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Is it such a matter to get a pottlepot's

become?
maidenhead?

Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last, I spied his eyes; and, methought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new red petticoat, and peeped through.

P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited?

P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? or to know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz. these, and those that were thy peach-colour'd ones? or to bear the inventory of thy shirts; as, one for superfluity, and Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! one other for use?-but that the tennis-court-keeper Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away! knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of linen with P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: what dream, boy? thee, when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was denot done a great while, because the rest of thy low-livered of a fire-brand, and therefore I call him her countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom; but the midwives say, the children are not in the fault, whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened.

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? Poins. Yes, faith, and let it be an excellent good thing.

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.

Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell.

P. Hen. Marry, I tell thee,-it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick albeit I could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed too.

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject.

:

P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. Poins. The reason?

P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me, if I should weep?

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo

crite.

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so?

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so much engraffed to Falstaff.

P. Hen. And to thee.

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken on; I can hear it with mine own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands, and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had him from me christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape.

Enter BARDOLPH and Page.

Bard. God save your grace.

P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph. Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page.] you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you

dream.

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.— There it is, boy. [Gives him money. Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers!-Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong.

P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you.

Poins. Delivered with good respect.—And how doth the martlemas, your master?

Bard. In bodily health, sir.

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.

Poins. [Reads.] "John Falstaff, knight,"—every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself; even like those that are kin to the king, for they never prick their finger, but they say, "There is some of the king's blood spilt:" :""How comes that?" says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is, as ready as a borrower's cap; "I am the king's poor cousin, sir."

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japheth. But to the letter:

Poins. “Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting."-Why, this is a certificate.

P. Hen. Peace!

Poins. "I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:"-he sure means brevity in breath, shortwinded,—“I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears, thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewell.

"Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; John, with my brothers and sisters; and sir John with all Europe."

My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.

P. Hen. That's but to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune! but I never said so.

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us.-Is your master here in London?

Bard. Yes, my lord.

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

Bard. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. What company?

Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church.
P. Hen. Sup any women with him?

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear-sheet.

P. Hen. What pagan may that be? Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull.-Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,-and Bardolph ;- -no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. [Giving money.

Bard. I have no tongue, sir.

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and
Page.]-This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road.
Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be-
tween Saint Alban's and London.

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins, and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers.

P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Warkworth. Before the Castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, Lady NORTHUMBERLAND, and Lady PERCY.

In disadvantage; to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible :-so you left him.
Never, O! never, do his ghost the wrong,
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him: let them alone.
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go, and meet with danger there,
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.
Lady N.
O! fly to Scotland.
Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son;
He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow,
And never shall have length of life enough,
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.
North. Come, come, go in with me.
'Tis with my
mind,

As with the tide swell'd up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way:
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.-
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,

North. I pray thee, loving wife and gentle daughter, Till time and vantage crave my company.
Give even way unto my rough affairs:
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be like them to Percy troublesome.

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more.
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn,
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart-dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost, yours, and your son's:
For yours,-may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun

In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light,

Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts, he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs, that practised not his gait;

And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;

For those that could speak low, and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him: so that, in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,

In military rules, humours of blood,

He was the mark and glass, copy and book,

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Boar's Head
Tavern, in Eastcheap.

Enter Two Drawers.

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-Johns? thou know'st sir John cannot endure an apple-John.

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-John's before him, and told him, there were five more sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, "I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart, but he hath forgot that.

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch :-the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons, and sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak.

[Exit.

Enter Hostess and DOLL TEAR-SHEET. Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now, you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire, and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose; but, i'faith, you

That fashion❜d others. And him,-O wondrous him! have drunk too much canaries, and that's a marvellous

O miracle of men!-him did you leave,

(Second to none, unseconded by you)

To look upon the hideous god of war

searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say, what's this? How do you now?

Dol. Better than I was. Hem.

Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth i'faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy greygold. Lo! here comes sir John.

Enter FALSTAFF, singing.

Fal. "When Arthur first in court"-Empty the jordan." And was a worthy king." [Exit Drawer. How now, mistress Doll?

Host. Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.

Fal. So is all her sex; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll.

Dol. I make them? gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not.

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my pure virtue, grant

that.

Dol. Yea, joy; our chains, and our jewels.

Fal. "Your brooches, pearls, and owches:"-for to serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: to come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged chambers bravely:

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion: you two never meet, but you fall to some discord. You are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What the good year! one must bear, and that must be you: you are the weaker vessel; as they say, the emptier vessel.

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him: you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold.-Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody

-cares.

Re-enter Drawer,

Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you.

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in England.

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my faith; I must live amongst my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in good name and fame with the very best.-Shut the door;-there comes no swaggerers here: I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you.

