190

Mowb. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason
Shall to the King taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
That even
our corn shall seem as light as
chaff
And good from bad find no partition.
Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King
is weary

Of dainty and such picking grievances;
For 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 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 enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.

195

200

205

210

Hast. Besides, the 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.

215

Arch. 'T is 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 united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.

Mowb.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.

220

[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].

Lan. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray.

Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
When that your flock, assembled by the bell, s
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. 10
That man that sits within a monarch's 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,

15

20

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;
To us the imagin'd 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 prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of His substitute, my father,
And both against the peace of Heaven and

him

23

31

Good my Lord of Lancaster, I am not here against your father's peace; But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland," The time misord red doth, in common sense, Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form, To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace The parcels and particulars of our grief, The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,

35

Whereon this Hydra son of war is born; Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep

With grant of our most just and right de

sires;

And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

115

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 the scatt'red stray.
God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. 1
Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.
[Exeunt.

[SCENE III. Another part of the forest.] Alarums. Excursion. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE [meeting].

Fal. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of what place, [I pray]? Col. I am a knight, sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale.

my mercy.

17

Col. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me.

Fal. 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 [23 the most active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me. Here comes our general.

Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, [BLUNT] and others.

Lan. The heat is past; follow no further

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 other break some gallows' back. 32 Fal. 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 [37 very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red ninescore and odd posts; and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the Dale, a most furious knight and valor- [42 ous enemy. But what of that? He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say, with the hook-nos'd fellow of Rome, "I came, saw, and

.overcame.

Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.

48

Fal. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top on 't, Colville kissing my foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all show like gilt [55 twopences to me, and I in the clear sky of fame o'ershine 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 the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert

I hear the King 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.

88

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go

Through Gloucestershire; and, when you come

Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exeunt [all but Falstaff].

Fal. I would you had [but] the wit; 't were better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot make him laugh; but [95 that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never 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. [100 They are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy [105 vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which, deliver'd o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property [110 of your excellent sherris is, the 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 [116 face, which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and

then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, [120 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 a devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act [125 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 till'd with excellent endeavour of drinking good [130 and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become 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 ?

135

Bard. The army is discharged all and gone. Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire; and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, esquire. I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.

142

[Exeunt.

The Jerusalem

Enter the KING, the PRINCES THOMAS OF CLARENCE and HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER, WARWICK [and others].

King. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end

To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctifi'd.
Our navy is address'd, 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.

5

10

War. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty

Shall soon enjoy.

King. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, Where is the Prince your brother?

Glou. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

King. And how accompanied?

Glou. I do not know, my lord. King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? Glou. No, my good lord; he is in presence here.

Clar. What would my lord and father?

16

King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.

How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?

20

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.

Thou hast a better place in his affection

30

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 observ'd;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity;
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint,
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd.
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth;
But, being moody, give him time and scope,
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 40
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.

35

45

105

Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ?
She either gives a stomach and no food;
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast
And takes away the stomach; such are the
rich,

That have abundance and enjoy it not.

I should rejoice now at this happy news;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
O me! come near me; now I am much ill.
Glou. Comfort, your Majesty!

Clar.

111

O my royal father!

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself,

look up.

War. Be patient, Princes; you do know, these fits

115

Are with his Highness very ordinary. Stand from him, give him air. He'll straight be well.

Clar. No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs.

The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in

So thin that life looks through [and will break

out].

120

Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end. King. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber. [Softly, pray.] [Exeunt. The King is borne out.]

[SCENE V. Another chamber.

131

The KING lying on a bed: CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance.]

King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;

Unless some dull and favourable hand

Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

Wor. Call for the music in the other room. King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.

Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

War. Less noise, less noise!

Enter PRINCE HENRY.

Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. Prince. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!

How doth the King? Glou. Exceeding ill. Prince.

Tell it him.

10

Heard he the good news yet?

Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. Prince. If he be sick with joy, he 'll recover without physic.

15

War. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;

The King, your father, is dispos'd to sleep. Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room. War. Will 't please your Grace to go along with us?

Prince. No; I will sit and watch here by the King. [Exeunt all but the Prince.] Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow?

26

O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scald'st with safety. By his gates of
breath

30