the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London?

Bard. Yes, my lord.

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

Bard. At the old place, my lord, - in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. What company?

Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
P. Hen. Sup any women with him?

Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.

P. Hen. What pagan may that be?

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

Poin. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. [Gives money.

Bard. I have no tongue, sir.
Page. And for mine, sir,

I will govern it.

P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and Page.] - This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.

Poin. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London.

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself tonight in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

Poin. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers.

P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, Lady NORTHUMBERLAND, and
Lady PERCY.

North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs:

Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more:
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;

When your own Percy, when my heart's 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 two honours lost, yours and your son's.
For yours, may heavenly glory brighten it!

For his,

it stuck upon him, as the sun
In the gray 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 legs that practis'd not his gait;

And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;

For those that 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 mark and glass, copy and book,

That fashion'd others. And him, O 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 Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible:
so you left him.
Never, O never, do his 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,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
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 N.

O, fly to Scotland,

Till that the nobles and the armèd commons

Have of their puissance made a little taste.

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king,

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 suffer'd: 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 as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with
As with the tide swell'd 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 and vantage crave my company.

my

mind

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. London. A room in the Boar's-Head Tavern in

Eastcheap.

Enter two Drawers.

First Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-Johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an appleJohn.

Sec. Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns; 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 Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where

they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

Sec. Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Pointz 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 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

Sec. Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.

Enter Hostess and DOLL TEARSHEET.

[Exit.

Host. 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 too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say "What's this?" How do you now?

Dol. Better than I was: hem.

Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold. —Lo, here comes Sir John.

Enter FALSTAFF.

Fal. [singing] When Arthur first in court Empty the

jordan. [Exit First Drawer.] - [singing] And was a worthy

How now, Mistress Doll!

Host. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

Fal. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

Dol. I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not.

Fal. 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 pure virtue, grant that.

Dol. Ay, marry, our chains and our jewels.

Fal. "Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:

for to serve

bravely is to come 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,

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself! Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet but you fall to some discord: you are both, in good truth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be you [To Doll]: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel.

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. - Come, I'll 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.

Re-enter First Drawer.

First Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you.

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither: it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.