Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down To weigh against his opposite; or else Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house A naked subject to the weeping clouds HAST. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd I think we are a body strong enough, L. BARD. What, is the king but five and twenty 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, ARCH. That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HAST. 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. Let us on, 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 And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, C Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Criest now O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this! O thoughts of men accursed ! 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 be gone. [Exeunt. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Hostess, FANG and his Boy with her, 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 for he will stab. chance cost some of us our lives, 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 knave's 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 do me, do me your offices. me, 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. FANG. A rescue! a rescue! HOST. Good people, bring a rescue 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. |