[Enter two Drawers.]

FIRST DRAWER.
What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?
thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

SECOND DRAWER.
Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns
before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting
off his hat, said "I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,
old, withered knights."  It angered him to the heart:  but he hath
forgot that.

FIRST DRAWER.
Why, then, cover, and set them down:  and see if thou canst find out
Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music.
Dispatch:  The room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in
straight.

SECOND DRAWER.
Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they
will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must
not know of it:  Bardolph hath brought word.

FIRST DRAWER.
By the mass, here will be old Utis:  it will be an excellent
stratagem.

SECOND DRAWER.
I'll see if I can find out Sneak.

[Exit.]

[Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet.]

HOSTESS.
I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good
temperality:  your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would
desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in
good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and
that 's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one
can say "What's this?"  How do you now?

DOLL.
Better than I was:  hem!

HOSTESS.
Why, that 's well said; a good heart's worth gold.  Lo, here
comes Sir John.

[Enter Falstaff.]

FALSTAFF.
[Singing] "When Arthur first in court"--Empty the jordan.
[Exit First Drawer.]--[Singing] "And was a worthy king." 
How now, Mistress Doll!

HOSTESS.
Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

FALSTAFF.
So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

DOLL.
You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

FALSTAFF.
You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

DOLL.
I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not.

FALSTAFF.
If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases,
Doll:  we catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my poor
virtue, grant that.

DOLL.
Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

FALSTAFF.
"Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:"  for to serve bravely is to come
halting off, you know:  to come off the breach with his pike bent
bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged chambers
bravely,--

DOLL.
Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

HOSTESS.
By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet but you
fall to some discord:  you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic
as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities.
What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be you:  you are the
weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier vessel.

DOLL.
Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole
merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk
better stuffed in the hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack:
thou art going to the wars; and whether I shall ever see thee again or
no, there is nobody cares.

[Re-enter First Drawer.]

FIRST DRAWER.
Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you.

DOLL.
Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither:  it is the
foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.

HOSTESS.
If he swagger, let him not come here:  no, by my faith; I must live
among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers:  I am in good name and fame
with the very best:  shut the door; there comes no swaggerers here:
I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now:  shut the
door, I pray you.

FALSTAFF.
Dost thou hear, hostess?

HOSTESS.
Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John:  there comes no swaggerers here.

FALSTAFF.
Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

HOSTESS.
Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me:  your ancient swaggerer comes
not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'other day;
and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last,
"I' good faith, neighbour Quickly," says he; Master Dumbe, our
minister, was by then; "neighbour Quickly," says he, "receive those
that are civil; for" said he "you are in an ill name:"  now a' said
so, I can tell whereupon; "for," says he, "you are an honest woman,
and well thought on; therefore take heed what guests you receive:
receive," says he, "no swaggering companions."  There comes none here:
you would bless you to hear what he said:  no, I'll no swaggerers.

FALSTAFF.
He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith; you may stroke
him as gently as a puppy greyhound:  he'll not swagger with a Barbary
hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. Call
him up, drawer.

[Exit First Drawer.]

HOSTESS.
Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no
cheater:  but I do not love swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse,
when one says swagger:  feel, masters, how I shake; look you, I
warrant you.

DOLL.
So you do, hostess.

HOSTESS.
Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf:  I
cannot abide swaggerers.

[Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.]

PISTOL.
God save you, Sir John!

FALSTAFF.
Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with
a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

PISTOL.
I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

FALSTAFF.
She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend her.

HOSTESS.
Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets:  I'll drink no
more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.

PISTOL.
Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

DOLL.
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
rogue, away!
I am meat for your master.

PISTOL.
I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

DOLL.
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! by this wine,
I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy
cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?  God's light, with two
points on your shoulder? much!

PISTOL.
God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.

FALSTAFF.
No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:
discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.

HOSTESS.
No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

DOLL.
Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou not ashamed
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earned them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for tearing
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! he lives upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as odious
as the word "occupy;" which was an excellent good word before it
was ill sorted:  therefore captains had need look to't.

BARDOLPH.
Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

FALSTAFF.
Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

PISTOL.
Not I: I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear
her: I'll be revenged of her.

PAGE.
Pray thee go down.

PISTOL.
I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake, by this
hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. 
Hold hook and line, say I.  Down, down, dogs! down, faitors!
Have we not Hiren here?

