The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 150

POINS. No abuse!

FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I disprais'd him before the wicked- that the wicked might not fall in love with thee; 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 p.r.i.c.k'd 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's in h.e.l.l already, and burns poor souls. For th' other- I owe her money; and whether she be d.a.m.n'd 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 vict'lers 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 th' 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 unpick'd. [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 call'd 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 Come. [To BARDOLPH] She comes blubber'd.- Yea, will you come, Doll? Exeunt

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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 frightened thee, That thou no more will 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 perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

O thou dull G.o.d, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav'st 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 deafing 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 distempered; Which to his former strength may be restored With good advice and little medicine.

My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

KING. O G.o.d! 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- [To WARWICK] You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember- When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears, Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?

'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'- Though then, G.o.d 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 deceas'd; The which observ'd, 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 feared. 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 receiv'd A certain instance that Glendower is dead.

Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill; And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad 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, and servants behind

SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; 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 bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter and mine, my G.o.d-daughter Ellen?

SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!

SHALLOW. By yea and no, 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.