North. Beshrew your heart,
(Faire Daughter) you doe draw my Spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient Ouer-sights.
But I must goe, and meet with Danger there,
Or it will seeke me in another place,
And finde me worse prouided

   Wife. O flye to Scotland,
Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons,
Haue of their Puissance made a little taste

   Lady. If they get ground, and vantage of the King,
Then ioyne you with them, like a Ribbe of Steele,
To make Strength stronger. But, for all our loues,
First let them trye themselues. So did your Sonne,
He was so suffer'd; so came I a Widow:
And neuer shall haue length of Life enough,
To raine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes,
That it may grow, and sprowt, as high as Heauen,
For Recordation to my Noble Husband

   North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my Minde
As with the Tyde, swell'd vp vnto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neyther way.
Faine would I goe to meet the Arch-bishop,
But many thousand Reasons hold me backe.
I will resolue for Scotland: there am I,
Till Time and Vantage craue my company.

Exeunt.


Scaena Quarta.

Enter two Drawers.

  1.Drawer. What hast thou brought there? Apple-Iohns?
Thou know'st Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn

   2.Draw. Thou say'st true: the Prince once set a Dish
of Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiue
more Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, said, I will now
take my leaue of these sixe drie, round, old-wither'd
Knights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath forgot
that

   1.Draw. Why then couer, and set them downe: and
see if thou canst finde out Sneakes Noyse; Mistris Teare-sheet
would faine haue some Musique

   2.Draw. Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Master
Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins,
and Aprons, and Sir Iohn must not know of it: Bardolph
hath brought word

   1.Draw. Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an excellent
stratagem

   2.Draw. Ile see if I can finde out Sneake.
Enter.

Enter Hostesse, and Dol.

  Host. Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent
good temperalitie: your Pulsidge beates as extraordinarily,
as heart would desire; and your Colour
(I warrant you) is as red as any Rose: But you haue
drunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous searching
Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can say
what's this. How doe you now?
  Dol. Better then I was: Hem

   Host. Why that was well said: A good heart's worth
Gold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn.
Enter Falstaffe.

  Falst. When Arthur first in Court - (emptie the Iordan)
and was a worthy King: How now Mistris Dol?
  Host. Sick of a Calme: yea, good-sooth

   Falst. So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme,
they are sick

   Dol. You muddie Rascall, is that all the comfort you
giue me?
  Falst. You make fat Rascalls, Mistris Dol

   Dol. I make them? Gluttonie and Diseases make
them, I make them not

   Falst. If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe to
make the Diseases (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catch
of you: Grant that, my poore Vertue, grant that

   Dol. I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels

   Falst. Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For to
serue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to come
off the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surgerie
brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambers
brauely

   Host. Why this is the olde fashion: you two neuer
meete, but you fall to some discord: you are both (in
good troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Tostes, you cannot
one beare with anothers Confirmities. What the
good-yere? One must beare, and that must bee you:
you are the weaker Vessell; as they say, the emptier
Vessell

   Dol. Can a weake emptie Vessell beare such a huge
full Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Venture
of Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not seene a Hulke
better stufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee
Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether I
shall euer see thee againe, or no, there is no body
cares.
Enter Drawer.

  Drawer. Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and would
speake with you

   Dol. Hang him, swaggering Rascall, let him not
come hither: it is the foule-mouth'dst Rogue in England

   Host. If hee swagger, let him not come here: I must
liue amongst my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I am
in good name, and fame, with the very best: shut the
doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue not
liu'd all this while, to haue swaggering now: shut the
doore, I pray you

   Falst. Do'st thou heare, Hostesse?
  Host. 'Pray you pacifie your selfe (Sir Iohn) there comes
no Swaggerers heere

   Falst. Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient

   Host. Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient
Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master
Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me,
it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour
Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was by
then: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those that
are Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now
hee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you are
an honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore take
heede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) no
swaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You
would blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile no
Swaggerers

   Falst. Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater,
hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Greyhound:
hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, if
her feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Call
him vp (Drawer.)
  Host. Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honest
man my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swaggering;
I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: Feele
Masters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you

   Dol. So you doe, Hostesse

   Host. Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an Aspen
Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, and Bardolph and his Boy.