HOSTESS.
Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i' faith:  I
beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

PISTOL.
These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

HOSTESS.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

BARDOLPH.
Be gone, good ancient:  this will grow to a brawl anon.

PISTOL.
Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren
here?

HOSTESS.
O' my word, captain, there 's none such here. What the
good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be
quiet.

PISTOL.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give 's some sack.
"Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento."
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack:  and, sweetheart, lie thou there.

[Laying down his sword.]

Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothing?

FALSTAFF.
Pistol, I would be quiet.

PISTOL.
Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif:  what! we have seen the seven
stars.

DOLL.
For God's sake, thrust him down stairs:  I cannot endure such a
fustian rascal.

PISTOL.
Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

FALSTAFF.
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling:
nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing, a' shall be nothing
here.

BARDOLPH.
Come, get you down stairs.

PISTOL.
What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?

[Snatching up his sword.]

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

HOSTESS.
Here's goodly stuff toward!

FALSTAFF.
Give me my rapier, boy.

DOLL.
I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

FALSTAFF.
Get you down stairs.

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.]

HOSTESS.
Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house, afore
I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. 
Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

[Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph.]

DOLL.
I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you whoreson
little valiant villain, you!

HOSTESS.
Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a shrewd
thrust at your belly.

[Re-enter Bardolph.]

FALSTAFF.
Have you turned him out o' doors?

BARDOLPH.
Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk:  you have hurt him, sir, i'
the shoulder.

FALSTAFF.
A rascal! to brave me!

DOLL.
Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
sweatest! come, let me wipe thy face; come on, you whoreson chops:
ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee:  thou art as valorous as Hector
of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the Nine
Worthies:  ah, villain!

FALSTAFF.
A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

DOLL.
Do, an thou darest for thy heart:  an thou dost, I'll canvass
thee between a pair of sheets.

[Enter Music.]

PAGE.
The music is come, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal
bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quicksilver.

DOLL.
I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Thou whoreson
little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting
o' days and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body
for heaven?

[Enter, behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised as drawers.]

FALSTAFF.
Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's-head; do
not bid me remember mine end.

DOLL.
Sirrah, what humour 's the prince of?

FALSTAFF.
A good shallow young fellow:  'a would have made a good
pantler; a' would ha' chipped bread well.

DOLL.
They say Poins has a good wit.

FALSTAFF.
He a good wit! hang him, baboon! his wit's as thick as
Tewksbury mustard; there 's no more conceit in him than is in a
mallet.

DOLL.
Why does the prince love him so, then?

FALSTAFF.
Because their legs are both of a bigness, and a' plays at quoits
well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' ends for
flap-dragons, and rides the wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon
joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears his boots very
smooth, like unto the sign of the leg, and breeds no bate with telling
of discreet stories; and such other gambol faculties a' has, that show
a weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him:  for
the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the
scales between their avoirdupois.

PRINCE.
Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

POINS.
Let 's beat him before his whore.

PRINCE.
Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll clawed
like a parrot.

POINS.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive
performance?

FALSTAFF.
Kiss me, Doll.

PRINCE.
Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what says the
almanac to that?

POINS.
And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping
to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper.

FALSTAFF.
Thou dost give me flattering busses.

DOLL.
By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

FALSTAFF.
I am old, I am old.

DOLL.
I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of
them all.

FALSTAFF.
What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money o'
Thursday:  shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come:  it
grows late; we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me when I am gone.

DOLL.
By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, an thou sayest so:
prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return:  well,
hearken at the end.

FALSTAFF.
Some sack, Francis.

PRINCE & POINS.
Anon, anon, sir.

[Coming forward.]

FALSTAFF.
Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art thou not Poins
his brother?

PRINCE.
Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead!

FALSTAFF.
A better than thou:  I am a gentleman; thou art a drawer.

PRINCE.
Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

HOSTESS.
O, the Lord preserve thy grace! by my troth, welcome to
London. Now, the Lord bless that sweet face of thine!  O Jesu,
are you come from Wales?

FALSTAFF.
Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

DOLL.
How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

POINS.
My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all
to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

PRINCE.
You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of
me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!

HOSTESS.
God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by my troth.

FALSTAFF.
Didst thou hear me?

PRINCE.
Yea, and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by
Gad's-hill:  you knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose
to try my patience.

