Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;

And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these

times?

They that, when Richard lived, would have him

die,

Are now become enamoured on his grave:

Thou, that threw 'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admiréd heels of Bolingbroke,

Cry'st now, 'O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seems best; things present,

worst.

Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and set

on?

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids [Exeunt.

be gone.

ACT SECOND

SCENE I.-London. A Street

Enter Hostess, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? Fang. It is entered.

Host. Where's your yeoman? Is 't a lusty yeoman? will 'a stand to 't?

Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare?

Host. O Lord, ay: good Master Snare.
Snare. Here, here.

Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. Host. Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.

Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.

Host No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. Fang. An I but fist him once; an he come but within my vice,

I

Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score.-Good Master Fang, hold him sure :-good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. 'A comes continuantly to Pie Corner (saving your manhoods) to buy a saddle; and he's indited to dinner to the Lubbar's Head in Lumbert Street, to Master Smooth's the silkman : pray you, since my exion is entered, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing, unless a woman should be made an ass, and a beast to bear every knave's wrong.-Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose, Bardolph, with him.

Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang, and

Master Snare: do me, do me, do me your offices.

Fal. How now? whose mare's dead? what's the matter?

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.

Fal. Away, varlets !-Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel.

Host. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee there. Wilt thou wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue!-Murder, murder! O, thou honey-suckle villain ! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's? O, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a man queller, and a woman queller. Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.

Fang. A rescue! a rescue!

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two.— Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!

Fal. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe.

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended

Ch. Just. What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!

I beseech

Host. Good my lord, be good to me! you, stand to me!

Ch. Just. How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here?

Doth this become your place, your time, and business?

You should have been well on your way to York.— Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him?

Host. O my most worshipful lord, an 't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.

Ch. Just. For what sum?

Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his ;-but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights, like the mare.

Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up.

Ch. Just. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own?