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cian: 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 Japhet. But 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 Roman 39 in brevity :-he sure means brevity in breath; short. winded. 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'll steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.
P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned ? must I marry
Poins. May the wench have 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 40?
Bard. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap.
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.
Bard. I have no tongue, sir.
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 between 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 leather jerkins, and aprons, and wait 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? low transformation ! that shall be mine: for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
Warkworth. Before the Castle.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, Lady NORTHUMBER
LAND, and Lady Percy. North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, 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
word, When you were more endear'd to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's 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 practis'd 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, That fashion'd others. And him,-0 wondrous
him! O miracle of men!-him did you leave,
(Second to none, unseconded by you,)
your honour more precise and nice
Beshrew your heart,
O, fly to Scotland,
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,