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twg_000000017700 | not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more. Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn, And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY. O yet, for Gods sake, go | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017701 | not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeard to it than now; When your own Percy, when my hearts dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017702 | two honours lost, yours and your sons. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. He had no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017703 | legs that practisd not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those who could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him. So that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017704 | mark and glass, copy and book, That fashiond others. And himO wondrous him! O miracle of men!him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage, to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspurs name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017705 | ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! Let them alone. The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, Today might I, hanging on Hotspurs neck, Have talkd of Monmouths grave. NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017706 | With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place, And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017707 | Then join you with them like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so sufferd. So came I a widow, And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017708 | as heaven For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. Tis with my mind As with the tide swelld up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland. There am I, Till time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017709 | and vantage crave my company. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. London. The Boars head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers. FIRST DRAWER. What the devil hast thou brought thereapplejohns? Thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an applejohn. SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou sayest true. The Prince once set a dish of applejohns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017710 | 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 Sneaks noise. Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch. The room where | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017711 | they supped is too hot, theyll 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017712 | SECOND DRAWER. Ill 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017713 | too much canaries, and thats a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say Whats this? How do you now? DOLL. Better than I was. Hem! HOSTESS. Why, thats well said. A good hearts worth gold. Lo, here comes Sir John. Enter Falstaff. FALSTAFF. [_Singing_.] When Arthur first in courtEmpty the jordan. [_Exit First Drawer_.][_Singing_.] And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017714 | 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. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me? FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. DOLL. I make them? Gluttony | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017715 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017716 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017717 | as two dry toasts. You cannot one bear with anothers 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? Theres a whole merchants venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017718 | a hulk better stuffed in the hold. Come, Ill 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. Enter First Drawer. FIRST DRAWER. Sir, Ancient Pistols below, and would speak with you. DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither: it is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017719 | the foul-mouthedst rogue in England. HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith, I must live among my neighbours. Ill 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017720 | 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, neer tell me. And our ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the debuty tother day, and, as he said to me,twas no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017721 | longer ago than Wednesday last, i good faith,Neighbour Quickly, says heMaster Dumb, our minister, was by thenNeighbour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil, for, said he you are in an ill name. Now he said so, I can tell whereupon. For, says he, you are an honest woman, and well thought on. Therefore take heed what guests you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017722 | receive. Receive, says he, no swaggering companions. There comes none here. You would bless you to hear what he said. No, Ill no swaggerers. FALSTAFF. Hes no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i faith, you may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. Hell not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017723 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017724 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017725 | sir; you shall not hardly offend her. HOSTESS. Come, Ill drink no proofs nor no bullets. Ill drink no more than will do me good, for no mans 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017726 | 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, Ill 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? Gods light, with two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017727 | 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017728 | 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 whores ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! Hang him, rogue, he lives upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain? Gods light, these villains will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017729 | 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 tot. 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. Ill be revenged of her. PAGE. Pray thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017730 | go down. PISTOL. Ill see her damned first to Plutos damned lake, by this hand, to th 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017731 | These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses And hollow pamperd jades of Asia, Which cannot go but thirty mile a day, Compare with Caesars and with Cannibals, And Trojant 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017732 | 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, theres none such here. What the good-year, do you think I would deny her? For Gods sake, be quiet. PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis. Come, give s | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017733 | 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 nothings? FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet. PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the seven | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017734 | stars. DOLL. For Gods sake, thrust him downstairs. I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. PISTOL. Thrust him downstairs? Know we not Galloway nags? FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling. Nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here. BARDOLPH. Come, get you downstairs. PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017735 | [_Snatching up his sword._] Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds Untwind the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say! HOSTESS. Heres goodly stuff toward! FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy. DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. FALSTAFF. Get you downstairs. [_Drawing, and driving Pistol out._] HOSTESS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017736 | Heres a goodly tumult! Ill forswear keeping house, afore Ill be in these tirrits and frights. So, murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. [_Exeunt Bardolph and Pistol._] DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet. The rascals gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you! HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017737 | th groin? Methought he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. Enter Bardolph. FALSTAFF. Have you turned him out o doors? BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascals drunk. You have hurt him, sir, i th shoulder. FALSTAFF. A rascal, to brave me! DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou sweatst! Come, let me wipe thy face. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017738 | 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, Ill canvass thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017739 | 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 a-days and foining a-nights, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017740 | 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 deaths-head; do not bid me remember mine end. DOLL. Sirrah, what humour s the Prince of? FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow; he would have made a good pantler; he would ha | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017741 | chipped bread well. DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit. FALSTAFF. He a good wit? Hang him, baboon! His wits as thick as Tewksbury mustard; theres 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 he plays at quoits | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017742 | 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 joint 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 he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017743 | 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. Lets beat him before his whore. PRINCE. Look wheer the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017744 | 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 th almanac to that? POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping to his masters old tables, his note-book, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017745 | 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 eer a scurvy young boy of them all. FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money o Thursday; shalt have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017746 | a cap tomorrow. A merry song! Come, it grows late, well to bed. Thoult forget me when I am gone. DOLL. By my troth, thoult set me a-weeping an thou sayest so. Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, hearken a th end. FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis. PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir. [_Coming forward._] FALSTAFF. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017747 | Ha! A bastard son of the Kings? 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017748 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017749 | 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. Gods 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017750 | you ran away by Gads 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017751 | 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 th world, honest Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017752 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017753 | 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 Lucifers privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017754 | devil outbids him too. PRINCE. For the women? FALSTAFF. For one of them, shes in hell already, and burns poor souls. For th 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017755 | 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. Whats 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. [Peto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017756 | _knocks at door._] 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, Bareheaded, sweating, knocking at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017757 | the taverns, And asking everyone 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017758 | 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? Enter Bardolph. How now, whats 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017759 | 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 burstwell, sweet Jack, have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017760 | 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 manwell, fare thee well. BARDOLPH. [_Within_.] Mistress Tearsheet! HOSTESS. Whats the matter? BARDOLPH. [_Within_.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master. HOSTESS. O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll; come. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017761 | 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 oer-read these letters And well consider of them. Make good speed. [_Exit Page._] How many thousands of my poorest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017762 | subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Natures 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 hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017763 | of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulld 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-boys eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017764 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017765 | 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 oclock, and past. KING. Why then, good morrow to you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017766 | all, my lords. Have you read oer 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 distemperd, Which to his former strength may be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017767 | restored With good advice and little medicine. My Lord Northumberland will soon be coold. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017768 | for Neptunes hips; how chances mocks 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017769 | 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 toild 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_.] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017770 | You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears, Then checkd 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 bowd the state That I and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017771 | greatness were compelld to kiss The time shall come, thus did he follow it, The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruptionso went on, Foretelling this same times condition And the division of our amity. WARWICK. There is a history in all mens lives Figuring the natures of the times deceased; The which observed, a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017772 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017773 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017774 | 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 received A certain instance that Glendower is dead. Your majesty hath been this fortnight | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017775 | ill, And these unseasond 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 Shallows house. Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bullcalf, a Servant or two with them. SHALLOW. Come | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017776 | 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 bedfellow? And your fairest daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! SHALLOW. By | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017777 | 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. SHALLOW. He must, then, to the Inns o Court shortly. I was once of Clements Inn, where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet. SILENCE. You were called lusty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017778 | Shallow then, cousin. SHALLOW. By the mass, I was called anything, and I would have done anything 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017779 | 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, a 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 Scoggins head | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017780 | at the court gate, when he was a crack not thus high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017781 | 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! He drew a good bow, and dead! He shot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017782 | a fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! He would have clapped i th clout at twelve score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a mans heart good to see. How a score of ewes now? SILENCE. Thereafter as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017783 | 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. SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017784 | county, and one of the Kings 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017785 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017786 | good phrase. BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir, I have heard the wordphrase 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017787 | being whereby he 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 worships good hand. By my troth, you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir John. FALSTAFF. I am glad to see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017788 | 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017789 | SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you. SHALLOW. Wheres the roll? Wheres the roll? Wheres 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017790 | so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? MOULDY. Here, an it 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, ant please you. FALSTAFF. Tis the more time thou wert used. SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i faith! Things that are mouldy lack use. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017791 | Very singular good, in faith, well said, Sir John, very well said. FALSTAFF. Prick him. MOULDY. I was pricked 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017792 | 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 thother, Sir John. Let me see: Simon Shadow! FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. Hes like to be a cold soldier. SHALLOW. Wheres Shadow? SHADOW. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017793 | Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou? SHADOW. My mothers son, sir. FALSTAFF. Thy mothers son! Like enough, and thy fathers shadow. So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often so indeed, but much of the fathers substance! SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John? FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017794 | him, for we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book. SHALLOW. Thomas Wart! FALSTAFF. Wheres he? WART. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart? WART. Yea, sir. FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John? FALSTAFF. It were superfluous, for his apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017795 | 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 womans tailor, sir. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir? FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a mans tailor, hed ha pricked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017796 | you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemys battle as thou hast done in a womans petticoat? FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir, you can have no more. FALSTAFF. Well said, good womans tailor! Well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the womans tailor: well, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017797 | Master Shallow, deep, Master Shallow. FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir. FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a mans 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017798 | I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o th green! FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, lets 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 pricked? BULLCALF. O Lord, sir, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017799 | am a diseased man. FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou? BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with ringing in the Kings 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
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