fetting thy knighthood afide, thou art a knave to call me fo. Fal. Setting thy womanhood afide, thou art a beast to fay otherwise. Hoft. Say, what beaft, thou knave thou? Fal. What beaft? why, an Otter. P. Henry. An Otter, Sir John, why an Otter? Fal Why? he's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. Hoft. Thou art an unjust man in faying fo thou, or any man knows where to have me thou knave, thou! P. Henry Thou fay't true, hoftefs, and he flanders thee moft grofsly. Have mid spot! Hoft. So he doth you, my lord, and faid this other day, you ow'd him a thousand pound, P. Henry Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thoufands pound, Hal? a millions thy love is worth a million; thou ow ft me thy love. Hoft. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and faid he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph?of འ༠༨ Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you faid fo. W Fal. Yea, if he faid, my ring was copper. P. Henry. I lay, 'tis copper. Dar'ft thou be as good as thy word now ܕ Fal. Why, Hall, thou know'ft, as thou art but a man, I dare, but as thou art a Prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the Lion's whelp. P. Henry. And why not as the Lion? Fal. The King himself is to be fear'd as the Lion; doft thou think, I'll fear thee, as I fear thy father? nay, if I do, let my Girdle break! P. Henry. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, Sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honefty, in this bofom of thine; it is all fill'd up with güts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whorfon, impudent, imboss'd rafcal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, Memorandums of bawdyhouses, and one poor penny-worth of fugar-candy to D d 4 make make thee long-winded; if thy pocket were chrich'd with any other injuries but thefe,pam arvillain; and yet you will ftand to it, you will not pocket up wrongs. Art thou not afham'd? 9 gaierud i bas J Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? thou know' binthe state of innocency, Adam fell: and what fhould spoor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villany? thou feelts I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confefs then, you pickt my pocket? P. Henry. It appears fo by the ftory. Fal. Hoftefs, I forgive thee: go make ready Breakfaft; love thy husband, look to thy fervants, and cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honeft reafon: thou feeft, I am pacify'd ftill. Nay, I pr'ythee, be gone. 4669 29 mat[Exit Hoftefs. Now, Hal, to the news at Court: for the robbery, lad, how is That answer'd? CON P. Henry. O my fweet beef, I muft ftill be good anis back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour. gel to thee: The monat a Father, an P. Henry. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. now 3gs and aids n Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou do'st, and do it with unwafh'd hands too to naibiol s so Bard. Do, my lord. Isang ol 08 bloode P. Henry. I have procur'd thee, Fack, a Charge of foot.. .215d30cl to 2ɔvynoj en Fal. I would, it had been of horse.voWhered shall I find one, that can steal well?, for a fine thief, of two and twenty, or thereabout, I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thank'd for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous, I laud them, I praise them. a rotav{{ P. Henry. Bardolph, P. Henry. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancafter, to my brother John. This to my lord of Weftmorland; go, Peto, to horfe; for thou and I have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. Jack, meet me to morrow morrow in the Temple Hall at two o'clock in the afternoon, there shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive mony and order for their furniture. The Land is burning, Percy ftands on high;- Fal. Rare words! brave world! hoftefs, my breakoved I faft, come: í ynsliv to aysb s Oh, I could with, this tavern were my drum! [Exeunt. Grado y big voy many als 1 year em og :931 evigot Is de base vial of bol ini ya of side bait Had sons for Y&И lift b'ytiɔsq as I und SCENE changes to SHREWSBURY. yreddor edi 20:00 s @w30 001 OJ Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, and Dowglas. HOT-SPUR. alduob & uidoso alveg Jen on on ELL faid, my noble Scot; if speaking ast you truth,abasia bong W In this fine age, were not thought flattery, Should go fo gen'ral currant through the World. The tongues of foothers. But a braver place No man fo potent breathes upon the ground, Enter a Messenger. Hot, Do, and 'tis well What letters haft thou -wn. I 7 there brol of 11tol allá 182 4 can but thank you.id T adaf indro MayThese come from your father, C3 Hot Lastera from him? why comes he not himself? Worom Mel Meff. He cannot come, my lord, he's grievous fick. Hot. Heav'ns! how has he the leifure to be fick In fuch a juftling time? Who leads his Power; Under whofe government come they along? Me. His letters bear his mind, not I his mind. Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Me. He did, my lord, four days ere I fet forth: And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his phyficians. Wor. I would, the ftate of time had firft been whole, Ere he by fickness had been vifited; His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now? droop now? this fickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprize; 'Tis catching hither, even to our Camp. Could not fo foon be drawn: nor thought he meet That with our small conjunction we fhould on, For, as he writes, there is no quailing now; Of all our purposes. What fay you to it? All at one Caft? to fet fo rich a Main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? Dow. Faith, and fo we should; We We now may boldly fpend, upon the hope Of what is to come in: A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the Devil and Mifchance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet I would your father had been here: Hot. You ftrain too far I rather of his abfence make this ufe: It lends a luftre, and more great opinion, Than if the Earl were here: for men must think, Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Dow. As heart can think; there is not fuch a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear, Enter Sir Richard Vernon. f Hot. My coufin Fernon, welcome, by my foul! Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmorland, fev'n thousand ftrong, Is marching hither, with Prince John of Lançafter. Hot. No harm; what more? |