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; Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt FALStaff and Bardolph. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twentynine years, 'come peascod-time; but an honester, and truerhearted 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. Come. She comes blubbered. - Yea-will you come, Doll? [Exeunt. [Exit Page. Enter King HENRY in his Nightgown, with a Page. O sleep! O gentle sleep! Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? O, thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile, Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top; Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 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 kingdom How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it. War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd, Which to his former strength may be restor❜d, With good advice, and little medicine. My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. K. Hen. O God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea: and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, With divers liquors! [O, if this were seen, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.] Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, [TO WARWICK, That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss. War. There is a history in all men's lives, Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness, 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. War. It cannot be, my lord: Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, - Please it your grace, To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd K. Hen. I will take your counsel: And were these inward wars once out of hand, We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [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, Sir; 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 Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, 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. Jesu! Jesu! the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead! Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. Shal. Certain, 't is certain; very sure, very sure: death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair? yet. Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living Sil. Dead, Sir. Shal. Jesu! Jesu! Dead! he drew a good bow; and dead! he shot a fine shoot: - John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! - he would have clapped in the clout at twelve score; and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see. How a score of ewes now? |