  Pist. 'Saue you, Sir Iohn

   Falst. Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I charge
you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mine
Hostesse

   Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two
Bullets

   Falst. She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly offend
her

   Host. Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I
will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans
pleasure, I

   Pist. Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will charge
you

   Dol. Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion)
what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate:
away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for
your Master

   Pist. I know you, Mistris Dorothie

   Dol. Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung,
away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldie
Chappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Away
you Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you.
Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on
your shoulder? much

   Pist. I will murther your Ruffe, for this

   Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete
Captaine

   Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater,
art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines
were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking
their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them.
You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore
Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang
him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, and
dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make
the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had
neede looke to it

   Bard. 'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient

   Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol

   Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I
could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her

   Page. 'Pray thee goe downe

   Pist. Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake,
to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde
also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe
Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?
  Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late:
I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler

   Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall PackHorses,
and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which cannot
goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Cæsar, and
with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne
them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall
wee fall foule for Toyes?
  Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter
words

   Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a
Brawle anon

   Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes:
Haue we not Hiren here?
  Host. On my word (Captaine) there's none such here.
What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?
I pray be quiet

   Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come,
giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente.
Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire:
Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there:
Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's nothing?
  Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet

   Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue
seene the seuen Starres

   Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such
a Fustian Rascall

   Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway
Nagges?
  Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat
shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee
shall be nothing here

   Bard. Come, get you downe stayres

   Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew?
then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull
dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds,
vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say

   Host. Here's good stuffe toward

   Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy

   Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw

   Fal. Get you downe stayres

   Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping
house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther
I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons,
put vp your naked Weapons

   Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah,
you whorson little valiant Villaine, you

   Host. Are you not hurt i'th' Groyne? me thought hee
made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly

   Fal. Haue you turn'd him out of doores?
  Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurt
him (Sir) in the shoulder

   Fal. A Rascall to braue me

   Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape,
how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come
on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou
art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon,
and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah
Villaine

   Fal. A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blanket

   Dol. Doe, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou doo'st,
Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes.
Enter Musique.

  Page. The Musique is come, Sir

   Fal. Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol.
A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me like
Quick-siluer

   Dol. And thou followd'st him like a Church: thou
whorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wilt
thou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, and
begin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?
Enter the Prince and Poines disguis'd.

  Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deathshead:
doe not bid me remember mine end

   Dol. Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?
  Fal. A good shallow young fellow: hee would haue
made a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Bread
well

   Dol. They say Poines hath a good Wit

   Fal. Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit is
as thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more conceit
in him, then is in a Mallet

   Dol. Why doth the Prince loue him so then?
  Fal. Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: and
hee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell,
and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and rides
the wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'dstooles,
and sweares with a good grace, and weares his
Boot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; and
breedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and such
other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weake
Minde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admits
him; for the Prince himselfe is such another: the
weight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their
Haberdepois

   Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue his
Eares cut off?
  Poin. Let vs beat him before his Whore

   Prince. Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Poll
claw'd like a Parrot

   Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so many
yeeres out-liue performance?
  Fal. Kisse me Dol

   Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?
What sayes the Almanack to that?
  Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,
be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,
his Councell-keeper?
  Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses

   Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constant
heart

   Fal. I am olde, I am olde

   Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie young
Boy of them all

   Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shall
receiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappe
to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late,
wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am
gone

   Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so:
proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne:
well, hearken the end

   Fal. Some Sack, Francis

   Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir

   Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art not
thou Poines, his Brother?
  Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, what
a life do'st thou lead?
  Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art
a Drawer

   Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out
by the Eares

   Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome
to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Face
of thine: what, are you come from Wales?
  Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: by
this light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome

   Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you

   Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge,
and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the
heat

   Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildly
did you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous,
ciuill Gentlewoman?
  Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by
my troth

   Fal. Didst thou heare me?
  Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when you
ranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,
and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience

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

   Prince. I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfull
abuse, and then I know how to handle you

   Fal. No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse

   Prince. Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, and
Bread-chopper, and I know not what?
  Fal. No abuse (Hal.)
  Poin. No abuse?
  Fal. No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none.
I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wicked
might not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I haue
done the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, and
thy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:)
none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none

   Prince. See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardise,
doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman,
to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thine
Hostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the
Wicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in his
Nose) of the Wicked?
  Poin. Answere thou dead Elme, answere

   Fal. The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecouerable,
and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where hee
doth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy,
there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids
him too

   Prince. For the Women?
  Fal. For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, and
burnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money;
and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I know
not

   Host. No, I warrant you

   Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit
for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee,
for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to
the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle

   Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt of
Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent?
  Prince. You, Gentlewoman

   Dol. What sayes your Grace?
  Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells
against

   Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the
doore there, Francis?
Enter Peto.