FALSTAFF.
No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

PRINCE.
I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse; and then I
know how to handle you.

FALSTAFF.
No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse.

PRINCE.
Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler and bread-chipper and I
know not what!

FALSTAFF.
No abuse, Hal.

POINS.
No abuse!

FALSTAFF.
No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. 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, faith, boys, none.

PRINCE.
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 thy boy of the wicked?
or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked?

POINS.
Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

FALSTAFF.
The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable; and his
face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast
malt-worms.
For the boy, there is a good angel about him; but the devil
outbids him too.

PRINCE.
For the women?

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

HOSTESS.
No, I warrant you.

FALSTAFF.
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.

HOSTESS.
All victuallers do so:  what 's a joint of mutton or two in a
whole Lent?

PRINCE.
You, gentlewoman,--

DOLL.
What says your grace?

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

[Knocking within.]

HOSTESS.
Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

[Enter Peto.]

PRINCE.
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,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

PRINCE.
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, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph.]

FALSTAFF.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must
hence, and leave it unpicked.
[Knocking within.] More knocking at the door!

[Re-enter Bardolph.]

How now! what's the matter?

BARDOLPH.
You must away to court, sir, presently;
A dozen captains stay at door for you.

FALSTAFF.
[To the Page].
Pay the musicians, sirrah.  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.

FALSTAFF.
Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.]

HOSTESS.
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.

BARDOLPH.
[Within.] Mistress Tearsheet!

HOSTESS.
What's the matter?

BARDOLPH.
[Within.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.

HOSTESS.
O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll:  come.  [She comes blubbered.]
Yea, will you come, Doll?

[Exeunt.]



ACT III.

SCENE I. Westminster. The palace.

[Enter the King in his nightgown, with a Page.]

KING.
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 thousands 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 hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leavest 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 clamour 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.]

WARWICK.
Many good morrows to your majesty!

KING.
Is it good morrow, lords?

WARWICK.
'Tis one o'clock, and past.

KING.
Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

WARWICK.
We have, my liege.

KING.
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.

WARWICK.
It is but as a body yet distemper'd;
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine:
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

KING.
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,
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.
'Tis 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 my soul,
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
And laid his love and life under my foot,
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 check'd 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, God knows, I had no such intent,
But that necessity so bow'd the state
That I and greatness were compell'd 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.

WARWICK.
There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the natures of the times deceased;
The which observed, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, who in their seeds
And weak beginning lie intreasured.
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.

KING.
Are these things then necessities?
Then let us meet them like necessities:
And that same word even now cries out on us:
They say the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.

WARWICK.
It cannot be, my lord;
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd.  Please it your grace
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have received
A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add
Unto your sickness.

KING.
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. Gloucestershire. Before Justice Shallow's house.

[Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy, Shadow, Wart,
Feeble, Bullcalf, a Servant or two with them.]

SHALLOW.
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?

SILENCE.
Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

SHALLOW.
And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your fairest
daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

SILENCE.
Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!

SHALLOW.
By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is become
a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

SILENCE.
Indeed, sir, to my cost.

SHALLOW.
A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. I was once of
Clement's Inn, where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

SILENCE.
You were called "lusty Shallow" then, cousin.

SHALLOW.
By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing
indeed too, 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 o' 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, boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of
Norfolk.

SILENCE.
This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers?

SHALLOW.
The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break Skogan's head at the
court-gate, when a' 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 my
old acquaintance are dead!

SILENCE.
We shall all follow, cousin.

SHALLOW.
Certain, 'tis 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?

SILENCE.
By my troth, I was not there.

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

SILENCE.
Dead, sir.

SHALLOW.
Jesu, Jesu, dead! a' drew a good bow; and dead! a' shot a fine shoot:
John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head.
Dead! a' 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?

SILENCE.
Thereafter as they be:  a score of good ewes may be worth ten
pounds.

SHALLOW.
And is old Double dead?

SILENCE.
Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think.

[Enter Bardolph, and one with him.]

BARDOLPH.
Good morrow, honest gentlemen:  I beseech you, which is justice
Shallow?

SHALLOW.
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?

BARDOLPH.
My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir John
Falstaff, a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.

SHALLOW.
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?

BARDOLPH.
Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a wife.

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

BARDOLPH.
Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. Phrase call you it? By this
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, by
heaven.
Accommodated; that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated; or
when a man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated;
which is an excellent thing.

