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Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own?
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and fcourge'd with
Nettled, and ftung with pifmires, when I hear

Of this vile politician Bolingbroke:

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In Richard's time-what do ye call the place?—
A plague upon't ! it is in Glo'stershire -

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'Twas where the mad-cap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York-where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this King of fimiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenípurg.
North. At Berkley castle.

Hot. You fay true:

Why, what a deal of candied courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me !
Look, when his infant fortune came to age,-
And gentle Harry Percy and kind coufin
The devil take fuch cozeners-God forgive me
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again.
We'll ftay your leisure.

Hot. I have done, i' faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

[To Hut-fpur. Deliver them without their ransom ftraight, And make the Douglas' fon your only mean. For pow'rs in Scotland; which, for divers reafons Which I fhall fend you written, be affur'd,

Will eafily be granted.-You, my Lord, [To North. Your fon in Scotland being thus employ'd,

Shall fecretly into the bofom creep

Of that fame noble Prelate, well belov'd,
Th' Archbishop.

Hot. York, is't not?

Wor. True, who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.

I fpeak not this in eftimation *,

As what I think might be; but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and fet down;

And only stays but to behold the face

*Efimation for conjecture. But between this and the foregoing verfe it appears there were fome lines which are now loft. Mr. Warburton.

of

Of that occafion that fhall bring it on.

Hot. I fmell it: on my life, it will do well. North. Before the game's a-foot, thou ftill lett't flip. Hot. It cannot chufe but be a noble plot; And then the power of Scotland, and of York To join with Mortimer; ha!

Wor. So they fhall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And 'tis no little reafon bids us speed
To fave our heads, by raising of a head:
For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt;
And think, we deem ourselves unfatisfy'd,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And see already, how he doth begin
To make us ftrangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He does, he does; we'll be revenge'd on him.
Wor. Coufin, farewel. No further go in this,
Than I by letters fhall direct your courfe.
When time is ripe, which will be fuddenly,
I'll steal to Glendower, and Lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,
(As I will fashion it), fhall happily meet,
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

North. Farewel, good brother; we shall thrive, I truft. Hot. Uncle, adieu: O let the hours be fhort,

Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport! [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE 1.

An inn at Rochester.

Enter a Carrier, with a lanthorn in his hand.

I Car.

High ho! an't be not four by the day, I'll

be hang'd. Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horfe not pack'd. What, oftler? Oft. [Within.] Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cutt's faddle, put a few flocks in the point: the poor jade is wrung in the withers, out of all cess.

Enter

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this houfe is turn'd upfide down, fince Robin oftler dy’d.

1 Car. Poor fellow never joy'd fince the price of oats rofe, it was the death of him.

2 Car. I think this be the most villanous houfe in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

1 Car. Like a tench? by th' mais, there's ne'er a King in Christendom could be better bit than I have been fince the first cock.

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jourden, and then we leak in your chimney: and your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loch.

1 Car. What, oftler, come away, and be hang'd,

come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger to be deliver'd as far as Charing-crofs.

1 Car. 'Odbody, the turkies in my panniers are quite ftarv'd. What, oftler? a plague on thee! haft thou never an eye in thy head? cant not hear? an' 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. Come and be hang'd, haft no faith in thee?

Enter Gads-hill.

Gads. Good-morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? Car. I think it be two o'clock.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lanthorn, to see my gelding in the itable.

1 Car. Nay, foft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i'faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when? canit tell? lend me thy lanthorn, quoth a! marry, I'll fee thee hang'd first.

Gads. Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to come to London ?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugges, we'll call up the gentlemen: they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

2

SCENE

3

SCENE II. Enter Chamberlain.

Gads. What, ho, chamberlain !

Cham. At hand, quoth pick-purse.

Gads. That's ev'n as fair, as at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou varieft no more from picking of purfes, than giving direction doth from labouring. Thou lay'ft the plot how.

Cham. Good morrow, Mafter Gads-hill; it holds current that I told you yefternight. There's a franklin, in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold; I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at fupper; a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what : they are up already, and call for eggs and butter. They

will away presently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with St. Nicholas' clarks*, I'll give thee this neck.

Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worshipp'ft St. Nicholas as truly as a man of falfehood may.

Gads. What talk'ft thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows. For if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou know'ft he's no ftarveling. Tut, there are other Trojans that thou dream'ft not of, the which, for sport-fake, are content to do the profeffion fome grace; that would, if matters fhould be look'd into, for their own credit fake, make all whole. I am join'd with no foot-land-rakers, no long-ftaff-fix-penny-strikers, none of thofe mad mustachio-purple-hu'd-malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity; burgomafters, and great moneyers; fuch as can hold in; fuch as will ftrike fooner than speak, and fpeak fooner than think, and think fooner than pray; and yet I lye, for they pray continually unto their faint the commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

St. Nicholas was the patron faint of fcholars; and Nicholas, or Old Ni-k, is a cant name for the devil. Hence he equivocally calls robbers St. Nicholas's clarks

VOL. IV.

N

Cham

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boats? will fhe hold out water in foul way?

Gads. She will, fhe will; juftice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in a caftle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of fern-feed, we walk invifible.

Cham. Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden to the night, than the fern-feed, for your walking invifible.

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou fhalt have a fhare in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

Gads. Go to,-Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the oftler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewel, ye muddy knave.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. Changes to the highway.

Enter Prince Henry, Poins, and Peto.

Poins. Come, fhelter, fhelter; I have removed Fal staff's horse, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet. P. Henry. Stand clofe

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Poins, Poins, and be hanged, Poins! P. Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rafcal, what a brawling doft thou keep?

Fal. What, Poins! Hal!.

P. Henry. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill, I'll go feek him.

Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company; the rafcal hath remov'd my horfe, and ty'd him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the fquare farther a-foot, I fhall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forfworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the raical have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be elfe; I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll ftarve ere I'll rob a foot

further.

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