  Prince. Peto, how now? what newes?
  Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,
And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,
Come from the North: and as I came along,
I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,
And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe

   Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,
So idly to prophane the precious time,
When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,
Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.
Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:
Falstaffe, good night.
Enter.

  Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the
night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More
knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter?
  Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently,
A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you

   Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse,
farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of
Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when
the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches:
if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I
goe

   Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie
to burst- Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy
selfe

   Falst. Farewell, farewell.
Enter.

  Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee
these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an
honester, and truer-hearted man- Well, fare thee
well

   Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet

   Host. What's the matter?
  Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master

   Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.

Exeunt.


Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter the King, with a Page.

  King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick:
But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters,
And well consider of them: make good speed.
Enter.

How many thousand of my poorest Subiects
Are at this howre asleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe,
Natures soft Nurse, how haue I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe,
And steepe my Sences in Forgetfulnesse?
Why rather (Sleepe) lyest thou in smoakie Cribs,
Vpon vneasie Pallads stretching thee,
And huisht with bussing Night, flyes to thy slumber,
Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great?
Vnder the Canopies of costly State,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest Melodie?
O thou dull God, why lyest thou with the vilde,
In loathsome Beds, and leau'st the Kingly Couch,
A Watch-case, or a common Larum-Bell?
Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Mast,
Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines,
In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,
And in the visitation of the Windes,
Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaff'ning Clamors in the slipp'ry Clouds,
That with the hurley, Death it selfe awakes?
Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy Repose
To the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre so rude:
And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,
With all appliances, and meanes to boote,
Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,
Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne.
Enter Warwicke and Surrey.

  War. Many good-morrowes to your Maiestie

   King. Is it good-morrow, Lords?
  War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past

   King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:)
Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?
  War. We haue (my Liege.)
  King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,
How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,
And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?
  War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
With good aduice, and little Medicine:
My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd

   King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,
And see the reuolution of the Times
Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent
(Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfe
Into the Sea: and other Times, to see
The beachie Girdle of the Ocean
Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks
And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration
With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,
Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,
This Percie was the man, neerest my Soule,
Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires,
And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot:
Yea, for my sake, euen to the eyes of Richard
Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by
(You Cousin Neuil, as I may remember)
When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares,
(Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland)
Did speake these words (now prou'd a Prophecie:)
Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which
My Cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne:
(Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no such intent,
But that necessitie so bow'd the State,
That I and Greatnesse were compell'd to kisse:)
The Time shall come (thus did hee follow it)
The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head,
Shall breake into Corruption: so went on,
Fore-telling this same Times Condition,
And the diuision of our Amitie

   War. There is a Historie in all mens Liues,
Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd:
The which obseru'd, a man may prophecie
With a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things,
As yet not come to Life, which in their Seedes
And weake beginnings lye entreasured:
Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time;
And by the necessarie forme of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guesse,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falsenesse,
Which should not finde a ground to roote vpon,
Vnlesse on you

   King. Are these things then Necessities?
Then let vs meete them like Necessities;
And that same word, euen now cryes out on vs:
They say, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fiftie thousand strong

   War. It cannot be (my Lord:)
Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,
The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
To goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord)
The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue sent forth,
Shall bring this Prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd
A certaine instance, that Glendour is dead.
Your Maiestie hath beene this fort-night ill,
And these vnseason'd howres perforce must adde
Vnto your Sicknesse

   King. I will take your counsaile:
And were these inward Warres once out of hand,
Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land.

Exeunt.


Scena Secunda.

Enter Shallow and Silence: with Mouldie, Shadow, Wart, Feeble,
Bull-calfe.

  Shal. Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee your
Hand, Sir; giue mee 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 Bed-fellow?
and your fairest Daughter, and mine, my God-Daughter
Ellen?
  Sil. Alas, a blacke Ouzell (Cousin Shallow.)
  Shal. By yea and nay, Sir. I dare say my Cousin William
is become a good Scholler? hee is at Oxford still, is hee
not?
  Sil. Indeede Sir, to my cost

   Shal. Hee must then to the Innes of Court shortly: I
was once of Clements Inne; where (I thinke) they will
talke of mad Shallow yet

