Puslapio vaizdai
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And in that very line, Harry, ftand'st thou;
For thou haft loft thy Princely privilege
With vile participation. Not an eye,
But is a-weary of thy common fight,

Save mine, which hath defir'd to fee thee more;
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind it felf with foolish tenderness.

P. Henry. I fhall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord, Be more my self.

K. Henry. Harry, for all the world,
As thou art at this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France fet foot at Ravenspurg;
And ev'n as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my scepter, and my foul to boot,
He hath more worthy intereft to the state,
Than thou, the fhadow of fucceffion :

For of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the Lion's armed jaws;
And being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient Lords and rev'rend Bishops on,
To bloody battels, and to bruifing arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Dowglas, whofe high deeds,
Whose hot incurfions, and great name in arms,
Holds from all foldiers chief majority,

And military title capital,

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Chrift!
Thrice hath this Hot-fpur Mars in fwathing-cloaths,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises,

Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,

And shake the peace and fafety of our throne.

And what fay you to this? Percy, Northumberland, Th'Arch-bishop's Grace of York, Douglas and Mortimer, Capitulate against us, and are up.

But

But wherefore do I tell this news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vaffal fear,
Base inclination, and the ftart of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels, and curt'fie at his frowns,
To fhew how much thou art degenerate.

P. Henry. Do not think fo, you shall not find it fo
And heav'n forgive them, that fo much have fway'd
Your Majetty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And in the closing of fome glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your fon :
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And ftain my 'favour in a bloody mask,
Which wafht away fhall fcowre my fhame with it:
And that fhall be the day, when e'er it lights,
That this fame child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hot-fpur, this all-praised Knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour fitting on his helm,

Would there were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I fhall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my Lord,
T'engrofs up glorious deeds on my behalf:
And I will call him to fo ftrict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the flighteft worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.
This, in the name of heav'n, I promife here:
The which, if I s'perform't and do furvive,
I do befeech your Majefty, may falve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperature;
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds,

And

3 favours ...old edit. Warb, emend.

4 they

5 perform

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Henry. A hundred thousand rebels die in this:
Thou shalt have charge, and fovereign truft herein.
Enter Blunt.

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt. So is the bufinefs that I come to fpeak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath fent word,
That Dowglas and the English rebels met
Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:'.
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

K. Henry. The Earl of Westmorland fet forth to-day, With him my fon, Lord John of Lancaster;

For this advertisement is five days old.

On Wednesday next, Harry, thou fhalt fet forward:
On Thursday, we our felves will march: our meeting
Is at Bridgenorth; and, Harry, you shall march
Through Glofterbire: by which, fome twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth fhall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away,
Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay.

Fal.B

S C E NE V.

The Tavern in Eaft-cheap.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

[Exeunt.

Ardolph, am I not fall'n away vilely, fince this laft action? Do I not 'bate? do I not dwindle? why, my skin hangs about me like an old Lady's loofe gown: I am withered like an old apple John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in fome liking: I fhall be out of heart shortly, and then I fhall have no ftrength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the infide of a

church

church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horfe the infide of a church! company, villainous company hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are fo fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it; come, fing me a bawdy fong, to make me merry: I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; fwore little; diced not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour; paid mony that I borrow'd, three or four times; liv'd well, and in good compafs; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

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Bard. Why, you are fo fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compafs, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, thou beareft the lanthorn in the poop, but 'tis in the nofe of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be fworn; I make as good ufe of it, as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori. I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would fwear by thy face; my oath fhould be, by this fire; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the fon of utter darknefs. When thou rann'ft up Gads-bill in the night to catch my horfe, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchafe in mony. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlafting bonfire-light; thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the fack: that thou haft drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the deareft chandler's in Europe. I have maintain'd that Salamander of "thine with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it!

6 yours

Bard.

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly.
Fal. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be fure to be heart-burn'd.

Enter Hoftefs.

How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket?

Hoft. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have fearch'd, I have enquir'd, fo has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant: the tight of a hair was never loft in my houfe before.

Fal. Ye lie, hoftefs; Bardolph was fhav'd, and loft many a hair; and I'll be fworn my pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a woman, go!

Hoft. Who I? I defie thee; I was never call'd fo in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Hoft. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John; you owe me mony, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of fhirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers wives, and they have made boulters of them. Hoft. Now as I am a true woman, Holland of eight fhillings an ell: you owe mony here befides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and mony lent you, four and twenty pounds.

Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay.

Hoft. He? alas! he is poor, he hath nothing.

Fal. How! poor? look upon his face: what call you rich? let him coin his nofe, let him coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? fhall I not take mine eafe in mine inn, but I fhall have my pocket pick'd? I have loft a feal-ring of my grand-father's, worth forty mark.

Hoft. O Jefu! I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper.

VOL. III.

Y

Fal.

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