moreland; and this to old mistress Urfula, whom I have weekly fworn to marry fince I perceiv'd the firft 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. It is no matter, if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my penfion fhall feem the more reafonable: A good wit will make ufe of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity.

P

SCENE III.

The Archbishop of York's Palace.

[Exit.

Enter the Archbishop of York, Lord Haftings, Thomas Mowbray (Earl Marshal) and Lord Bardolph.

York. Thus have you heard our caufe, and know our

means;

And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes
And firft, lord marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb. I well allow the occafion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied,

How, in our means, we fhould advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puiffance of the king.
Haft. Our prefent mufters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of

great Northumberland, whofe bofom burns With an incensed fire of injuries.

P commodity.]-my advantage.

Commodity, the bias of the world.”
KING JOHN, Vol. III. p.

. Faule.

Bard

Bard. The question then, lord Haftings, ftandeth
thus;-

Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Haft. With him, we may.

Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point;
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far
'Till we had his affistance by the hand :
For, in a theme fo bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and furmife

Of aids uncertain, fhould not be admitted.

York. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hotfpur's cafe at Shrewsbury.

Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply,

Flattering himself with project of a power

• Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:

And fo, with great imagination,

Proper to madmen,' led his powers 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,
Indeed the instant action (a cause on foot)
Lives fo in hope, as in an early spring

We fee 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 furvey the plot, then draw the model;

9 Much Smaller]-Which eventually proved fo.

Yes, if this prefent quality of war, &c.]-Yes, fuch fpeculations have proved fatal, and muft ever be dangerous, if relied on, under circumftances like the prefent, when the enterprife we are engaged in Lives (only) fa in hope, &c.

And

And when we see the figure of the house,

Then must we rate the coft of the erection:
Which if we find outweighs ability,

What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices; or, at last, defift

1

To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almoft, to pluck a kingdom down,
And fet another up) fhould we furvey
The plot of fituation, and the model;
Confent upon a fure foundation;
Question furveyers; know our own eftate,
How able fuch a work to undergo,
To weigh against his oppofite; or else,
We fortify in paper, and in figures,
Ufing the names of men inftead of men:
Like one, that draws the model of a houfe
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his 'part-created coft
A naked fubject to the weeping clouds,
And wafte for churlish winter'd tyranny.

Haft. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth)
Should be still-born, and that we now poffefs'd
The very utmost man of expectation;

I think, we are a body strong enough,
Even as we are, to equal with the king.

Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thousand? Haft. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph. For his divifions, as the times do brawl,

Are in three heads: one power against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Muft take up us: So is the unfirm king

In three divided; and his coffers found

With hollow poverty and emptiness.

York. That he should draw his several strengths together, And come againft us in full puiffance,

Need not be dreaded.

Haft. If he fhould do fo,

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.

Bard. Who, is it like, fhould lead his forces hither? Haft. The duke of Lancaster, and Weftmoreland: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French,

I have no certain notice.

York. Let us on;

And publish the occafion of our arms.

The commonwealth is fick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy love hath furfeited:

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 bleffing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimmed in thine own defires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'ft thyself to caft him up.
So, fo, thou common dog, didft thou disgorge
Thy glutton bofom of the royal Richard
And now thou would't eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'ft to find it. What truft is in these times?
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his grave:

Thou, that threw'ft duft upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came fighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, give us that king again,

And

And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurft!
Paft, and to come, feem beft; things prefent, worst.
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and fet on?
Haft. We are time's fubjects, and time bids be gone.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Street in London.

Enter Hoftefs; Phang, and his Boy, with her; and Snare following.

Hoft. Master Phang, have you enter'd the action?
Phang. It is enter'd.

Hoft. Where is your ' yeoman? Is it a lufty yeoman? will a' ftand to't?

Phang. Sirrah, where's Snare?

Hoft. O lord, ay; good mafter Snare.

Snare. Here, here.

Phang. Snare, we must arreft fir John Falstaff.

Hoft. Ay, good mafter Snare; I have enter'd him and all.

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.

Hoft. Alas the day! take heed of him; he ftabb'd me in mine own house, and that most beaftly; he cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.

Phang. If I can clofe with him, I care not for his thruft. yeoman ?]-follower. Q93

Hoft.