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess?.

hound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of resistance.-Call him up, drawer.

Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering: by my troth, I am the worse, when one says-swagger. Feel, masters, how I shake; look you, I warrant you.

Dol. So you do, hostess.

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Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets. I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.

Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

Dol. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for your master.

Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy.

Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!-Since when, I pray you, sir?-God's light! with two points on your shoulder? much! Pist. I will murder your ruff for this.

Fal. No more, Pistol: I would not have you go off here. Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

Dol. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you have earned them. You a captain, you slave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house ?—He a captain! Hang him, rogue! He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain! these villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy, which was an excellent good word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John: there look to 't. comes no swaggerers here.

Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

Host. Tilly-valley, sir John, never tell me your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before master Tisick, the deputy, t'other day; and, as he said to me, it was no longer ago than Wednesday last," Neighbour Quickly," says he ;-master Dumb, our minister, was by then :-"Neighbour Quickly," says he, "receive those that are civil; for," said he, you are in an ill name:"-now, he said so, I can tell whereupon; "for," says he, "you are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take heed what guests you receive: "receive," says he, "no swaggering companions."-There comes none here:-you would bless you to hear what he said.-No, I'll no swaggerers.

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Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater,

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph; I could tear her. I'll be revenged of her.

Page. Pray thee, go down.

Pist. I'll see her damned first;-to Pluto's damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down? down, dogs! down fates! Have we not Hiren here?

Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late, i' faith. I beseek you now, aggravate your choler. Pist. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses,

And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,

Compare with Cæsars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

Bard. Begone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.

Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins. Have we not Hiren here?

Host. On my word, captain, there's none such here. What the goodyear! do you think I would deny her? for God's sake, be quiet.

Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give's some sack.

Se fortuna me tormenta, il sperare me contenta.-
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
[Laying down his sword.
Come we to full points here, and are et ceteras nothing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif.—What! we have
seen the seven stars.

Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling: nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down stairs.
Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we im-
brue?-
[Snatching up his sword.
Then, death, rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say!
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
Fal. Get you down stairs.
[Drawing.
Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
house, afore I'll be in these territs and frights. So;
murder, I warrant now.-Alas, alas! put up your
naked weapons; put up your naked weapons.

[Exeunt BARDOLPH and PISTOL. Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet: the rascal is gone. Ah! you whoreson little valiant villain, you.

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought he made a shrewd thrust at your belly.

Re-enter BARDOLPH.

Fal. Have you turned him out of doors?

Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven? Enter behind, Prince HENRY and Poins, disguised like Drawers.

Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's head: do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? Fal. A good shallow young fellow he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well.

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why does the prince love him so, then? Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness; and he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; and rides the wild mare with the boys; and jumps upon jointstools; and swears with a good grace; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol faculties he has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him: for the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois. P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.

P. Hen. Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot.

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many years outlive performance?

Fal. Kiss me, Doll.

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what says the almanack to that?

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not clasping to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper.

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Dol. Nay, truly; I kiss thee with a most constant heart.
Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money on Thursday; thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song! come: it grows late; we'll to bed. Thoul't forget me, when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth, thoul't set me a weeping, an thou say'st so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome till

Bard. Yes, sir: the rascal's drunk. You have hurt thy return.-Well, hearken the end. him, sir, in the shoulder.

Fal. A rascal, to brave me!

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face; -come on, you whoreson chops.-Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain!

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou dost,
I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.
Enter Music.

Page. The music is come, sir.

Fal. Let them play.-Play, sirs.-Sit on my knee, Doll.-A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver.

Dol. I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church.

Fal. Some sack, Francis!
P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

[Advancing.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's.—And art not thou Poins, his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead.

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman; thou art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth, welcome to London.-Now, the Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu! are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty,by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Placing his hand upon DOLL. Dol. How, you fat fool? I scorn you.

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P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did, when you ran away by Gad's-hill: you knew, I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive you, then, to confess the wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. P. Hen. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what?

Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse!

Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him :-in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal;-none, Ned, none;-no, 'faith boys, none. P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverably; and his face is Lucifer's privy kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil outbids him too.

P. Hen. For the women?

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P. Hen. Peto, how now! what news?
Peto. The king your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and as I came along
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff.

P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,

So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword, and cloak.—Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince HENRY, POINS, PETO, and
BARDOLPH..

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door? Re-enter BARDOLPH.

How now? what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently: A dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]— Farewell, hostess ;-farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak ;-if my heart be not ready to burst.-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester, and truer-hearted man,-Well, fare thee well. Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet! Host. What's the matter?

Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master.

Host. O! run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. Come.She comes blubbered.-Yea-will you come, Doll? [Exeunt.

ACT III.

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Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under high canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O, thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery shrouds,

That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose

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