.

P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren

tice a low transformation! that shall be mine; for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Warkworth. Before the castle.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY.

North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,

Give even way unto my rough affairs:
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome,

Lady N. I have given over; I will speak no

more:

Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. North. Alas, sweet wife, my honor is at pawn ; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!

The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain,

Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honors lost; yours, and your son's.
For yours, may heavenly glory brighten it!

For his, it stuck upon him. as the sun

In the gray vault of heaven; and, by his light,
Did all the chivalry of England move

To do brave acts: he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs, that practised not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant ;

For those that could speak low and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him: so that, in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,

In military rules, humors of blood,

He was the mark and glass, copy and book,

That fashion'd others: and him,-O wondrous him!
O miracle of men!-him did you leave,
(Second to none, unseconded by you)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage; to abide a field,

Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible :--so you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong,
To hold your honor more precise and nice
With others than with him; let them alone.
The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

North.

Beshrew your heart,

Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient oversights.

But I must go, and meet with danger there;

Or it will seek me in another place,

And find me worse provided.

Lady N.

O, fly to Scotland,

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,

Have of their puissance made a little taste.

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king,

Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves: so did your son ;
He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough,
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.

North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind,

As with the tide swell'd up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company.

SCENE IV.

London. A room in the Boar's Head tavern, in

Eastcheap.

Enter TWO drawers.

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there?

Apple-Johns ? 1 Thou knowest sir John cannot endure an apple-John.

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, there were five more sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart; but he hath forgot that.

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; 2 mistress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. Despatch. The room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins, and aprons; and sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis.3 It will be an excellent stratagem.

2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit.

Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEAR-SHEET.

Host. I' faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your color, I warrant you, is as red as any rose: but, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and

A species of apple that will keep two years. 2 Sneak was a street minstrel.

3 Merry doings.