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To fright our party.
North. How doth my son and brother ? “ Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek “ Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. “ Even such a man, fo faint, so spiritless, “ So dull, fo dead in look, so woe.be-gone, “ Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, “ And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: "But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue; And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. This thou would'st say: Your son did thus and thus: Your brother, thus : fo fought the noble Douglas: Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds. But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Thou hast a figh to blow away this praise, Ending with, Brother, son, and all are dead.
lort. Douglas iş living, and your brother, yet; But for my Lord your son
North. Why, he is dead. See what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other's eyes, That what he fear'd is chance’d. Yet, Morton, speak; Tell thou thy Earl, his divination lyes ; And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mort. You are too great to be by me gainfaid : Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, fay not that Percy's dead. I fee a strange confession in thine eye : Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'It it fear *, or fin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not that reports his death : And he doth sin, that doth belye the dead, Not he which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a fullen bell, Remember'd, tolling a departing friend,
Bard. I cannot think, my Lord, your son is dead. Mort. I'm forry I should force you to believe * Fear, for dan er.
That which I would to heaven I had not seen.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
" Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, " Which princes, feh'd with conqueft, aim to hit. “ Now bind my brows with iron, and approach “The ruggedit hour that time and fpight dare bring “ To frown upon th' enrage'd Northumberland ! " Let heav'n kifs earth! now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild food confin'd; let order die, “ And let this world no longer be a stage " To feed contention in a lingering act: “ But let one spirit of the firit-born Cain “ Reign in all boioms, that each heart being fet “ On bloody courses, the rude tcene may end, “ And darkness be the burier of the dead! [Lord!
Bard. This strained paflion doth you wrong, my Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from
Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss,
Mort. 'Tis more than time; and, my moit noble Lord,
With well-appointed powers. lie is a man,
North. I knew of this before: but to speak truth,
SCENE IV. Changes to a street in London. Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword
and buckler. Fal. Sirrah, you, giant! what says the doctor to my water?
Page. He said, Sir, the water itself was a good healthy water. But for the party that own’d it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of this foolith-compounded-clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelm
ed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why, then I have no judgment. Thou whorson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never mann’d with an agot till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel. The Juvenal, the Prince your master! whose chin is not yet fledg’d; I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; yet he will not stick to say, his face is a faceroyal. Heav'n may finish it when it will, it is not a hair amiss yet; he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn fixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a batchelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him What said Mr. Dombledon, about the fatten for my thort cloak and flops?
Page. He said, Sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and your's, he lik'd not the security.
Fal. Let him be damn'd like the glutton, may his tongue be hotter! a whorson Achitophel, a rascally ye-forsooth-knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! the whorson-smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two and twenty yards of fatten, as I am a true knight, and he tends me security. Well, he may sleep in security, for he hath the horn of abundance. And the lightness of his wife shines through it, and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph?
Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horie.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's *, and he'll buy me a * At that time the resort of idle peo; le, cheats, and knights of the post.