Fal. No abufe, Ned, in the world; honeft Ned, none. I difprais'd 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 true fubject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

P. Henry. See now whether pure fear and entire cowardife doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close with us? Is the of the wicked? is thine hoftefs here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honeft Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nofe, of the wicked?

Poins. Anfwer, thou dead Elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roaft mault-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil out-bids him too.

P. Henry. For the women?

Fal. For one of them, fhe is in hell already, and burns, poor foul! for the other, I owe her mony; and whether the be damn'd for that, I know not.

Hal. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for fuffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which I think thou wilt howl.

Hoft. All victuallers do fo: what is a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Henry. You, gentlewoman.

Dol. What fays your Grace?

Fal. His grace fays that which his flesh rebels against. Hoft. Who knocks fo loud at door? look to the door there, Francis.

SCENE XII. Enter Peto.

P. Henry. Peto, how now? what news?
Peto. The King your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied pofts
Come from the north; and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, fweating, knocking at the taverns,

And

And afking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Henry. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempeft of commotion, like the South

Born with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

Give me my fword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.

[Exeunt Prince and Poins.

Fal. Now comes in the fweeteft morfel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpickt. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, Sir, presently: a dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the muficians, Sirrah: farewel, hoftefs, farewel, Dol. You fee, my good wenches, how men of merit are fought after; the undeferver may fleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not fent away poft, I will fee you again, ere I go. Dol. I cannot fpeak; if my heart be not ready to burst - well, fweet Jack, have a care of thy self. Fal. Farewel, farewel!

[Exit. Hoft. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty nine years, come pefcod-time; but an honefter and truer-hearted man well, fare thee well!

Bard. Mrs. Tear-fbeet!

Hoft. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid Miftrefs Tear-fheet come to my mafter.
Heft, O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

The Palace in London.

Enter King Henry in bis Night-gown, with a Page.

K. Henry G

O, call the Earls of Surrey and of War

wick:

But ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,

And well confider of them: make good speed. [Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour afleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature's foft nurfe, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,

L 2

And

And fteep my fenfes in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in fmoaky cribs,
Upon uneafie pallets ftretching thee,

And husht with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of coftly ftate,

And lull'd with founds of fweeteft melody ? ́ ́~
O thou dull God, why ly'ft thou with the vile
In loathfom beds, and leav'ft the kingly couch
A watch-cafe to a common 'larum-bell? *
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the fhip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious furge;
And in the vifitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flip'ry clouds,
That with the hurly, death it felf awakes?
Canft thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repofe
To the wet fea-boy in an hour fo rude,
And in the calmeft and the ftilleft night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a King? then happy low! lye down;
Uneafie lyes the head that wears a crown.

SCENE II. Enter Warwick and Surrey.
War. Many good-morrows to your Majefty!

K. Henry. Is it good-morrow, Lords?

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

K. Henry. Why then good-morrow to you. Well, my

Lords:

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

War. We have, my Liege.

K, Henry. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom, How foul it is; what rank difeafes grow,

And with what danger, near the heart of it.

This alludes to the Watchman fet in Garrifon-towns upon fome Eminence attending upon an Alarum-bell, which he was to ring out in cafe of fire or any approaching danger. He had a Cafe or Box to fhelter him from Weather, but at his utmoft peril he was not to fleep whilft he was upon duty. Thefe Alarum-bells are mentioned in feveral other places in Shakespear.

War.

War. It is but as a body yet diftemper'd, Which to his former ftrength may be reftor'd, With good advice and little medicine;

My Lord Northumberland will foon be cool'd.

K. Henry. Oh heav'n, that one might read the book of fate,

And fee the revolution of the times

Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of folid firmness, melt it self

Into the fea; 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 paft, what croffes to enfue,

Wou'd shut the book, and fit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years fince Richard and Northumberland
Did feaft together; and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years fince
This Percy was the man neareft my foul,
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my fake ev'n to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. Which of you was by?

(You coufin Nevil, as I may remember,) [To Warwick. When Richard with his eye brim-full of tears,

Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
Did fpeak these words, now prov'd a prophecy.
Northumberland, thou ladder by the which

My coufin Bolingbroke afcends my

throne;

(Though then, heav'n knows, I had no fuch intent,

But that neceffity so bow'd the state,
That I and greatnefs were compell'd to kifs)
The time fhall come, (thus did he follow it,)
The time will come that fout fin gathering bead
Shall break into corruption: so went on,
Fore-telling this fame time's condition,
And the divifion of our amity.

L 3

War

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd;
The which obferv'd, a man may prophefie,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their feeds
And weak beginnings lye intreasured.

Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And by the neceffary form of this,

King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that feed grow to a greater falseness,
Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.

K. Henry. Are these things then, my Lord, neceffities ? Then let us meet them like neceffities;

And that fame word even now cries out on us:

They fay the Bishop and Northumberland

Are fifty thousand strong.

War. It cannot be :

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your Grace
To go to bed. Upon my life, my Lord,
The pow'rs that you already have fent forth
Shall bring this prize in very eafily.

To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain inftance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majefty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unfeafon'd hours perforce must add
Unto your fickness.

K. Henry. I will take your counfel:

And were thefe inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear Lords, unto the holy-land.

Juftice Shallow's Seat in Gloucestershire.

[Exeunt,

Enter Shallow and Silence, with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf.

Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, Sir; an early firrer, by the rood. And how doth my good coufin Silence?

Sil. Good morrow, good coufin Shallow.

Sbal.