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Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers, Give then such instances of loss?
Bard. Who, he ?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
North. How doth my son, and brother?
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
North. Why, he is dead.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: * Lace.
+ An attestation of its ravage. VOL. II,
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin,
Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance,* wearied and out-breath'd To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few,t his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in his camp), Being bruited once, took fire and heat away From the best temper'd courage in his troops: For from his metal was his party steel’d; Which once in him abated, all the rest Turn’d on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 'Gan vailI his stomach, and did grace the shame Of those that turn’d their backs; and, in his flight, Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all Is,-that the king hath won; and hath sent out
speedy power to encounter you, my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster, And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick, Being sick, have in some measure made me well : And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, Like strengthless hinges, buckleg under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,
* Return of blows. # Let fall.
Are thrice themselves : hence therefore, thou nice* crutch;
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
strongly apprehended, could restrain
Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble lord,
And they did fight with queasiness,* constrain'd,
North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
SCENE II.-London. A Street.
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 owed I it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to girdę at me: The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent 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 overwhelmed 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 whoreson mandrake, il thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate T 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 fledged. will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is
* Against their stomachs. + High and low.
* Owned. Å Gibe.
| A root supposed to have the shape of a man. A little figure cut in an agate.
almost out of mine, I can assure him.-What said master Dumbleton about the satin for my short cloak, and slops ?
Page. He said, Sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security.
Fal. Let him be damned like a glutton! may his tongue be hotter !-A whoreson Achitophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand,* and then stand upon security! - The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorought with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon-security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I look'd he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends 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 be see, though he have his own lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph ? Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's, 'and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. I
Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and an ATTENDANT. Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the prince for striking him about Bardolph. Fal. Wait
close, I will not see him. Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster.
Ch. Just What, to York ? Call him back again.
Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of anything good.Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.
Atten. Sir John,
Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not wars ? is there not employment? Doth'not the king lack subjects ? do not the rebels need soldiers ? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
Atten. You mistake me, Sir.
Fal. Why, Sir, did I say you were an honest man ? Setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so. * Keep him in expectation.
+ In their debt. * Alluding to an old proverb : Who goes to Westminster for a wife, to St. Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a horse, may meet with a whore, a knave, and a jade.