K. Henry. Are these things then neceffities?
Then let us meet them like neceffities;

And that fame word even now cries out on us:
They fay, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thoufand ftrong.

War. It cannot be :

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 Pow'rs, that you already have fent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very eafily.

To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain inftance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majefty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unfeafon'd hours perforce must add.
Unto your fickness.

K. Henry. I will take your counsel :

And were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Justice Shallow's Seat in
Gloucestershire.

Enter Shallow and Silence, Juftices; with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf.

Shal.

YOME come on, come on; give me your hand, Sir; an early firrer, 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 fcholar: he is at Oxford fill, 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 Cot'swold 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 beft of them all at commmandment. Then was Jack Falffaff, (now Sir John) a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

Sil. This Sir John, coufin, that comes hither anon about Soldiers?

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 Sampfon Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays-Inn. O the mad days that I have spent! 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 mony on his head. Dead! he would have clapt in the clowt at twelve score, and carried you a fore-hand fhaft a 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. Thereafter as they be: a fcore of good ewes may be worth ten pounds.

Shal. And is old Double dead?

Enter

Enter Bardolph, and Page.

Sil. Here come two of Sir John Falftaff's men, as I think.

Shal. Good morrow, honeft gentlemen.

Bard. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? Shal. I am Robert Shallow, Sir, a poor Efquire of this Country, one of the King's Juftices of the peace: what is your good pleasure with me?

Bard. My captain, Sir, commends him to you: my captain Sir John Falstaff; a tall gentleman, by heav'n'! and a moft gallant leader.

Shal. He greets me well: Sir, I knew him a good back-fword man. How doth the good Knight? may I ask, how my lady his wife doth ?

Bard. Sir, pardon, a foldier is better accommodated than with a wife.

Shal. It is well faid, Sir; and it is well faid, indeed, too: better accommodated it is good, yea, indeed, is it; good phrafes, furely, are, and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated it comes of accommodo; very good, a good phrafe. Bard. Pardon me, Sir, I have heard the word. Phrafe, call you it? by this day, I know not the phrafe but I will maintain the word with my fword, to be a foldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command. Accommodated, that is, when a man is, as they fay, accommodated; or, when a man is, being whereby he may be thought to be accomodated, which is an excellent thing.

Enter Falstaff.

Shal. It is very juft: look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand, give me your Worhip's good hand: truft me, you look well, and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir John.

Fal. I am glad to fee you well, good mafter Robert Shallow Maiter Sure-card, as I think,

Shal. No, Sir John, it is my coufin Silence; in Commifion with me.

Fal.

Fal. Good mafter Silence, it well befits, you should be of the peace.

Sil. Your good Worship is welcome.

Fal. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen; have you provided me here half a dozen of fufficient men? Shal. Marry, have we, Sir: will you fit? Fal. Let me fee them, I beseech you.

Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the roll? let me fee, let me fee, let me fee: fo, fo, fo, fo yea, marry, Sir. Ralph Mouldy :let them appear as I call let them do fo, let them do fo. Let me fee, where is Mouldy?

Moul. Here, if it please you.

Shal. What think you, Sir John? a good limb'd fellow young, ftrong, and of good friends.

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy?

Moul. Yea, if it please you.

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.

Shal. Ha, ha, ha, moft excellent, i'faith. Things, that are mouldy, lack use: very fingular good. Well faid, Sir John, very well faid.

Fal. Prick him.

Moul. I was prickt well enough before, if you could have let me alone: my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery; you need not to have prickt me, there are other men fitter to go out than I.

Fal. Go to: peace, Mouldy, you fhall go. Mouldy, it is time you were spent.

Moul. Spent?

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace: ftand afide: know you where you are? for the other, Sir John. Let me fee: Simon Shadow.

Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to fit under: he's like to be a cold foldier.

Shal. Where's Shadow?

Shad. Here, Sir.

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou?

Shad. My mother's fon, Sir.

Fal. Thy mother's fon! like enough; and thy fa

ther's

ther's fhadow: fo the fon of the female is the fhadow of the male it is often fo, indeed, but not of the father's fubftance.

Shal. Do you like him, Sir John?

Fal. Shadow will ferve for fummer; prick him; for we have a number of fhadows do fill up the mufter book.

"

Shal. Thomas Wart.

Fal. Where's he?

Wart. Here, Sir.

Fal. Is thy name Wart?

Wart. Yea, Sir.

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart.

Shal. Shall I prick him down, Sir John?

Fal. It were fuperfluous; for his apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame ftands upon pins; prick him no more.

Shal. Ha, ha, ha, you can do it, Sir; you can do it: I commend you well. Francis Feeble.

Feeble. Here, Sir.

Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble?
Feeble. A woman's tailor, Sir.
Shal. Shall I prick him, Sir?

Fal. You may but if he had been a man's tailor, he would have prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battel, as thou haft done in a woman's petticoat?

Feeble. I will do my good will, Sir; you can have

no more.

Fal. Well faid, good woman's tailor; well faid, courageous Feeble: thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful Dove, or moft magnanimous Moufe. Prick the woman's tailor well, mafter Shallow, deep, mafter Shallow.

Feeble. I would, Wart might have gone, Sir.

Fal. I would, thou wert a man's tailor, that thou might'ft mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to be a private foldier, that is the leader of fo many thoufands. Let that fuffice, most forcible Feeble.

Feeble.