vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so she is, by my troth.

Fal. Didst thou hear me?

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no, not so: I did not think thou wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive you, then, to confess the wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you. Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour: no abuse. P. Hen. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler and bread-chipper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse!

none.

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him. In which doing I have done the part of a careful friend and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.-No abuse, Hal: none, Ned, none: no, boys, none.

P. Hen. See now whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close with us! Is she of the wicked: is thine hostess here of the wicked: or is the boy of the wicked: or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked? Poins. Answer, thou dead elm; answer. Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy

kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast maltworms. For the boy, there is a good angel about him; but the devil outbids him too.

P. Hen. For the women,

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns, poor soul. For the other, I owe her money; and whether she be damned for that, I know not.

Host. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law: for the which I think thou wilt howl.

Host. All victuallers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two, in a whole Lent?

P. Hen. You, gentlewoman,-
Doll. What says your grace?

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.

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, Bareheaded, 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

Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak.-Falstaff, good
night.

[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY, POINS, PETO, and
BARDOLPH.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked. [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.

Doll. 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 Tearsheet!
Host. What's the matter?

Bard. [within.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.

Host. O run, Doll, run: run, good Doll!

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace. EnterKING HENRY in his night-gown, 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 speed.[Exit Page.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the pèrfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes!
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,
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. Is it good morrow, lords?
War. "T is one o'clock and past.

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.

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 distempered;
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine.-
My lord Northumberland will soon be cooled.
K. Hen. O heaven! 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,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors: O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
"T is not ten years gone

Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together; and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest to my soul;
Who like a brother toiled in my affairs,

And laid his love and life under

foot:

my Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, Gave him defiance. But which of you was by (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember)

[To WARWICK. When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears (Then checked and rated by Northumberland), Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy? "Northumberland, thou ladder by the which My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne " (Though then heaven knows I had no such intent, But that necessity so bowed the state That I and greatness were compelled to kiss), "The time shall come," thus did he follow it, "The time will come that foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption :"-so went on, Foretelling this same time's condition, And the division of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives
Figuring the nature of the times deceased:
The which observed, a man may prophecy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasuréd.
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.

sities?

Are these things, then, neces

SCENE II.-Court before JUSTICE SHALLOW's House in Gloucestershire.

Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting: MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULLCALF, 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 anything; and I would have done anything, indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, 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. 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.

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?

:

Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there.

Shal. Death is certain.-Is old Double of your town living yet?

Sil. Dead, sir.

Shal. Dead!-see, see!-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 i'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?

Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds. Shal. And is old Double dead!

Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him.

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

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech you which is Justice Shallow?

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir: a poor esquire of this county, and one of the King's justices 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 heaven, and a most gallant leader.

Shal. He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. How doth the good knight?-may I ask how my lady his wife doth?

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

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir: and it is well said indeed too. Better accommodated!-it is good; yea, indeed it is: good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated!-it comes from accommodo:-very good; a good phrase.

Bard. Pardon me, sir: I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? By this good day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command. Accommodated:-that is when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or when a man is-beingwhereby-he may be thought to be accommodated: which is an excellent thing.

Enter FALSTAFF.

Shal. It is very just.-Look, here comes good Sir John.-Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand: by my troth, you look well, and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir John.

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.-Master Surecard, as I think.