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Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
thousand ? Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord
Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided ; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness.
Let us on,
ARCH. That he should draw his several strengths
together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded.
If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm’d, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his forces
hither? Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice.
ARCH. And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest 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 enamour'd on his grave:
MowB. Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
ACT THE SECOND.
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. Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE. It
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, he cares not what mischief he does, 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 a' come but within
my vice,-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 is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman : I pray ye, 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
wrong. Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices : Master Fang and Master Snare, do me,
do do me your offices.
Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH. 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 in the channel. Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honey-suckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a womanqueller.
Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.
or two. Thou wo't, wo’t thou? 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, and his men. CH. Just. What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!
Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech 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.