Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; North. Why, he is dead. He that but fears the thing he would not know That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; Tell thou thy earl his divination lies, And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin The tongue offends not that reports his death: L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. That which I would to God I had not seen; But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, From whence with life he never more sprung up. For from his metal was his party steel'd; North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick, Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif! Thou art a guard too wanton for the head Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die! Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set And darkness be the burier of the dead! Tra. This strainèd passion doth you wrong, my lord. Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er You cast th' event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd th' account of chance, before you said, You were advis'd his flesh was capable L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, The gentle Archbishop of York is up With well-appointed powers: he is a man Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, The aptest way for safety and revenge: Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed, SCENE II. London. A street. [Exeunt. Enter FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler. Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but, for the party that owed it, he might have more diseases than he knew for. Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel, the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he 's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? - Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security. Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! · A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yeaforsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! - The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked 'a should have sent me two-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. |