   Sil. You were call'd lustie Shallow then (Cousin.)
  Shal. I was call'd any thing: and I would haue done
any thing indeede too, and roundly too. There was I, and
little Iohn Doit of Staffordshire, and blacke George Bare,
and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squele a Cotsal-man, you
had not foure such Swindge-bucklers in all the Innes of
Court againe: And I may say to you, wee knew where
the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at
commandement. Then was Iacke Falstaffe (now Sir Iohn)
a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolke

   Sil. This Sir Iohn (Cousin) that comes hither anon about
Souldiers?
  Shal. The same Sir Iohn, the very same: I saw him
breake Scoggan's Head at the Court-Gate, when hee was
a Crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fight
with one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inne.
Oh the mad dayes that I haue spent! and to see
how many of mine olde Acquaintance are dead?
  Sil. Wee shall all follow (Cousin.)
  Shal. Certaine: 'tis certaine: very sure, very sure:
Death is certaine to all, all shall dye. How a good Yoke
of Bullocks at Stamford Fayre?
  Sil. Truly Cousin, I was not there

   Shal. Death is certaine. Is old Double of your Towne
liuing yet?
  Sil. Dead, Sir

   Shal. Dead? See, see: hee drew a good Bow: and
dead? hee shot a fine shoote. Iohn of Gaunt loued
him well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead?
hee would haue clapt in the Clowt at Twelue-score, and
carryed you a fore-hand Shaft at foureteene, and foureteene
and a halfe, that it would haue done a mans heart
good to see. How a score of Ewes now?
  Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good Ewes
may be worth tenne pounds

   Shal. And is olde Double dead?
Enter Bardolph and his Boy.

  Sil. Heere come two of Sir Iohn Falstaffes Men (as I
thinke.)
  Shal. Good-morrow, honest Gentlemen

   Bard. I beseech you, which is Iustice Shallow?
  Shal. I am Robert Shallow (Sir) a poore Esquire of this
Countie, and one of the Kings Iustices of the Peace:
What is your good pleasure with me?
  Bard. My Captaine (Sir) commends him to you:
my Captaine, Sir Iohn Falstaffe: a tall Gentleman, and a
most gallant Leader

   Shal. Hee greetes me well: (Sir) I knew him a
good Back-Sword-man. How doth the good Knight?
may I aske, how my Lady his Wife doth?
  Bard. Sir, pardon: a Souldier is better accommodated,
then with a Wife

   Shal. It is well said, Sir; and it is well said, indeede,
too: Better accommodated? it is good, yea indeede is
it: good phrases are surely, and euery where very commendable.
Accommodated, it comes of Accommodo:
very good, a good Phrase

   Bard. Pardon, Sir, I haue heard the word. Phrase
call you it? by this Day, I know not the Phrase: but
I will maintaine the Word with my Sword, to bee a
Souldier-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, being
whereby he thought to be accommodated, which is an
excellent thing.
Enter Falstaffe.

  Shal. It is very iust: Looke, heere comes good Sir
Iohn. Giue me your hand, giue me your Worships good
hand: Trust me, you looke well: and beare your yeares
very well. Welcome, good Sir Iohn

   Fal. I am glad to see you well, good M[aster]. Robert Shallow:
Master Sure-card as I thinke?
  Shal. No sir Iohn, it is my Cosin Silence: in Commission
with mee

   Fal. Good M[aster]. Silence, it well befits you should be of
the peace

   Sil. Your good Worship is welcome

   Fal. Fye, this is hot weather (Gentlemen) haue you
prouided me heere halfe a dozen of sufficient men?
  Shal. Marry haue we sir: Will you sit?
  Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you

   Shal. 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:
yea marry Sir. Raphe Mouldie: let them appeare as I call:
let them do so, let them do so: Let mee see, Where is
Mouldie?
  Moul. Heere, if it please you

   Shal. What thinke you (Sir Iohn) a good limb'd fellow:
yong, strong, and of good friends

   Fal. Is thy name Mouldie?
  Moul. Yea, if it please you

   Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert vs'd

   Shal. Ha, ha, ha, most excellent. Things that are mouldie,
lacke vse: very singular good. Well saide Sir Iohn,
very well said

   Fal. Pricke him

   Moul. I was prickt well enough before, if you could
haue let me alone: my old Dame will be vndone now, for
one to doe her Husbandry, and her Drudgery; you need
not to haue prickt me, there are other men fitter to goe
out, then I

   Fal. Go too: peace Mouldie, you shall goe. Mouldie,
it is time you were spent

   Moul. Spent?
  Shallow. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: Know you
where you are? For the other sir Iohn: Let me see: Simon
Shadow

