To the wet fea-boy in an hour forude is V
And, in the calmeft and the ftilleft night, dà sà
With all appliances and means to boot, u

Deny it to a King? then happy low! lie down; (22) Uneafy lies the head, that wears a crown.

Enter Warwick and Surrey.

War. Many good-morrows to your Majesty.
K. Henry. Is it good-morrow, Lords?
War. 'Tis one o' clock, and past.

K. Henry. (23) Why, then, good-morrow to you. Well, my Lords,

Have

you read o'er the letters that I fent 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.
War. It is but as a body, yet diftemper'd,
Which to its 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

(22)

then happy low! lie down ;

Uneafy lies the head, &c.] Though I have not difturb'd the text, Mr. Warburton thinks, Shakespeare would not have used fo poor a repetition as lie down and uneafy lies. He therefore conjectures

Then happy, lowly clown!

Uneafy lies the bead, that wears a crown.

This, fays he, is the juft conclufion from all faid before. If fleep will fly a King, and confort itfelf with beggars, then happy the lowly clown, and uneafy the crown'd head.

(23) Why then good morrow to you all, my. Lords:

Have you read o'er, &c.] I must account for the change I have ventur'd at here. In the preceding page the King fends letters to Surrey and Warwick, with charge that they fhould read them and attend him. Accordingly here Surrey and Warwick come, and no body elfe, in obedience to that fummons. The King would hardly have faid good-morrow to you all, to two Peers, and no more. My emendation wants no further fupport, than this naked stating of the cafe.

Make

Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of folid firmnefs, melt itself
Into the fea; and, other times, to fee
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 feen,
The happiest youth viewing his progress through,
What perils paft, what croffes to ensue,

Wou'd fhut the book, and fit 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 fince,
This Percy was the man nearest 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. But which of you was by?

(You, cousin 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 thefe 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 fo bow'd the ftate,

That I and greatnefs were compell'd to kiss :)

• The time fhall come, (thus did he follow it,)
• The time will come, that foul fin, gathering head,
• Shall break into corruption: So went on,
Foretelling this fame time's condition,
And the divifion of our amity.

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 prophefy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their feeds
And weak beginnings lie intreafured.

Such things become the hatch and brood of time;

And

And by the neceffary form of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guess,
That great Northumberland, then falfe to him,
Would of that feed grow to a greater falfeness,
Which fhould not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.

K. Henry. Are these things then neceflities?
Then let us meet them like neceflities;

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 Majesty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unfeafon'd hours perforce must add
Unto your fickness.

K. Henry. I will take-your counsel :

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Juftice Shallow's feat in Gloucefterfire.

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

Shal. Ome on, come on, come on; give me, your hand, Sir; an early stirrer, by the rood.

Com

And how doth my good coufin Silence?

Sil. Good-morrow, good coufin Shallow.

Shal. And how doth my coufin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.

Shal. By yea and nay, Sir, I dare fay, my coufin

William

William is become a good scholar: He is at Oxford fill, is he not?

Sil. Indeed, Sir, to my coft.

Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly: I was once of Clement's-Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

Sil. You were call'd lufty Shallow then, coufin.

Shal. I was call'd 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 Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cot's-wold man, you had not four fuch fwinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again: And I may fay to you, we knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, (now Sir John) a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

Sil. This Sir John, coufin, that comes hither anon about foldiers?

Shal. The fame Sir John, the very fame: I faw him break Schoggan's head at the court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus high; and the very fame day I did fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays-Inn. O the mad days that I have spent! and to fee how many of mine old acquaintance are dead?

Sil. We fhall all follow, coufin.

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain, very fure, very fure: Death (as the Pfalmift faith) is certain to all, all fhall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair?

Sil. Truly, coufin, I was not there.

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

Sil. Dead, Sir.

Shal. Dead! fee, fee, he drew a good bow: And dead he shot a fine fhoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead he would have clapt in the clowt at twelve fcore, and carried you a fore-hand fhaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see.. How a fcore of ewes now?

Sil. Thereafter as they be: A fcore of good ewes may

be worth ten pounds.

Shal. And is old Double dead r

Enter Bardolph, and Page.

Sil. Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as I think.

Shale Good-morrow, honeft gentlemen.

Bard. I befeech you, which is Justice Shallow? Shal. I am Robert Shallow, Sir, a poor Efquire of this county, one of the King's Juftices of the peace: What is your good pleasure with me?

Bard. My captain, Sir, commends him to you: My captain Sir John Falstaff; a tall gentleman, by heav'n! and a moft gallant leader.

Shai. He greets me well: Sir, I knew him a good back-fword man. How doth the good Knight? may I afk, how my Lady his wife doth ?

Bard. Pardon, Sir, a foldier is better accommodated than with a wife.

Shal. It is well faid, Sir; and it is well faid, indeed, too: Better accommodated it is good, yea, indeed, is it; good phrafes, furely, are, and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated-it comes of accommodo; very good, a good phrase.

Bard. Pardon me, Sir, I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? by this day, I know not the phrafe: But I will maintain the word with my fword, to be a foldierlike 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 may be thought to be accommodated, which is an excel lent thing.

Enter Falftaff.

Shal. It is very juft: Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand, give me your worthip's good hand: Trust me, you look well, and bear your years. very well. Welcome, good Sir John.

Fal,