Page images
PDF
EPUB

Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair

birth,) Should be stillborn, and that we now possessid The 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? Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord

Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads; one power against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us: So is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
Arch. That he should draw his several strengths

together,
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast.

If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm’d, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hi-
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited :-
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 blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust 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'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, give us that king again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set

ther? Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice.

Arch.

31 Let us on;

on?
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be
gone.

[Ereunt.

[blocks in formation]

Enter Hostess; Fang, and his boy, with her; and

SNARE following: Host. Master Fang, have you enter'd the action? Fang. It is enter'd.

Host. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman will a' stand to't?

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare?
Host. O lord, ay; good master Snare.
Snare. Here, here.
Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff.

Host. Yea, good master Snare; I have enter'd him and all.

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

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

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.

Host. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.

Fang. An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice 32;

answer.

Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score:-Good master Fang, hold him sure:—good master Snare, let him not’scape. He comes continually to Pye-corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle; and he's indited to dinner to the lubbar's head in Lumbertstreet, to master Smooth's the siłkman: I pray ye; ince my exion enter'd, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his

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 fub'd off, and fub'd off, and fub'd off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and BARDOLPH. Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do me, do me, do

your

offices. Fal. How now? whose mare's dead? what's the matter?

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress Quickly.

Fal. Away varlets!— Draw, Bardolph; cut me off the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel.

Host. Throw me in the channel? I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bas

me

[ocr errors][merged small]
« PreviousContinue »