your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple itself. Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Ch. Just. Well, I am loth to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. Fal. My lord, Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. Fal. A wassail candle, my lord; all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: - I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times, that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with hallooing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him. For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it; and the lion repents, young marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. rid - Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better companion! Fal. God send the companion a better prince! I cannot my hands of him. Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you, pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily if it be a hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. [Exeunt Chief-Justice and Attendant. Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than 'a can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my Boy! curses. Page. Sir? Fal. What money is in my purse? Page. Seven groats and two pence. Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. "Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. SCENE III. York. A room in the Archbishop's palace. [Exit. Enter the Archbishop, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH. Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and know our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all How, in our means, Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns L. Bard. The question, then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? Hast. With him, we may. Ay, marry, there's the point: L. Bard. Arch. "Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. I.. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself with project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war; We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit, That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, What do we then but draw anew the model To build at all? Much more, in this great work - Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, A naked subject to the weeping clouds, |