   Fal. I marry, let me haue him to sit vnder: he's like to
be a cold souldier

   Shal. Where's Shadow?
  Shad. Heere sir

   Fal. Shadow, whose sonne art thou?
  Shad. My Mothers sonne, Sir

   Falst. Thy Mothers sonne: like enough, and thy Fathers
shadow: so the sonne of the Female, is the shadow
of the Male: it is often so indeede, but not of the Fathers
substance

   Shal. Do you like him, sir Iohn?
  Falst. Shadow will serue for Summer: pricke him: For
wee haue a number of shadowes to fill vppe the Muster-Booke

   Shal. Thomas Wart?
  Falst. Where's he?
  Wart. Heere sir

   Falst. Is thy name Wart?
  Wart. Yea sir

   Fal. Thou art a very ragged Wart

   Shal. Shall I pricke him downe,
Sir Iohn?
  Falst. It were superfluous: for his apparrel is built vpon
his backe, and the whole frame stands vpon pins: prick
him no more

   Shal. Ha, ha, ha, you can do it sir: you can doe it: I
commend you well.
Francis Feeble

   Feeble. Heere sir

   Shal. What Trade art thou Feeble?
  Feeble. A Womans Taylor sir

   Shal. Shall I pricke him, sir?
  Fal. You may:
But if he had beene a mans Taylor, he would haue prick'd
you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemies Battaile,
as thou hast done in a Womans petticote?
  Feeble. I will doe my good will sir, you can haue no
more

   Falst. Well said, good Womans Tailour: Well sayde
Couragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrathfull
Doue, or most magnanimous Mouse. Pricke the womans
Taylour well Master Shallow, deepe Maister Shallow

   Feeble. I would Wart might haue gone sir

   Fal. I would thou wert a mans Tailor, that y might'st
mend him, and make him fit to goe. I cannot put him to
a priuate souldier, that is the Leader of so many thousands.
Let that suffice, most Forcible Feeble

   Feeble. It shall suffice

   Falst. I am bound to thee, reuerend Feeble. Who is
the next?
  Shal. Peter Bulcalfe of the Greene

   Falst. Yea marry, let vs see Bulcalfe

   Bul. Heere sir

   Fal. Trust me, a likely Fellow. Come, pricke me Bulcalfe
till he roare againe

   Bul. Oh, good my Lord Captaine

   Fal. What? do'st thou roare before th'art prickt

   Bul. Oh sir, I am a diseased man

   Fal. What disease hast thou?
  Bul. A whorson cold sir, a cough sir, which I caught
with Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronation
day, sir

   Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the Warres in a Gowne:
we will haue away thy Cold, and I will take such order,
that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is heere all?
  Shal. There is two more called then your number:
you must haue but foure heere sir, and so I pray you go in
with me to dinner

   Fal. Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth, Master
Shallow

   Shal. O sir Iohn, doe you remember since wee lay all
night in the Winde-mill, in S[aint]. Georges Field

   Falstaffe. No more of that good Master Shallow: No
more of that

   Shal. Ha? it was a merry night. And is Iane Nightworke
aliue?
  Fal. She liues, M[aster]. Shallow

   Shal. She neuer could away with me

   Fal. Neuer, neuer: she would alwayes say shee could
not abide M[aster]. Shallow

   Shal. I could anger her to the heart: shee was then a
Bona-Roba. Doth she hold her owne well

   Fal. Old, old, M[aster]. Shallow

   Shal. Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be
old: certaine shee's old: and had Robin Night-worke, by
old Night-worke, before I came to Clements Inne

   Sil. That's fiftie fiue yeeres agoe

   Shal. Hah, Cousin Silence, that thou hadst seene that,
that this Knight and I haue seene: hah, Sir Iohn, said I
well?
  Falst. Wee haue heard the Chymes at mid-night, Master
Shallow

   Shal. That wee haue, that wee haue; in faith, Sir Iohn,
wee haue: our watch-word was, Hem-Boyes. Come,
let's to Dinner; come, let's to Dinner: Oh the dayes that
wee haue seene. Come, come

   Bul. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my
friend, and heere is foure Harry tenne shillings in French
Crownes for you: in very truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd
sir, as goe: and yet, for mine owne part, sir, I do not care;
but rather, because I am vnwilling, and for mine owne
part, haue a desire to stay with my friends: else, sir, I did
not care, for mine owne part, so much

