with my great toe: it is no matter, if I do halt, I have the wars for my colour, and my penfion fhall seem the more reasonable: a good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn defeafes to commodity. [Exeunt. Changes to the Archbishop of York's Palace. Enter Archbishop of York, Hastings, Thomas Mowbray (Earl Marshal) and Lord Bardolph. HUS have you heard our caufe, and know York. TH our means: Now, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Mowb. I well allow th' occafions of our arms, How in our means we should advance ourselves, [thus; Bard. The queftion then, lord Haftings, ftandeth Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point: York, York. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hot-fpur's cafe at Shrewsbury. Bard. It was, my lord, who lin'd himself with hope, Proper to madmen, led his Pow'rs to death, Haft. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt We fee th' appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; What do we then but draw a-new the model To build at all? much more, in this great Work, (Which is almoft to pluck a Kingdom down, And set another up) fhould we furvey The plot of fituation, and the model; Confent upon a fure foundation, Queftion furveyors, know our own estate, How able fuch a work to undergo, To weigh against his oppofite: or else, We fortify in paper and in figures, Ufing the names of men instead of men :Like one, that draws the model of a house Beyond his pow'r to build it: who, half through, Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created coft A naked fubject to the weeping clouds, And wafte for churlish winter's tyranny. Haft. Hoft. Grant, that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be ftill-born; and that we now poffeft The utmost man of expectation: I think, we are a body ftrong enough, Ev`n as we are, to equal with the King. [fand? Bard. What, is the King but five and twenty thouHaft. To us, no more; nay, not fo much, lord Bardolph. For his divifions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads; one Pow'r against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce, a third Muft take up us: fo is the unfirm King In three divided; and his coffers found s With hollow poverty and emptinefs. York. That he fhould draw his fev'ral ftrengths And come against us in full puiffance,. Haft. If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Bard. Who, is it like, fhould lead his forces hither? York. Let us on: And publish the occafion of our arms. The Commonwealth is fick of their own choice; An habitation giddy and unfure Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. So, So, fo, thou common dog, didft thou difgorge And now thou would't eat thy dead vomit up, Cry'ft now, O Earth, yield us that King again, ACT II. SCENE I. A Street in LONDO N. Enter Hoftefs, with two Officers, Phang and Snare. HOSTESS. R. Phang, have you enter'd the action? Hoft. Where's your yeoman? is he a lufty yeoman? Will he ftand to it? Phang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Hoft. O Lord, ay, good Mr. Snare. Snare. Here, here. Phang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. and all. Snare. It may chance coft fome of us our lives: for he will flab. Heft. Alas-the-day! take heed of him; he ftab'd me in mine own house, and that most beastly; he cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out. out. He will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. Phang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thruft. Hoft. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow. Phang. If I but fift him once; if he come but within my vice. Hoft. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he is an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Mr. Phang, hold him fure; good Mr. Snare, let him not fcape. He comes continually to Pie-corner, faving your manhoods, to buy a faddle: and he is indited to dinner to the Lubbar's-head in Lombard-ftreet, to Mr. Smooth's the Silkman. I pray ye, fince my action is enter'd, and my cafe fo openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long Lone, for a poor lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fub'd off, and fub'd off, from this day to that day, that it is a fhame to be thought on. There is no honefty in fuch dealing, unless a woman fhould be made an Afs and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Enter Falstaff, Bardolph, and the boy. Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmfey - nose knave Bardolph with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Mr. Phang and Mr. Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Fal. How now? whofe mare's dead? what's the matter? Phang. Sir John, I arreft you at the fuit of Mrs. Quickly. Fal. Away, varlets; draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the kennel. Hoft.Throw me in the kennel? I'll throw thee in the kennel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou baftardly rogue. Murder, murder! O thou honey-fucle vilG lain, |