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twg_000000017800 | thee. Is here all? SHALLOW. Here is two more called than your number; you must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017801 | you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in Saint Georges Field? FALSTAFF. No more of that, good Master Shallow, no more of that. SHALLOW. Ha, twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive? FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. She never could away with me. FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017802 | Master Shallow. SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well? FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be old, certain shes old, and had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came to Clements Inn. SILENCE. Thats fifty-five | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017803 | year ago. SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well? FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir John, we have. Our watchword was Hem boys! Come, lets to dinner; come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017804 | lets to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come. [_Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow and Silence._] BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and heres four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go. And yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not care; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017805 | but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so much. BARDOLPH. Go to, stand aside. MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dames sake, stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017806 | am gone, and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, sir. BARDOLPH. Go to, stand aside. FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not. A man can die but once. We owe God a death. Ill neer bear a base mind. An t be my destiny, so; an t be not, so. No mans too good to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017807 | serves prince, and let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. BARDOLPH. Well said, thart a good fellow. FEEBLE. Faith, Ill bear no base mind. Enter Falstaff and the Justices. FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have? SHALLOW. Four of which you please. BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017808 | have three pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf. FALSTAFF. Go to, well. SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have? FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me. SHALLOW. Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow. FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017809 | it. I will none of you. SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best. FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man? Give me the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017810 | spirit, Master Shallow. Heres Wart. You see what a ragged appearance it is. He shall charge you and discharge you with the motion of a pewterers hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewers bucket. And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow; give me this man. He presents no mark to the enemy. The foeman may | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017811 | with as great aim level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat, how swiftly will this Feeble, the womans tailor, run off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into Warts hand, Bardolph. BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse. Thas, thas, thas. FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So, very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017812 | well, go to, very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chopt, bald shot. Well said, i faith, Wart. Thart a good scab. Hold, theres a tester for thee. SHALLOW. He is not his crafts master, he doth not do it right. I remember at Mile-End Green, when I lay at Clements InnI was then Sir | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017813 | Dagonet in Arthurs showthere was a little quiver fellow, and he would manage you his piece thus. And he would about and about, and come you in and come you in. Rah, tah, tah, would he say. Bounce would he say; and away again would he go, and again would he come. I shall neer see such a fellow. FALSTAFF. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017814 | These fellows will do well. Master Shallow. God keep you, Master Silence: I will not use many words with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both. I thank you. I must a dozen mile tonight. Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your affairs! God send us peace! At your return, visit our house, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017815 | let our old acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the court. FALSTAFF. Fore God, I would you would, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. Go to, I have spoke at a word. God keep you. FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [_Exeunt Justices_.] On, Bardolph, lead the men away. [_Exeunt Bardolph, recruits, &c._] As I return, I will fetch off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017816 | these justices. I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull Street, and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017817 | than the Turks tribute. I do remember him at Clements Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring. When he was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. He was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were invincible. He was the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017818 | very genius of famine, yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called him mandrake. He came ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutched huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or his good-nights. And now is this Vices dagger become a squire, and talks as familiarly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017819 | of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him, and Ill be sworn he neer 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 John a Gaunt he beat his own name, for you might have thrust him and all his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017820 | apparel into an eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court. And now has he land and beefs. Well, Ill be acquainted with him if I return, and t shall go hard but Ill make him a philosophers two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017821 | see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. [_Exit._] ACT IV SCENE I. Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest. Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings and others. ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest calld? HASTINGS. Tis Gaultree Forest, an t shall please your Grace. ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017822 | send discoverers forth To know the numbers of our enemies. HASTINGS. We have sent forth already. ARCHBISHOP. Tis well done. My friends and brethren in these great affairs, I must acquaint you that I have received New-dated letters from Northumberland, Their cold intent, tenor, and substance, thus: Here doth he wish his person, with such powers As might hold sortance | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017823 | with his quality, The which he could not levy; whereupon He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes, To Scotland, and concludes in hearty prayers That your attempts may overlive the hazard And fearful meeting of their opposite. MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground And dash themselves to pieces. Enter a Messenger. HASTINGS. Now, what | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017824 | news? MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form comes on the enemy, And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out. Let us sway on and face them in the field. Enter Westmoreland. ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017825 | fronts us here? MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general, The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace, What doth concern your coming. WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord, Unto your Grace do I in chief address The substance of my speech. If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017826 | that rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, And countenanced by boys and beggary; I say, if damnd commotion so appeard In his true, native, and most proper shape, You, reverend father, and these noble lords Had not been here to dress the ugly form Of base and bloody insurrection | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017827 | With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop, Whose see is by a civil peace maintaind, Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touchd, Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutord, Whose white investments figure innocence, The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself Out of the speech of peace that bears | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017828 | such grace, Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war; Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, Your pens to lances and your tongue divine To a loud trumpet and a point of war? ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands. Briefly to this end: we are all diseased, And with our surfeiting and wanton hours | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017829 | Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it; of which disease Our late King Richard, being infected, died. But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, I take not on me here as a physician, Nor do I as an enemy to peace Troop in the throngs of military men, But rather show awhile like fearful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017830 | war To diet rank minds sick of happiness, And purge th obstructions which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weighd What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs heavier than our offences. We see which way the stream of time doth run, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017831 | And are enforced from our most quiet there By the rough torrent of occasion, And have the summary of all our griefs, When time shall serve, to show in articles; Which long ere this we offerd to the King And might by no suit gain our audience. When we are wrongd and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017832 | unto his person Even by those men that most have done us wrong. The dangers of the days but newly gone, Whose memory is written on the earth With yet-appearing blood, and the examples Of every minutes instance, present now, Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms, Not to break peace or any branch of it, But to establish here | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017833 | a peace indeed, Concurring both in name and quality. WESTMORELAND. Whenever yet was your appeal denied? Wherein have you been galled by the King? What peer hath been subornd to grate on you, That you should seal this lawless bloody book Of forged rebellion with a seal divine And consecrate commotions bitter edge? ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth, To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017834 | brother born an household cruelty, I make my quarrel in particular. WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress, Or if there were, it not belongs to you. MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all That feel the bruises of the days before, And suffer the condition of these times To lay a heavy and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017835 | unequal hand Upon our honours? WESTMORELAND. O, my good Lord Mowbray, Construe the times to their necessities, And you shall say indeed, it is the time, And not the King, that doth you injuries. Yet for your part, it not appears to me Either from the King or in the present time That you should have an inch of any | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017836 | ground To build a grief on. Were you not restored To all the Duke of Norfolks signories, Your noble and right well remembred fathers? MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, That need to be revived and breathed in me? The King that loved him, as the state stood then, Was force perforce compelld to banish him, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017837 | then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, Being mounted and both roused in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together, Then, then, when there was nothing could have stayd My father from the breast of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017838 | Bolingbroke, O, when the King did throw his warder down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw; Then threw he down himself and all their lives That by indictment and by dint of sword Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what. The Earl of Hereford was reputed then In England | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017839 | the most valiant gentleman. Who knows on whom fortune would then have smiled? But if your father had been victor there, He neer had borne it out of Coventry; For all the country in a general voice Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on And blessd and graced, indeed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017840 | more than the King. But this is mere digression from my purpose. Here come I from our princely general To know your griefs, to tell you from his Grace That he will give you audience; and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just, You shall enjoy them, everything set off That might so much as think you enemies. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017841 | MOWBRAY. But he hath forcd us to compel this offer, And it proceeds from policy, not love. WESTMORELAND. Mowbray, you overween to take it so; This offer comes from mercy, not from fear. For, lo, within a ken our army lies, Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017842 | of names than yours, Our men more perfect in the use of arms, Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; Then reason will our hearts should be as good. Say you not then our offer is compelld. MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley. WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence: A rotten | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017843 | case abides no handling. HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father, To hear and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon? WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the generals name: I muse you make so slight a question. ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule, For this contains | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017844 | our general grievances. Each several article herein redressd, All members of our cause, both here and hence, That are insinewd to this action, Acquitted by a true substantial form And present execution of our wills To us and to our purposes confined, We come within our awful banks again And knit our powers to the arm of peace. WESTMORELAND. This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017845 | will I show the general. Please you, lords, In sight of both our battles we may meet, And either end in peace, which God so frame! Or to the place of difference call the swords Which must decide it. ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. [_Exit Westmoreland._] MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me That no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017846 | conditions of our peace can stand. HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace Upon such large terms and so absolute As our conditions shall consist upon, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such That every slight and false-derived cause, Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017847 | Shall to the King taste of this action; That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, We shall be winnowd with so rough a wind That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff And good from bad find no partition. ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this; the King is weary Of dainty and such picking grievances; For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017848 | he hath found to end one doubt by death Revives two greater in the heirs of life; And therefore will he wipe his tables clean And keep no tell-tale to his memory That may repeat and history his loss To new remembrance. For full well he knows He cannot so precisely weed this land As his misdoubts present occasion. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017849 | foes are so enrooted with his friends That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. So that this land, like an offensive wife That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, As he is striking, holds his infant up And hangs resolved correction in the arm That was upreard to execution. HASTINGS. Besides, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017850 | King hath wasted all his rods On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement; So that his power, like to a fangless lion, May offer, but not hold. ARCHBISHOP. Tis very true, And therefore be assured, my good Lord Marshal, If we do now make our atonement well, Our peace will, like a broken limb | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017851 | united, Grow stronger for the breaking. MOWBRAY. Be it so. Here is returnd my Lord of Westmoreland. Enter Westmoreland. WESTMORELAND. The prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship To meet his Grace just distance tween our armies. MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in Gods name then set forward. ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come. [_Exeunt._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017852 | SCENE II. Another part of the forest. Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; afterwards, the Archbishop, Hastings, and others; from the other side, Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland; Officers, and others with them. LANCASTER. You are well encounterd here, my cousin Mowbray. Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop; And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. My | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017853 | Lord of York, it better showd with you When that your flock, assembled by the bell, Encircled you to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text Than now to see you here an iron man, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man that sits within a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017854 | monarchs heart, And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop, It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken How deep you were within the books of God, To us the speaker in his parliament, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017855 | To us th imagined voice of God himself, The very opener and intelligencer Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings? O, who shall believe But you misuse the reverence of your place, Employ the countenance and grace of heaven As a false favourite doth his princes name, In deeds dishonourable? You have taen up, Under the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017856 | counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of his substitute, my father, And both against the peace of heaven and him Have here up-swarmd them. ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster, I am not here against your fathers peace; But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, The time misorderd doth, in common sense, Crowd us and crush us to this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017857 | monstrous form To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace The parcels and particulars of our grief, The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court, Whereon this Hydra son of war is born, Whose dangerous eyes may well be charmd asleep With grant of our most just and right desires, And true obedience, of this madness cured, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017858 | Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man. HASTINGS. And though we here fall down, We have supplies to second our attempt: If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; And so success of mischief shall be born, And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up Whiles | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017859 | England shall have generation. LANCASTER. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow, To sound the bottom of the after-times. WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly How far forth you do like their articles. LANCASTER. I like them all, and do allow them well, And swear here, by the honour of my blood, My fathers purposes have been | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017860 | mistook, And some about him have too lavishly Wrested his meaning and authority. My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redressd; Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, Discharge your powers unto their several counties, As we will ours; and here between the armies Lets drink together friendly and embrace, That all their eyes may bear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017861 | those tokens home Of our restored love and amity. ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses. LANCASTER. I give it you, and will maintain my word; And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. HASTINGS. Go, captain, and deliver to the army This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part. I know it will please them. Hie | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017862 | thee, captain. [_Exit Officer._] ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains I have bestowd to breed this present peace, You would drink freely; but my love to ye Shall show itself more openly hereafter. ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you. WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it. Health to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017863 | my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season, For I am on the sudden something ill. ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry, But heaviness foreruns the good event. WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz, since sudden sorrow Serves to say thus, Some good thing comes tomorrow. ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017864 | light in spirit. MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [_Shouts within._] LANCASTER. The word of peace is renderd. Hark how they shout! MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory. ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. LANCASTER. Go, my lord. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017865 | let our army be discharged too. [_Exit Westmoreland._] And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains March by us, that we may peruse the men We should have coped withal. ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings, And, ere they be dismissd, let them march by. [_Exit Hastings._] LANCASTER. I trust, lords, we shall lie tonight together. Enter Westmoreland. Now, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017866 | cousin, wherefore stands our army still? WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, Will not go off until they hear you speak. LANCASTER. They know their duties. Enter Hastings. HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispersed already. Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their courses East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up, Each hurries toward | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017867 | his home and sporting-place. WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason; And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray, Of capital treason I attach you both. MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable? WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so? ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith? LANCASTER. I pawnd thee none. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017868 | I promised you redress of these same grievances Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most Christian care. But for you, rebels, look to taste the due Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence. Strike up our drums, pursue | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017869 | the scattrd stray: God, and not we, hath safely fought today. Some guard these traitors to the block of death, Treasons true bed and yielder-up of breath. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Another part of the forest. Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Colevile, meeting. FALSTAFF. Whats your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of what place, I pray? COLEVILE. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017870 | am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile of the Dale. FALSTAFF. Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your degree, and your place the Dale. Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of the Dale. COLEVILE. Are not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017871 | you Sir John Falstaff? FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoeer I am. Do ye yield, sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death. Therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. COLEVILE. I think you are Sir | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017872 | John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me. FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017873 | me. Here comes our general. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, Blunt, and others. LANCASTER. The heat is past; follow no further now. Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. [_Exit Westmoreland._] Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When everything is ended, then you come. These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017874 | other break some gallows back. FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus. I never knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017875 | extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine score and odd posts; and here, travel-tainted as I am, have in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the Dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017876 | came, saw, and overcame. LANCASTER. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him. And I beseech your Grace, let it be booked with the rest of this days deeds, or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017877 | the top ont, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt twopences to me, and I in the clear sky of fame oershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins heads to her, believe not the word of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017878 | the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. LANCASTER. Thines too heavy to mount. FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then. LANCASTER. Thines too thick to shine. FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. LANCASTER. Is thy name Colevile? COLEVILE. It is, my lord. LANCASTER. A famous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017879 | rebel art thou, Colevile. FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him. COLEVILE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are That led me hither. Had they been ruled by me, You should have won them dearer than you have. FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves, but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017880 | I thank thee for thee. Enter Westmoreland. LANCASTER. Now, have you left pursuit? WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made and execution stayd. LANCASTER. Send Colevile with his confederates To York, to present execution. Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure. [_Exeunt Blunt and others with Colevile._] And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords. I hear the King | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017881 | my father is sore sick. Our news shall go before us to his Majesty, Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him, And we with sober speed will follow you. FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you give me leave to go through Gloucestershire, and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. LANCASTER. Fare | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017882 | you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition, Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [_Exeunt all but Falstaff._] FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit, twere better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot make him laugh; but thats no marvel, he drinks no wine. Theres never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017883 | none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards, which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017884 | two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain, dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it, makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes, which, delivered oer to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017885 | warming of the blood, which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice. But the sherris warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It illumineth the face, which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017886 | and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017887 | a devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017888 | very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. Enter Bardolph. How now, Bardolph? BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone. FALSTAFF. Let them go. Ill through Gloucestershire, and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017889 | have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber. Enter the King, Warwick, Thomas Duke of Clarence and Humphrey Duke of Gloucester and others. KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017890 | our youth lead on to higher fields And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is addressd, our power collected, Our substitutes in absence well invested, And everything lies level to our wish. Only we want a little personal strength; And pause us till these rebels now afoot Come underneath the yoke of government. WARWICK. Both which we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017891 | doubt not but your Majesty Shall soon enjoy. KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, Where is the Prince your brother? GLOUCESTER. I think hes gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. KING. And how accompanied? GLOUCESTER. I do not know, my lord. KING. Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him? GLOUCESTER. No, my good lord, he is in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017892 | presence here. CLARENCE. What would my lord and father? KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. Thou hast a better place in his affection Than all thy brothers. Cherish it, my boy, And noble offices thou mayst effect Of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017893 | mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren. Therefore omit him not, blunt not his love, Nor lose the good advantage of his grace By seeming cold or careless of his will; For he is gracious, if he be observed, He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017894 | notwithstanding, being incensed, hes flint, As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper therefore must be well observed. Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth; But, being moody, give him time and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017895 | Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion As, force perforce, the age will pour it in Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum or rash gunpowder. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017896 | CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love. KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? CLARENCE. He is not there today; he dines in London. KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that? CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers. KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds, And he, the noble image | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017897 | of my youth, Is overspread with them; therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape In forms imaginary th unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017898 | blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and opposed decay! WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. The prince but studies his companions Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, Tis needful that the most immodest word Be looked upon and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000017899 | learned; which once attained, Your Highness knows, comes to no further use But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, The Prince will, in the perfectness of time, Cast off his followers, and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live, By which his Grace must mete the lives of other, Turning past evils to advantages. | 60 | gutenberg |
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