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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
do 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
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 halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not; the truth is, I am only old in judgement 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,
took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack.
CH. Just. Well, God send the prince a better companion !
Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! I cannot rid 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,
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
and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a 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. 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
If ye 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?
Cui. 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 Servant. 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
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.
MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH.
known our means ;
Mows. I well allow the occasion of our arms;
Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice ; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. L. Bard. The question then, Lord Hastings,
standeth thus ; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold
head without Northumberland ? Hast. With him, we may, L. Bard.
Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgement is, we should not step too far
Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction.
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action : a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection ; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all ? Much more, in this great work,