Ch. Juft. Well, be honeft, be honeft, and Heav'n blefs your Expedition. Fal. Will your Lordship lend me a thousand Pound, to furnish me forth? Ch. Juft. Not a Penny, not a Penny; you are too impatient to bear Croffes. Fare you well. Commend me to my Coufin Westmorland. [Exit. Fal. If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A Man can no more separate Age and Covetousness, than he can part young Limbs and Letchery: But the Gout galls the one, and the Pox pinches the other, and fo both the Degrees prevent my Curfes. Boy. Page. Sir. Fal. What Mony is in my Purse? Fal. I can get no Remedy against this Confumption of the Purse. Borrowing only lingers, and lingers it out, but the D feafe is incurable. Go bear this Letter to my Lord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earl of Westmorland, and this to old Mistress Urfula, whom I have weekly fworn to marry, fince I perceiv'd the first white Hair on my Chin. About it; you know where to find me.. A Pox of this Gout, or a Gout of this Pox; for the one or th'other plays the Rogue with my great Toe : It is no matter, if I do halt, I have the Wars for my Colour, and my Penfion fhall feem the more reasonable: A good Wit will make use of any thing; I will turn Diseases to commodity. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Arch Bishop of York, Haftings, Mowbray, and Lord Bardolph. York. Thus have you heard our Causes, and know our And my most noble Friends, I pray you all Speak plainly your Opinions of our Hopes, Mow. I well allow the occafion of our Arms, But gladly would be better satisfied, [Means: How, in our Means, we should advance our felves, To look with Forehead bell and big enough, Bard. The queftion then Lord Haftings, ftandeth thus, Bard. Ay marry there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, Bard. It was, my Lord, who lin'd himself with hope, Eating the Air, on promife of Supply, Flattering himself with Project of a Power, Much fmaller than the fmalleft of his Thoughts, And fo, with great Imagination, Proper to Madmen, led his Powers to Death, Haft. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, That Frofts will bite them. When we mean to build; We first furvey the Plot, then draw the Model, What do we then, but draw a-new the Model In fewer Offices? or at least, defift To build at all? Much more, in this great Work, The Plot of Situation, and the Model, Queftion Surveyors, know our own Estate, Haft. Grant that our Hopes, yet likely of fair Birth,' I think we are a Body ftrong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the King. Bard. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand? Haft. To us no more; nay not fo much, Lord Bardolph. For his Divifions, as the Times do brawl, Are in three Heads; one Power againft the French, Muft take up us: So is the unfirm King In three divided; and his Coffers found With hollow Poverty, and Emptiness. York. That he should draw his feveral Strengths together, And come againft us in full Puiffance, Need not be dreaded. Haft. If he fhould do so, He leaves his Back unarm'd, the French, and Welsh Bard. Who is it like fhould lead his Forces hither? I have no certain notice. York. York. Let us on: And publish the Occafion of our Arms. The Commonwealth is fick of their own choice, An Habitation giddy and unfure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar Heart. Cry'ft now, O Earth yield us that King again, Mow. Shall we go draw our Numbers, and fet on? Haft. We are Time's Subjects, and Time bids, be gone! A CT II. SCENE I. Enter Hoftefs, with two Officers, Fang and Snare. Hoft MR. Fang. It is enter'd. R. Fang, have you entred the Action? Hoft. Where's your Yeoman? Is it a lufty Yeoman? Will he ftand to it? Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Hoft. Ay, ay, good Mr.Snare. Snare. Snare. Here, here. Fang. Snare, we must Arrest Sir John Falstaff. Hoft. Ay, good Mr. Snare. I have enter'd him, and all. Snare. It may chance coft some of us our Lives: He will stab. Hoft. Alas-the-day; take heed of him; he stab'd me in mine own House, and that most beaftly; he cares not what mischief he doth, if his Weapon be out. He will foin like any Devil, he will spare neither Man, Woman, nor Child. Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thruft. Fang. If I but fift him once; if he come but within my Vice. Hoft. I am undone with his going; I warrant he is an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Mr. Fang, hold him fure; good Mr. Snare, let him not fcape, he comes continually to Pie-corner, faving your Manhoods, to buy a Saddle, and he is invited to dinner to the Lubbar's head in Lombardstreet to Mr. Smooth's the Silkman. I pray ye fince my Action is enter'd, and my Cafe fo openly known to the World, let him be brought in to his Anf ver. A hundred Mark is a long one, for a poor lone Woman to bear; and I have born, and born, and born: And have been fub'd off, and fub'd off, from this Day to that Day, that it is a fhame to be thought on. There is no honesty in fuch dealing, unless a Woman should be made an Afs and a Beast, to bear every Knaves wrong. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Yonder he comes, and that arrant Malmfey-Nofe Bardolph with him. Do your Offices, do your Offices: Mr. Fang, and Mr. Snare, do me, do me, do me your Offices. Fal. How now? whofe Mare's dead? what's the matter? Fang. Sir John, I arreft you at the fuit of Mistress Quickly. Fal. Away Varlets; draw Bardolph: Cut me off the Villain's Head: Throw the Quean in the Kennel. Hoft. |