SHALLOW.
It is very just.

[Enter Falstaff.]

Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand, give me your
worship's good hand:  by my troth, you like well and bear your years
very well:  welcome, good Sir John.

FALSTAFF.
I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow:  Master
Surecard, as I think?

SHALLOW.
No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me.

FALSTAFF.
Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the peace.

SILENCE.
Your good worship is welcome.

FALSTAFF.
Fie! this is hot weather, gentlemen.  Have you provided me here
half a dozen sufficient men?

SHALLOW.
Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

FALSTAFF.
Let me see them, I beseech you.

SHALLOW.
Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the roll? Let me see,
let me see, let me see.
So, so, so, so, so, so, so:  yea, marry, sir:  Ralph Mouldy!
Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so.
Let me see; where is Mouldy?

MOULDY.
Here, an't please you.

SHALLOW.
What think you, Sir John? a good-limbed fellow; young, strong,
and of good friends.

FALSTAFF.
Is thy name Mouldy?

MOULDY.
Yea, an't please you.

FALSTAFF.
'Tis the more time thou wert used.

SHALLOW.
Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! things that are mouldy lack use:
very singular good! in faith, well said, Sir John, very well said.

FALSTAFF.
Prick him.

MOULDY.
I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let me alone: 
my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her
drudgery:  you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter
to go out than I.

FALSTAFF.
Go to:  peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time you were spent.

MOULDY.
Spent!

SHALLOW.
Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside:  know you where you are?  For
the other, Sir John:  let me see:  Simon Shadow!

FALSTAFF.
Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under:  he 's like to be a
cold soldier.

SHALLOW.
Where's Shadow?

SHADOW.
Here, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Shadow, whose son art thou?

SHADOW.
My mother's son, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy father's shadow:  so the son of
the female is the shadow of the male:  it is often so indeed; but
much of the father's substance!

SHALLOW.
Do you like him, Sir John?

FALSTAFF.
Shadow will serve for summer; prick him; for we have a number of
shadows to fill up the muster-book.

SHALLOW.
Thomas Wart!

FALSTAFF.
Where's he?

WART.
Here, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Is thy name Wart?

WART.
Yea, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Thou art a very ragged wart.

SHALLOW.
Shall I prick him down, Sir John?

FALSTAFF.
It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his back and
the whole frame stands upon pins:  prick him no more.

SHALLOW.
Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it:  I commend you
well.
Francis Feeble!

FEEBLE.
Here, sir.

FALSTAFF.
What trade art thou, Feeble?

FEEBLE.
A woman's tailor, sir.

SHALLOW.
Shall I prick him, sir?

FALSTAFF.
You may:  but if he had been a man's tailor, he'ld ha' prick'd you.
Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in
a woman's petticoat?

FEEBLE.
I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.

FALSTAFF.
Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous Feeble! thou wilt
be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse.
Prick the woman's tailor:  well, Master Shallow, deep, Master Shallow.

FEEBLE.
I would Wart might have gone, sir.

FALSTAFF.
I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make
him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private soldier that is the leader
of so many thousands; let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.

FEEBLE.
It shall suffice, sir.

FALSTAFF.
I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?

SHALLOW.
Peter Bullcalf o' th' green!

FALSTAFF.
Yea, marry, let 's see Bullcalf.

BULLCALF.
Here, sir.

FALSTAFF.
'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar
again.

BULLCALF.
O Lord! good my lord captain,--

FALSTAFF.
What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?

BULLCALF.
O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.

FALSTAFF.
What disease hast thou?

BULLCALF.
A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with ringing
in the king's affairs upon his coronation-day, sir.

FALSTAFF.
Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we will have away thy cold;
and I will take such order that thy friends shall ring for thee.
Is here all?

SHALLOW.
Here is two more called than your number; you must have but four here,
sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.

FALSTAFF.
Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am
glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW.
O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill
in Saint George's field?

FALSTAFF.
No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that.

SHALLOW.
Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

FALSTAFF.
She lives, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW.
She never could away with me.

FALSTAFF.
Never, never; she would always say she could not abide Master
Shallow.

SHALLOW.
By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. She was then a bona-roba.
Doth she hold her own well?

FALSTAFF.
Old, old, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW.
Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; certain she 's old;
and had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came to Clement's Inn.

SILENCE.
That's fifty-five year ago.