   Bard. Go-too: stand aside

   Mould. And good Master Corporall Captaine, for my
old Dames sake, stand my friend: shee hath no body to
doe any thing about her, when I am gone: and she is old,
and cannot helpe her selfe: you shall haue fortie, sir

   Bard. Go-too: stand aside

   Feeble. I care not, a man can die but once: wee owe a
death. I will neuer beare a base minde: if it be my destinie,
so: if it be not, so: no man is too good to serue his
Prince: and let it goe which way it will, he that dies this
yeere, is quit for the next

   Bard. Well said, thou art a good fellow

   Feeble. Nay, I will beare no base minde

   Falst. Come sir, which men shall I haue?
  Shal. Foure of which you please

   Bard. Sir, a word with you: I haue three pound, to
free Mouldie and Bull-calfe

   Falst. Go-too: well

   Shal. Come, sir Iohn, which foure will you haue?
  Falst. Doe you chuse for me

   Shal. Marry then, Mouldie, Bull-calfe, Feeble, and
Shadow

   Falst. Mouldie, and Bull-calfe: for you Mouldie, stay
at home, till you are past seruice: and for your part, Bull-calfe,
grow till you come vnto it: I will none of you

   Shal. Sir Iohn, Sir Iohn, doe not your selfe wrong, they
are your likelyest men, and I would haue you seru'd with
the best

   Falst. Will you tell me (Master Shallow) how to chuse
a man? Care I for the Limbe, the Thewes, the stature,
bulke, and bigge assemblance of a man? giue mee the
spirit (Master Shallow.) Where's Wart? you see what
a ragged appearance it is: hee shall charge you, and
discharge you, with the motion of a Pewterers Hammer:
come off, and on, swifter then hee that gibbets on
the Brewers Bucket. And this same halfe-fac'd fellow,
Shadow, giue me this man: hee presents no marke to the
Enemie, the foe-man may with as great ayme leuell at
the edge of a Pen-knife: and for a Retrait, how swiftly
will this Feeble, the Womans Taylor, runne off. O, giue
me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a
Calyuer into Warts hand, Bardolph

   Bard. Hold Wart, Trauerse: thus, thus, thus

   Falst. Come, manage me your Calyuer: so: very well,
go-too, very good, exceeding good. O, giue me alwayes
a little, leane, old, chopt, bald Shot. Well said Wart, thou
art a good Scab: hold, there is a Tester for thee

   Shal. Hee is not his Crafts-master, hee doth not doe
it right. I remember at Mile-end-Greene, when I lay
at Clements Inne, I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthurs
Show: there was a little quiuer fellow, and hee would
manage you his Peece thus: and hee would about,
and about, and come you in, and come you in: Rah,
tah, tah, would hee say, Bownce would hee say, and
away againe would hee goe, and againe would he come:
I shall neuer see such a fellow

   Falst. These fellowes will doe well, Master Shallow.
Farewell Master Silence, I will not vse many wordes with
you: fare you well, Gentlemen both: I thanke you:
I must a dozen mile to night. Bardolph, giue the Souldiers
Coates

   Shal. Sir Iohn, Heauen blesse you, and prosper your
Affaires, and send vs Peace. As you returne, visit
my house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peraduenture
I will with you to the Court

   Falst. I would you would, Master Shallow

   Shal. Go-too: I haue spoke at a word. Fare you
well.
Enter.

  Falst. Fare you well, gentle Gentlemen. On Bardolph,
leade the men away. As I returne, I will fetch off
these Iustices: I doe see the bottome of Iustice Shallow.
How subiect wee old men are to this vice of Lying?
This same staru'd Iustice hath done nothing but
prate to me of the wildenesse of his Youth, and the
Feates hee hath done about Turnball-street, and euery
third word a Lye, duer pay'd to the hearer, then the
Turkes Tribute. I doe remember him at Clements Inne,
like a man made after Supper, of a Cheese-paring. When
hee was naked, hee was, for all the world, like a forked
Radish, with a Head fantastically caru'd vpon it with a
Knife. Hee was so forlorne, that his Dimensions (to
any thicke sight) were inuincible. Hee was the very
Genius of Famine: hee came euer in the rere-ward of
the Fashion: And now is this Vices Dagger become a
Squire, and talkes as familiarly of Iohn of Gaunt, as if
hee had beene sworne Brother to him: and Ile be sworne
hee neuer saw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he
burst his Head, for crowding among the Marshals men.
I saw it, and told Iohn of Gaunt, hee beat his owne
Name, for you might haue truss'd him and all his Apparrell
into an Eele-skinne: the Case of a Treble Hoeboy
was a Mansion for him: a Court: and now hath
hee Land, and Beeues. Well, I will be acquainted with
him, if I returne: and it shall goe hard, but I will make
him a Philosophers two Stones to me. If the young
Dace be a Bayt 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.

