Lend to this weight fuch lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our foldiers, aiming at their fafety,
Fly from the field. Then was the noble Wor'fter
Too foon ta'en prifoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Dowglas, whofe well-labouring fword
Had three times flain th' appearance of the King,
'Gan vail his ftomach and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight
Stumbling in fear was took. The fum of all
Is, that the King hath won: and hath fent out
A speedy pow'r t' encounter you, my Lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmorland. This is the news at full.

North. For this, I shall have time enough to mourn. In poifon there is phyfick: and this news,

That would, had I been well, have made me fick,
Being fick, hath in fome measure made me well.
And as the wretch whose feaver-weaken'd joints
Like ftrengthlefs hinges buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs

Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,

Are thrice themfelves. Hence therefore, thou nice crutch, A fcaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

Muft glove this hand. And hence, thou fickly quoif,

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes flefh'd with conqueft aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The rugged'ft hour that time and fpight dare bring,
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heav'n kifs earth! now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd; let order die,
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a ling'ring act :
But let one fpirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bofoms, that, each heart being fet
On bloody courfes, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Bard. This trained paffion doth you wrong, my Lord;

Sweet

Sweet earl, divoree not wifdom from your honour.
Mort. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health, the which if you give o'er
To ftormy paffion, muft perforce decay.
You caft th' event of war, my noble Lord,
And fumm'd the account of chance, before you faid
Let us make head: it was your prefurmife,
That in the dole of blows, your fon might drop:
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd his flesh was capable

Of wounds and fears; and that his forward fpirit
Would lift him where moft trade of danger rang'd:
Yet did you fay, Go forth. And none of this,
Though ftrongly apprehended, could restrain
The ftiff-born action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than that being, which was like to be?

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this lofs,
Knew that we ventur'd on fuch dang'rous feas,
That if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one :
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd,
Choak'd the refpect of likely peril fear'd;
And fince we are o'er-fet, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

Mort. "Tis more than time; and, my most noble Lord, I hear for certain, and do speak the truth: The gentle Arch-bishop of York is up With well appointed powers: he is a man Who with a double furety binds his followers. My Lord, your fon, had only but the corps, But fhadows, and the fhews of men to fight. For that fame word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from their fouls; And they did fight with queafinefs, conftrain' As men drink potions, that their weapons only Seem'd on our fide: but for their spirits and fouls, This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop Turns infurrection to religion;

Supe

Suppos'd fincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind:
And doth enlarge his rifing with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret ftones;
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his caufe;
Tells them, he doth beftride a bleeding land
Gafping for life, under great Bolingbroke:
And more, and lefs, do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before: but to speak truth,
This prefent grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me, and counfel every man
The apteft way for fafety and revenge:

Get pofts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never fo few, nor never yet more need.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street in London. Enter Sir John Falftaff, with bis Page bearing his fword

and buckler.

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my

water?

Page. He faid, Sir, the water it self was a good healthy But for the party that own'd it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

water.

The

Fal. Men of all forts take a pride to gird at me. brain of this foolish-compounded-clay, Man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in my felf, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a fow, that hath overwhelm'd all her litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to fet me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whorfon mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with an aglet 'till now but I will fet you neither in gold nor filver, but in vile apparel, and fend you back again to your mafter, for a jewel: The Juvenil, the Prince your mafter! whofe chin is not yet fledg'd; I will fooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he fhall get one on his cheek: yet he will not ftick to fay, his face is a face-royal. Heav'n may finish it when it will, it is not a hair amifs yet he may keep it ftill as a face-royal, for

a barber fhall never earn fixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever fince his father was a batchelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can affure him. What faid Mr. Dombledon about the fatten for my short cloak and flops ?

Page. He faid, Sir, you fhould procure him better affurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours, he lik'd not the fecurity.

Fal. Let him be damn'd like the glutton, may his tongue be hotter! a whorfon Achitophel, a rafcally, yea-forfoothknave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon Security! the whorfon fmooth-pates do now wear nothing but high fhoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honeft taking up, then they must stand upon fecurity: I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to ftop it with fecurity. I looked he fhould have fent me two and twenty yards of fatten, as I am a true knight, and he fends me fecurity. Well, he may fleep in fecurity, for he hath the horn of abundance. And the lightness of his wife fhines through it, and yet cannot he fee, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ?

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horfe.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horfe in Smithfield. If I could get me but a wife in the ftews, I were mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.

SCENE V.

Enter Chief Juftice, and Servants.

Page. Sir, here comes the Nobleman that committed the Prince for ftriking him, about Bardolph.

Fal. Wait clofe, I will not fee him.

Cb. Juft. What's he that goes there?
Serv. Falftaff, an't please your Lordship.

2

Ch. Juft. He that was in queftion for the robbery?
Serv. He, myLord. But he hath fince done good fervice at
Shrewsbury and, as I hear, is now going with fome charge
to the Lord John of Lancaster.

Cb. Juft. What, to York? call him back again.
Serv. Sir John Falstaff!

Fal.

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf.

Page. You muft speak louder, my master is deaf.

Ch. Juft. I am fure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go pluck him by the elbow. I muft fpeak with him.

Serv. Sir John!

Fal, What! a young knave and beg! are there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the King lack fubjects? do not the rebels need foldiers? though it be á fhame to be on any fide but one, it is worse fhame to beg, than to be on the worft fide, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.

Serv. You miftake me, Sir.

Fal. Why, Sir, did I fay you were an honest man? fetting my knighthood and my foldiership afide, I had lied in my throat, if I had faid fo.

Serv. I pray you, Sir, then fet your knight-hood and your foldierfhip afide, and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you fay I am any other than an ho

neft man.

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me fo? I lay afide that which grows to me? if thou gett'ft any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak'ft leave, thou wert better be hang'd: you hunt-counter, hence; avaunt!

Serv. Sir, my Lord would fpeak with you.

Ch. Juft. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

Fal. My good Lord! God give your Lordship good time of day. am glad to fee your Lordship abroad; I heard fay, your Lordship was fick. I hope your Lordship goes abroad by advice. Your Lordship, though not clean paft your youth, hath yet fome fmack of age in you: fome relifh of the faltnefs of time; and I moft humbly befeech your Lordship, to have a reverend care of your health.

Ch. Fuft. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.

Fal. If it pleafe your Lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd with fome difcomfort from Wales.

C. Juft. I talk not of his Majesty: you would not came when I fent for you.

Fal