SHALLOW.
Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I
have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?

FALSTAFF.
We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW.
That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir John, we have:
our watchword was "Hem boys!"  Come, let 's to dinner; come, let 's
to dinner:  Jesus, the days that we have seen!  Come, come.

[Exeunt Falstaff and the Justices.]

BULLCALF.
Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here 's four
Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you.
In very truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go:  and yet,
for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather, because I am
unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my
friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so much.

BARDOLPH.
Go to; stand aside.

MOULDY.
And, good master corporal captain, for my old dame's sake, stand my
friend:  she has nobody to do any thing about her when I am gone;
and she is old, and cannot help herself:  you shall have forty, sir.

BARDOLPH.
Go to; stand aside.

FEEBLE.
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death:
I'll ne'er bear a base mind:  an 't be my destiny, so; an 't be not, so:
no man's too good to serve 's prince; and let it go which way it will, he
that dies this year is quit for the next.

BARDOLPH.
Well said; th'art a good fellow.

FEEBLE.
Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

[Re-enter Falstaff and the Justices.]

FALSTAFF.
Come, sir, which men shall I have?

SHALLOW.
Four of which you please.

BARDOLPH.
Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to free Mouldy and
Bullcalf.

FALSTAFF.
Go to; well.

SHALLOW.
Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

FALSTAFF.
Do you choose for me.

SHALLOW.
Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.

FALSTAFF.
Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till you are past
service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it: 
I will none of you.

SHALLOW.
Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong:  they are your likeliest
men, and I would have you served with the best.

FALSTAFF.
Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man?  Care I for the
limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man!
Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a ragged
appearance it is:  a' shall charge you and discharge you with the
motion of a pewterer's hammer, come off and on swifter than he that
gibbets on the brewer's bucket.
And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow; give me this man:  he
presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim level
at the edge of a penknife.
And for a retreat; how swiftly will this Feeble the woman's tailor
run off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the great ones.
Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph.

BARDOLPH.
Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.

FALSTAFF.
Come, manage me your caliver. So:  very well:  go to:  very good,
exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapt,
bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; thou'rt a good scab:  hold,
there's a tester for thee.

SHALLOW.
He is not his craft's master; he doth not do it right. I remember at
Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn,--I was then Sir Dagonet in
Arthur's show,--there was a little quiver fellow, and a' would manage
you his piece thus; and a' would about and about, and come you in and
come you in:  "rah, tah, tah," would a' say; "bounce" would a' say; and
away again would a' go, and again would 'a come:  I shall ne'er see
such a fellow.

FALSTAFF.
These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you, Master Silence:
I will not use many words with you.  Fare you well, gentlemen both:
I thank you:  I must a dozen mile to-night.  Bardolph, give the soldiers
coats.

SHALLOW.
Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your affairs!  God send us
peace! At your return visit our house; let our old acquaintance be
renewed:  peradventure I will with ye to the court.

FALSTAFF.
'Fore God, I would you would.

SHALLOW.
Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.

FALSTAFF.
Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.
[Exeunt Justices.]
On, Bardolph; lead the men away.
[Exeunt Bardolph, Recruits, &c.]
As I return, I will fetch off these justices:  I do see the bottom
of Justice Shallow.
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the
wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull
Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the
Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn like a man made
after supper of a cheese-paring:  when a' was naked, he was, for all
the world, like a fork'd radish, with a head fantastically carved upon
it with a knife:  a' was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick
sight were invincible:  a' was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous
as a monkey, and the whores called him mandrake: a' came ever in the
rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd
huswifes that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his
fancies or his good-nights.
And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire, and talks as familiarly
of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and I'll be
sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the Tilt-yard; and then he burst
his head for crowding among the marshal's men.
I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might
have thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the case of a
treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court:  and now has he land
and beefs.
Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I return; and it shall go hard
but I'll make him a philosopher's two stones to me:  if the young dace
be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I
may snap at him.
Let time shape, and there an end.

[Exit.]



ACT IV.

SCENE I. Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest.

[Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and others.]

ARCHBISHOP.
What is this forest call'd?

HASTINGS.
'Tis Gaultree Forest, an 't shall please your grace.

ARCHBISHOP.
Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth
To know the numbers of our enemies.

HASTINGS.
We have sent forth already.

ARCHBISHOP.
'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have received
New-dated letters from Northumberland;
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus:
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance with his quality,
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes,
To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers
That your attempts may overlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of their opposite.