Exeunt.


Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings, Westmerland,
Coleuile.

  Bish. What is this Forrest call'd?
  Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forrest, and't shall please your
Grace

   Bish. Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth,
To know the numbers of our Enemies

   Hast. Wee haue sent forth alreadie

   Bish. 'Tis well done.
My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires)
I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'd
New-dated Letters from Northumberland:
Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus.
Here doth hee wish his Person, with such Powers
As might hold sortance with his Qualitie,
The which hee could not leuie: whereupon
Hee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes,
To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers,
That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard,
And fearefull meeting of their Opposite

   Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground,
And dash themselues to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.

  Hast. Now? what newes?
  Mess. West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie:
And by the ground they hide, I iudge their number
Vpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand

   Mow. The iust proportion that we gaue them out.
Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field.
Enter Westmerland.

  Bish. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here?
  Mow. I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland

   West. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall,
The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster

   Bish. Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace:
What doth concerne your comming?
  West. Then (my Lord)
Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresse
The substance of my Speech. If that Rebellion
Came like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs,
Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage,
And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie:
I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare,
In his true, natiue, and most proper shape,
You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords)
Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly forme
Of base, and bloodie Insurrection,
With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop,
Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd,
Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd,
Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd,
Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence,
The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace.
Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe,
Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace,
Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre?
Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood,
Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuine
To a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre

   Bish. Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands.
Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd,
And with our surfetting, and wanton howres,
Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer,
And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease,
Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd.
But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland)
I take not on me here as a Physician,
Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace,
Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men:
But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre,
To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse,
And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely.
I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd,
What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences.
Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne,
And are enforc'd from our most quiet there,
By the rough Torrent of Occasion,
And haue the summarie of all our Griefes
(When time shall serue) to shew in Articles;
Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King,
And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience:
When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes,
Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person,
Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong.
The dangers of the dayes but newly gone,
Whose memorie is written on the Earth
With yet appearing blood; and the examples
Of euery Minutes instance (present now)
Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes:
Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it,
But to establish here a Peace indeede,
Concurring both in Name and Qualitie

   West. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd?
Wherein haue you beene galled by the King?
What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you,
That you should seale this lawlesse bloody Booke
Of forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine?
  Bish. My Brother generall, the Common-wealth,
I make my Quarrell, in particular

   West. There is no neede of any such redresse:
Or if there were, it not belongs to you

   Mow. Why not to him in part, and to vs all,
That feele the bruizes of the dayes before,
And suffer the Condition of these Times
To lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors?
  West. O my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the Times to their Necessities,
And you shall say (indeede) it is the Time,
And not the King, that doth you iniuries.
Yet for your part, it not appeares to me,
Either from the King, or in the present Time,
That you should haue an ynch of any ground
To build a Griefe on: were you not restor'd
To all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories,
Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers?
  Mow. What thing, in Honor, had my Father lost,
That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me?
The King that lou'd him, as the State stood then,
Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to banish him:
And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and hee
Being mounted, and both rowsed in their Seates,
Their neighing Coursers daring of the Spurre,
Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe,
Their eyes of fire, sparkling through sights of Steele,
And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together:
Then, then, when there was nothing could haue stay'd
My Father from the Breast of Bullingbrooke;
O, when the King did throw his Warder downe,
(His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw)
Then threw hee downe himselfe, and all their Liues,
That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword,
Haue since mis-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke

   West. You speak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what.
The Earle of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant Gentleman.
Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue smil'd?
But if your Father had beene Victor there,
Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry.
For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,
Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,
Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.
But this is meere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our Princely Generall,
To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,
That hee will giue you Audience: and wherein
It shall appeare, that your demands are iust,
You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,
That might so much as thinke you Enemies

   Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,
And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue

   West. Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it so:
This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.
For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,
Vpon mine Honor, all too confident
To giue admittance to a thought of feare.
Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours,
Our Men more perfect in the vse of Armes,
Our Armor 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

   Mow. Well, by my will, wee shall admit no Parley

   West. That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten Case abides no handling

