Touching our perfon, feek we no revenge,
But we our kingdom's fafety must so tender,
Whofe ruin you three fought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Go therefore hence,
Poor miferable wretches, to your death;
The tafte whereof God of his mercy give
You patience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence.
Now, Lords, for France, the enterprize whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
Since God fo graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treafon lurking in our way,
To hinder our beginning. Now we doubt not
But every rub is fmoothed in our way:
Then forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver
Our puiffance into the hand of God,
Putting it ftrait in expedition.

Chearly to fee the figns of war advance ;
No King of England, if not King of France.

[Exeunt,

[Exeunt

SCENE III. Changes again to London. Enter Piftol, Nym, Bardolph, Boy, and Hoftefs. Hoft. Pr'ythee, honey, fweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

Pift. No, for my manly heart doth yern.

Bardolph, be blith: Nym, rouze thy vaunting veins:
Boy, briftle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yern therefore.

Bard. Would I were with him wherefome'er he is, ei ther in heaven or in hell.

Hoft. Nay, fure he's not in hell; he's in Arthur's bofom, if ever man went to Arthur's bofom. He made a finer end, and went away an it had been any chriftom child; 'parted even juft between twelve and one, even at the turning o' th' tide: For after I faw him fumble with the fheets, and play with flowers, and fmile upon his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as fharp as a pen, and a' babled of green fields. How now, Sir John? quoth I: what, man? be o' good cheer: fo a' cried out, God, God, God, three or four times. Now

R 3

1,

I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God j I hop'd there was no need to trouble himself with any fuch thoughts yet: fo a' bad me lay more clothes on his feet! I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as a ftone: then I felt to his knees, and fo upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

Nym, They fay he cried out of fack.
Hoft. Ay that a' did.

Bard. And of women.

Hoft. Nay, that a' did not.

Boy. Yes that he did, and faid they were devils incarnate. Hoft. A' could never abide carnation, 'twas a colour he pever lik❜d.

Boy. He faid once, the deule would have him about

women.

Hoft. He did in fome fort indeed handle women; but then he was rheumatick and talk'd of the whore of Babylon.

Boy. Do you not remember he faw a Flea ftick upon Bardolph's nofe, and faid it was a black foul burning is hell?

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service.

Nym. Shall we fhogg? the King will be gone from South bampton.

My love, give me thy lips:

Pift. Come, let's away.
Look to my chattels, and my moveables;

Let fenfes rule; the word is pitch and pay;

Truft none, for oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-faft is the only dog, my Duck,

Therefore Caveto be thy counfellor.

Go, clear thy cryftals. Yoke-fellows in arms,

Let us to France, like horfe-leeches, my boys,

To fuck, to fuck, the very blood to fuck.

Boy. And that is but unwholfome food, they fay.
Pift. Touch her foft mouth and march. Come!
Bard. Farewel, hoftefs.

Nym, I cannot kifs, that is the humour of it; but adieu! Pift. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command,

[Exeunt

Hoft. Farewel; adieu!

SCENE IV.

Changes to the French King's Palace.

Enter the French King, the Dauphin, the Duke of Bur gundy, and the Conftable.

Fr.King. Thus come the Englife with full power upon us And more than carelessly it us concerns

To answer royally in our defences.

Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Bretagne,
Of Brabant and of Orleans, fhall make forth,
And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift difpatch;
To line and new repair our towns of war

With men of courage, and with means defendant:
For England his approaches makes as fierce
As waters to the fucking of a gulf.

It fits us then to be as provident

As fear may teach us out of late examples,
Left by the fatally neglected English
Upon our fields.

Dau. My moft redoubted father,

It is moft meet we arm us 'gainst the foe?
For peace it self should not fo dull a kingdom,
(Tho' war, nor no known quarrel were in question)
But that defences, mufters, preparations,
Should be maintain'd, affembled and collected,
As were a war in expectation.

Therefore I fay 'tis meet we all go forth,

To view the fick and feeble parts of France:

And let us do it with no fhew of fear;

No, with no more than if we heard that England
Were bufied with a Whitfund' morris-dance :
For, my good Liege, fhe is fo idly king'd,
Her fcepter fo fantaftically born,

By a vain, giddy, fhallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not.

Con. O peace, Prince Dauphin!

You are too much mistaken in this King t
Question your Grace the late ambaffadors,
With what great ftate he heard their embaffie,
How well fupply'd with noble counsellors,

How

How modeft in exception, and withal
How terrible in conftant refolution :
And you shall find his vanities fore-fpent
Were but the out-fide of the Roman Brutus,
Covering difcretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide thofe roots
That fhall firft fpring and be most delicate.
Dau. Well, 'tis not fo, my Lord high Conftable.
But though we think it fo, it is no matter:
In caufes of defence, 'tis beft to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he feems,
So the proportions of defence are fill'd;
Which of a weak and niggardly projection
Doth like a mifer, fpoil his coat with scanting
A little cloth.

Fr. King. Think we King Harry ftrong;
And, Princes, look you ftrongly arm to meet him.
The kindred of him hath been flefh'd upon us;
And he is bred out of that bloody ftrain
That haunted us in our familiar paths:
Witness our too much memorable fhame,
When Crefy-battel fatally was ftruck,
And all our Princes captiv'd by the hand

Of that black name, Edward the Prince of Wales:
While that his mounting fire, on mountain standing,
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden fun,
Saw his heroick feed, and fmil'd to fee him
Mangle the work of nature, and deface
The patterns that by God and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a ftem
Of that victorious flock; and let us fear.
The native mightiness and force of him.

Enter a Meffenger.

Me. Ambaffadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your Majefty.

Fr. King. We'll give them prefent audience. Go, and bring them.

You fee this chafe is hotly follow'd, friends.

Dau. Turn head, and ftop purfuit; for coward dogs Moft fpend their mouths, when what they seem to threaten

Runs

Runs far before them. Good my Sovereign,
Take up the Englifh fhort, and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head:
Self-love, my Liege, is not fo vile a fin
As felf-neglecting.

SCENE V. Enter Exeter.

Fr. King. From our brother England?

Exe. From him; and thus he greets your Majefty
He wills you in the name of God Almighty,
That you diveft your felf, and lay apart
The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, 'long
To him and to his heirs; namely the crown,
And all the wide-ftretch'd honours that pertain
By cuftom and the ordinance of times,

Unto the crown of France. That you may know
"Tis no finifter nor no awkward claim,

Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd;

He fends you this most memorable line,
In every branch truly demonftrative,

Willing you over-look his pedigree; [Gives the King a paper,
And when you find him evenly deriv'd

From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third; he bids you then refign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held.
From him the native and true challenger.
Fr. King. Or elfe what follows?

Exe. Bloody conftraint; for if you hide the crown
Ev'n in your hearts, there will he rake for it.
And therefore in fierce tempeft is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake like a Jove:
That if requiring fail, he may compell.
He bids you in the bowels of the Lord
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy
On the poor fouls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vafty jaws; upon your head
Turning the widows tears, the orphans cries,
The dead mens blood, the pining maidens groans,
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,

That