do halt, I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable: a good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity. [Exeunt. VI.

SCENE

Archbishop of York's Palace.

Enter Archbishop of York, Haftings, Thomas Mowbray (Earl Marshal) and Lord Bardolph.

York.Hus have you heard our caufe, and know our

means:

Now, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes;
And first, Lord Marshal, what fay you to it?
Mowb. I well allow th' occafion of our arms,
But gladly would be better fatisfied

How in our means we should advance our felves,
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the pow'r and puiffance of the King.

Haft. Our prefent mufters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice:
And our fupplies live largely in the hope
Of

great Northumberland, whofe bofom burns With an incensed fire of injuries.

Bard. The queftion then, Lord Haftings, ftandeth thus Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland?

Haft. With him we may.

Bard. Ay marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we fhould not ftep too far
'Till we had his affiftance by the hand.
For in a theam fo bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and furmife
Of aids uncertain, fhould not be admitted.
York. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed

It was young Hot-fpur's cafe at Shrewsbury.

Bard.

Bard. It was, my Lord, who lin'd himself with hope,

Eating the air on promife of fupply,

Flatt'ring himself with project of a power

Much smaller than the fmalleft of his thoughts;

And fo, with great imagination,

Proper to madmen, led his pow'rs to death,
And, winking, leap'd into deftruction.

Haft. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
Bard. Yes, if this prefent quality of war
Impede the inftant act; a cause on foot
Lives fo in hope, as in an early spring
We fee th' appearing buds, which to prove fruit,
Hope gives not fo much warrant, as despair

That frofts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We firft furvey the plot, then draw the model,
And when we fee the figure of the house,
Then muft we rate the coft of the erection;
Which if we find out-weighs ability,
What do we then but draw a-new the model
In fewer offices? "/or elfe, defift

To build at all? much more, in this great work,
(Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down,
And fet another up) should we furvey

The plot of fituation, and the model;
Confent upon a fure foundation,

Question furveyors, know our own estate,
How able fuch a work to undergo,
To weigh against his oppofite; or else,
We fortifie in paper and in figures,

Ufing the names of men inftead of men:

Like one that draws the model of a house,

Beyond his pow'r to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked fubject to the weeping clouds,
And wafte for churlish winter's tyranny.

Haft. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,
Bb 3

Should

6 at leaft,

Should be ftill-born; and that we now poffeft
The utmost man of expectation:

I think we are a body ftrong enough,

Ev'n as we are, to equal with the King.

Bard, What, is the King but five and twenty thoufand? Haft. To us no more; nay, not fo much, Lord Bar·· For his divifions, as the times do brawl,

Are in three heads; one pow'r against the French,

And one against Glendower; perforce a third
Muft take up us: fo is the unfirm King

In three divided; and his coffers found
With hollow poverty and emptiness.

[dolph.

York. That he should draw his fev'ral ftrengths together, And come against us in full puiffance,

Need not be dreaded.

Haft. If he fhould do fo,

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels; never fear that.

Bard. Who is it like fhould lead his forces hither?
Haft. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmorland :
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth.
But who is fubftituted 'gainst the French,

I have no certain notice.

York. Let us on:

And publish the occafion of our arms.

The commonwealth is fick of their own choice;
Their over-greedy love hath furfeited.

An habitation giddy and unfure

Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond Many! with what loud applaufe
Did'st thou beat heav'n with Bleffing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would't have him be!
And now being trim'd up in thine own defires,
Thou, beaftly feeder, art fo full of him,
That thou provok'ft thy felf to caft him up.
So, fo, thou common dog, didit thou difgorge
Thy glutton-bofom of the royal Richard,
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,

And

And howl'ft to find it. What truft is in these times?
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou that threw❜ft duft upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came fighing on
After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,

Cry'st now; O Earth, yield us that King again,
And take thou this. O thoughts of men accurs'd!
Paft, and to come, feem beft; things prefent, worst.
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and fet on?
Haft. We are time's fubjects, and time bids, be gone.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Street in London.

Enter Hoftefs, with two Officers, Fang and Snare.

HOSTESS..

MR. Fang, have you enter'd the action?

Fang. It is enter'd.

Hoft. Where's your yeoman? is he a lufty yeo

man? Will he ftand to it?

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare?

Hoft. Ay, ay, good Mr. Snare.

Snare. Here, here.

Fang. Snare, we must arreft Sir John Falstaff.

Hoft. Ay, good Mr. Snare, I have enter'd him and all. Snare. It may chance coft fome of us our lives: he will ftab.

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 fpare neither man, woman, nor child. Fang. If I can clofe with him, I care not for his thrust,

Bb4

Hoft.

Hoft. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow. Fang. If I but fift him once; if he come but within my a vice.

Hoft. I am undone by his going; I warrant you he is an infinitive thing upon my fcore. 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 faddle: and he is indited to dinner to the Lubbar's head in Lombard-freet 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 anfwer, A hundred mark is a long loan, 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 fhould be made an Ais and a beaft, to bear every knave's wrong.

Enter Falstaff, Bardolph, and the Boy.

Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmfey-nose knave, 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 mat ter?

Fang. Sir John, I arreft you at the fuit of Mrs. Quickly. Fal. Away, varlets; draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the kennel.

Hoft. Throw me in the kennel? I'll throw thee in the kennel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou baftardly rogue. Murder, murder! O thou b hony-fuckle villain, wilt thou kill God's officers and the King's? O thou hony-feed rogue, thou art a hony-feed, a manqueller, and a womanqueller.

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.

b

Fang. Pope.

(a) Vice, or grafp, a metaphor taken from a fmith's vice. (b) She means to fay, homicidal villain, and homicide rogue. Theob.

7 one, ... old edit. Theob. emend.