   Hast. Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commission,
In very ample vertue of his Father,
To heare, and absolutely to determine
Of what Conditions wee shall stand vpon?
  West. That is intended in the Generals Name:
I muse you make so slight a Question

   Bish. Then take (my Lord of Westmerland) this Schedule,
For this containes our generall Grieuances:
Each seuerall Article herein redress'd,
All members of our Cause, both here, and hence,
That are insinewed to this Action,
Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,
And present execution of our wills,
To vs, and to our purposes confin'd,
Wee come within our awfull Banks againe,
And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace

   West. This will I shew the Generall. Please you Lords,
In sight of both our Battailes, wee may meete
At either end in peace: which Heauen so frame,
Or to the place of difference call the Swords,
Which must decide it

   Bish. My Lord, wee will doe so

   Mow. There is a thing within my Bosome tells me,
That no Conditions of our Peace can stand

   Hast. Feare you not, that if wee can make our Peace
Vpon such large termes, and so absolute,
As our Conditions shall consist vpon,
Our Peace shall stand as firme as Rockie Mountaines

   Mow. I, but our valuation shall be such,
That euery slight, and false-deriued Cause,
Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reason,
Shall, to the King, taste of this Action:
That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue,
Wee shall be winnowed with so rough a winde,
That euen our Corne shall seeme as light as Chaffe,
And good from bad finde no partition

   Bish. No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearie
Of daintie, and such picking Grieuances:
For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death,
Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life.
And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane,
And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie,
That may repeat, and Historie his losse,
To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes,
Hee cannot so precisely weede this Land,
As his mis-doubts present occasion:
His foes are so en-rooted with his friends,
That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie,
Hee doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this Land, like an offensiue wife,
That hath enrag'd him on, to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his Infant vp,
And hangs resolu'd Correction in the Arme,
That was vprear'd to execution

   Hast. Besides, the King hath wasted all his Rods,
On late Offenders, that he now doth lacke
The very Instruments of Chasticement:
So that his power, like to a Fanglesse Lion
May offer, but not hold

   Bish. 'Tis very true:
And therefore be assur'd (my good Lord Marshal)
If we do now make our attonement well,
Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited)
Grow stronger, for the breaking

   Mow. Be it so:
Heere is return'd my Lord of Westmerland.
Enter Westmerland.

  West. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your Lordship
To meet his Grace, iust distance 'tweene our Armies?
  Mow. Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name then
forward

   Bish. Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come.
Enter Prince Iohn.

  Iohn. You are wel encountred here (my cosin Mowbray)
Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop,
And so to you Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of Yorke, it better shew'd with you,
When that your Flocke (assembled by the Bell)
Encircled you, to heare with reuerence
Your exposition on the holy Text,
Then now to see you heere an Iron man
Chearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme,
Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death:
That man that sits within a Monarches heart,
And ripens in the Sunne-shine of his fauor,
Would hee abuse the Countenance of the King,
Alack, what Mischiefes might hee set abroach,
In shadow of such Greatnesse? With you, Lord Bishop,
It is euen so. Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen?
To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament;
To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it selfe:
The very Opener, and Intelligencer,
Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen;
And our dull workings. O, who shall beleeue,
But you mis-vse the reuerence of your Place,
Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen,
As a false Fauorite doth his Princes Name,
In deedes dis-honorable? You haue taken vp,
Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen,
The Subiects of Heauens Substitute, my Father,
And both against the Peace of Heauen, and him,
Haue here vp-swarmed them

   Bish. Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your Fathers Peace:
But (as I told my Lord of Westmerland)
The Time (mis-order'd) doth in common sence
Crowd vs, and crush vs, to this monstrous Forme,
To hold our safetie vp. I sent your Grace
The parcels, and particulars of our Griefe,
The which hath been with scorne shou'd from the Court:
Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleepe,
With graunt of our most iust and right desires;
And true Obedience, of this Madnesse cur'd,
Stoope tamely to the foot of Maiestie

   Mow. If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes,
To the last man

   Hast. And though wee here fall downe,
Wee haue Supplyes, to second our Attempt:
If they mis-carry, theirs shall second them.
And so, successe of Mischiefe shall be borne,
And Heire from Heire shall hold this Quarrell vp,
Whiles England shall haue generation

   Iohn. You are too shallow (Hastings)
Much too shallow,
To sound the bottome of the after-Times

   West. Pleaseth your Grace, to answere them directly,
How farre-forth you doe like their Articles