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'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap; 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.'

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter :

Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.'--Why, this is a certificate.

P. Hen. Peace!

Poins. 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:'-he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.-'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewell.

Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as. to say, as thou usest him,) JACK FALSTAFF, with my familiars; JOHN, with my brothers and sisters; and SIR JOHN with all Europe.'

My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune! but I never said so.

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time; and 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 Tear-sheet.

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?

Poins. 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.

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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 Tear-sheet should be some road.

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between St. Albans and London.

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

Poins. 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 everything 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 endeared 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 grey 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 practised 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 fashioned 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 talked 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;

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