But gladly would be better satisfied Haft. Our prefent mufters grow upon the file Bard. The question then, Lord Haftings, ftandeth Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point : York. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hot-fpur's cafe at Shrewsbury. Bard. It was, my Lord, who lin'd himself with hope, Fating the air, on promife of fupply; Flatt'ring himself with project of a power And fo, with great imagination, Proper to madmen, led his pow'rs to death, And, winking, leap'd into deftruction. Haft. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. Bard. Yes, if this prefent quality of war Impede the inftant act; a caufe on foot Lives fo in hope, as in an early spring We fee th' appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, Hope gives not fo much warrant, as despair That frofts will bite them. When we mean to build, And when we fee the figure of the house, What do we then but draw a-new the model In fewer offices? or elfe, defift To build at all? Much more, in this great work, (Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down, And fet another up), fhould we furvey The plot of fituation, and the model; Haft. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, I think we are a body ftrong enough, [fand? Bard. What, is the King but five and twenty thou- In three divided; and his coffers found York. That he should draw his fev'ral strengths togeAnd come against us in full puiffance, Need not be dreaded. Haft. If he fhould do fo, [ther, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welch Baying him at the heels; never fear that. Bard. Who is it like fhould lead his forces hither? Haft. The Duke of Lancaster, and Westmorland : Against the Welch, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is fubftituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. York. Let us on: Coft, for work. And And publish the occafion of our arms. The commonwealth is fick of their own choice Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. And howl'ft to find it. What truft is in thefe times? Cry't now, O earth, yield us that King again, ACT II. SCENE I. Aftreet in London. Enter Hoftefs, with two officers, Phang and Snare." Hoft. M R. Phang, have you enter'd the action? Hoft. Where's your yeoman is he a lufty yeoman ?~ will he ftand to it? Phang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Foft. O Lord, ay, good Mr. Snare. Snare. Here, here. Phang. Snare, we must arreft Sir John Falstaff. Hoft. Ay, good Mr. Snare, I have enter'd him and all. Snare. It he will ftab. may chance coft fome of us our lives: for Hoft. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine own house, and that most beastly; he cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out. He will foin like any devil; he will fpare neither man, woman, nor child. Phang. If I can clofe with him, I care not for his thruft. Hoft. No, nor I neither ;- -I'll be at your elbow. Phang. If I but fist him once; if he come but within my vice *. Hoft. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he is an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Mr. Phang, hold him fure; good Mr. Snare, let him not 'scape. He comes continually to Pie-corner, faving your manhoods, to buy a faddle: and he is indited to dinner to the Lubbar's-head in Lombard-street, to Mr. Smooth's the Silkman. I pray ye, fince my action is enter'd, and my cafe fo openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his anfwer. A hundred mark is a long loan, for a poor lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, from this day to that day, that it is a fhame to be thought on. There is no honefty in fuch dealing, unlefs a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Enter Falstaff, Bardolph, and the Boy. Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmsey-nofe knave Bardolph with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Mr. Phang and Mr. Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Fal. How now? whofe mare's dead? what's the matter? Phang. Sir John, I arreft you at the fuit of Mrs. Quickly. Fal. Away, varlets; draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the kennel. Hoft. Throw me in the kennel? I'll throw thee in Vice or grafp; a metaphor taken from a fmith's vice. Mr. Pepe. VOL. IV.. Z the the kennel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue. Murder, murder! O thou honey-fuckle villain *, wilt thou kill God's officers and the King's? O thou honey-feed rogue*! thou art a honey-feed, a man queller, and a woman-queller. Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. Phang. A refcue, a rescue! Hoft. Good people, bring a rescue or two; thou wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't thou? do, do, thou rogue, do, thou hemp-feed! Fal. Away, you fcullion, you rampallian, you fuftilarian: I'll tickle your catastrophe. SCENE II. Enter Chief Justice attended. Ch. Juft. What's the matter? keep the peace here, ho? Haft. Good my Lord, be good to me. I beseech you, ftand to me. Ch. Juft. How now, Sir John? what, are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time, and business? You thould have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang't thou on him? Hoft. O my moft worshipful Lord, an't please your Grace, I am a poor widow of Eaft-cheap, and he is arrested at my fuit. Ch. Juft. For what fum ? Hoft. It is more than for some, my Lord, it is for all; all have he hath eaten me out of houfe and home; he hath put all my fubftance into that fat belly of his but will have fome of it out again, or I'll ride thee o'nights like the mare. Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any 'vantage of ground to get up. Ch. Juft. How comes this, Sir John? Fie, what man of good temper would endure this tempeft of exclamation are you not afham'd to inforce a poor widow to fo rough a courfe to come by her own > Fal. What is the grois fum that I owe thee? and |