MOWBRAY.
Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
And dash themselves to pieces.

[Enter a Messenger.]

HASTINGS.
Now, what news?

MESSENGER.
West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy;
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.

MOWBRAY.
The just proportion that we gave them out.
Let us sway on and face them in the field.

ARCHBISHOP.
What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

[Enter Westmoreland.]

MOWBRAY.
I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.

WESTMORELAND.
Health and fair greeting from our general,
The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.

ARCHBISHOP.
Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace:
What doth concern your coming?

WESTMORELAND.
Then, my lord,
Unto your grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
And countenanced by boys and beggary,
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and these noble lords
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,
Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war;
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
Your pens to lances and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war?

ARCHBISHOP.
Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.
Briefly to this end: we are all diseased,
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a physician,
Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men;
But rather show awhile like fearful war,
To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
And purge the obstructions which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run,
And are enforced from our most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion;
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to show in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the king,
And might by no suit gain our audience:
When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs,
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet appearing blood, and the examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms,
Not to break peace or any branch of it,
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring, both in name and quality.

WESTMORELAND.
When ever yet was your appeal denied?
Wherein have you been galled by the king?
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?

ARCHBISHOP.
My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother born an household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.

WESTMORELAND.
There is no need of any such redress;
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

MOWBRAY.
Why not to him in part, and to us all
That feel the bruises of the days before,
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?

WESTMORELAND.
O, my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say indeed, it is the time,
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet for your part, it not appears to me
Either from the king or in the present time
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on:  were you not restored
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories,
Your noble and right well rememb'red father's?

MOWBRAY.
What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
That need to be revived and breathed in me?
The king that loved him, as the state stood then,
Was force perforce compell'd to banish him:
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together,
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw;
Then threw he down himself and all their lives
That by indictment and by dint of sword
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.

WESTMORELAND.
You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman:
Who knows on whom fortune would then have smiled?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:
For all the country in a general voice
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on
And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the king.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely general
To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them, everything set off
That might so much as think you enemies.

MOWBRAY.
But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.

WESTMORELAND.
Mowbray, you overween to take it so;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:
For, lo! within a ken our army lies,
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason will our hearts should be as good:
Say you not then our offer is compell'd.

MOWBRAY.
Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.

WESTMORELAND.
That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.

HASTINGS.
Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?

WESTMORELAND.
That is intended in the general's name:
I muse you make so slight a question.

ARCHBISHOP.
Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances:
Each several article herein redress'd,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form
And present execution of our wills
To us and to our purposes confined,
We come within our awful banks again
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

WESTMORELAND.
This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
In sight of both our battles we may meet;
And either end in peace, which God so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.

ARCHBISHOP.
My lord, we will do so.

[Exit Westmoreland.]

MOWBRAY.
There is a thing within my bosom tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.

HASTINGS.
Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

MOWBRAY.
Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason
Shall to the king taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
And good from bad find no partition.

ARCHBISHOP.
No, no, my lord. Note this; the king is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances:
For he hath found to end one doubt by death
Revives two greater in the heirs of life,
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean
And keep no tell-tale to his memory
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance; for full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this land
As his misdoubts present occasion:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend:
So that this land, like an offensive wife
That hath enraged him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up
And hangs resolved correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.

HASTINGS.
Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.

ARCHBISHOP.
'Tis very true:
And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.

MOWBRAY.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.

[Re-enter Westmoreland.]

WESTMORELAND.
The prince is here at hand:  pleaseth your lordship
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies.

MOWBRAY.
Your grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.

ARCHBISHOP.
Before, and greet his grace:  my lord, we come.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE II. Another part of the forest.

[Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; afterwards, the
Archbishop, Hastings, and others; from the other side, Prince
John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland; Officers, and others with
them.]

LANCASTER.
You are well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray:
Good day to you, gentle lord Archbishop;
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword and life to death.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop,
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
How deep you were within the books of God?
To us the speaker in his parliament;
To us the imagined voice of God himself;
The very opener and intelligencer
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the reverence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of his substitute, my father,
And both against the peace of heaven and him
Have here up-swarm'd them.

ARCHBISHOP.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace;
But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense,
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court,
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born;
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
With grant of our most just and right desires,
And true obedience, of this madness cured,
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.