Shadow.
Moul.
Here, if it please you.
Shal.
What think you, Sir John? a good limb'd fellow:
young, strong, and of good friends.
Fal.
Is thy name Mouldy?
Moul.
Yea, if it please you.
Fal.
'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha; most excellent, i'faith. Things
that are mouldy, lack use: very singular good. Well
said, Sir John, very well said.
Fal.
Prick him.
Moul.
I was prickt well enough before, if you could
have let me alone: my old dame will be undone, now,
for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery; you
-- 37 --
need not to have prickt me, there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
* note Fal.
Go to: peace, Mouldy, you shall go, Mouldy;
it is time you were spent.
Moul.
Spent?
Shal.
Peace, fellow, peace: stand aside: know you
where you are? For the other, Sir John—Let me see:
Simon Shadow.
Fal.
Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: he's
like to be a cold soldier.
Shal.
Where's Shadow?
Shad.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Shadow, whose son art thou?
Shad.
My mother's son, Sir.
Fal.
Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy father's
shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow
of the male: it is often so, indeed.
Shal.
Do you like him, Sir John?
Fal.
Shadow will serve for a summer! prick him; for
we have a number of shadows to fill up the musterbook.
Shal.
Thomas Wart.
Fal.
Where's he?
Wart.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Is thy name Wart?
Wart.
Yea, Sir.
Fal.
Thou art a very ragged wart.
Shal.
Shall I prick him down, Sir John?
Fal.
It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon
his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins:
prick him no more.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha, you can do it, Sir; you can do it:
I commend you well. Francis Feeble.
Feeble.
Here, Sir.
Shal.
What trade art thou, Feeble?
Feeble.
A woman's tailor, Sir.
-- 38 --
Shal.
Shall I prick him, Sir?
Fal.
You may: but if he had been a man's tailor, he
would have prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes
in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a woman's
petticoat?
Feeble.
I will do my good will, Sir; you can have no
more.
Fal.
Well said, good woman's tailor; well said, courageous
Feeble: thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful
dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's
tailor well, master Shallow; deep master Shallow.
Feeble.
I would Wart might have gone, Sir.
Fal.
I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot
put him to be a private soldier, that is the leader of so
many thousands. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
Feeble.
It shall suffice.
Fal.
I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is
the next?
Shal.
Peter Bulcalf of the green.
Fal.
Yea, marry, let us see Bulcalf.
Bul.
Here, Sir.
Fal.
Trust me, a likely fellow. Come, prick me
Bulcalf, till he roar again.
Bul.
Oh, good my Lord Captain.
Fal.
What, dost thou roar before thou'rt prick'd?
Bul.
Oh, Sir, I am a diseased man.
Fal.
What disease hast thou?
Bul.
A whorson cold, Sir; a cough, Sir, which I
caught with ringing in the King's affairs, upon his
coronation day, Sir.* note
Fal.
Come, thou shalt go to the wars, in a gown: we
will have away thy cold; and I will take such order, that
thy friends shall ring for thee. Is here all?
Shal.
There is two more called than your number,
you must have but four here, Sir; and so, I pray you,
go in with me to dinner.
-- 39 --
Fal.
Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth,
master Shallow.
Shal.
O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay
all night in the windmill, in Saint George's-fields?
Fal.
No more of that, good master Shallow, no more
of that.
Shal.
Ha! it was a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork
alive?
Fal.
She lives, master Shallow.
Shal.
She never could away with me.
Fal.
Never, never: she would always say, she could
not abide master Shallow.
Shal.
By the mass, I could anger her to the heart:
she was then a Bona-Roba. Doth she hold her own well?
Fal.
Old, old, master Shallow.
Shal.
Nay, she must be old, she cannot chuse but be
old; certain she's old, and had Robin Night-work by old
Night-work, before I came to Clement's-inn.
Sil.
That's fifty-five years ago.
Shal.
Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that
that this Knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I
well?
Fal.
We have heard the chimes at midnight, master
Shallow.
Shal.
That we have, that we have, in faith, Sir John, we
have: our watch-word was, Hem, boys. Come, let's to
dinner; oh the days that we have seen! come, come.
Bul.
Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my friend,
and here is four Harry ten shillings, in French crowns,
for you: in very truth, Sir, I had as lief be hang'd,
Sir, as go; and yet, for mine own part, Sir, I do not care,
but rather because I am unwilling, and for mine own
part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, Sir,
I did not care for mine own part so much.
[Aside to Bard.
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Mould.
And, good master corporal captain, for my old
dame's sake, stand my friend: she hath nobody to do
any thing about her, when I am gone; and she's old and
cannot help herself: you shall have forty, Sir.
-- 40 --
Bard.
Go to; stand aside.
Feeble.
I care not; a man can die but once; we owe
heav'n a death, I will never bear a base mind: if it be
my destiny, so; if it be not, so. No man is too good
to serve his prince; and let it go which way it will, he
that dies this year, is quit for the next.
Bard.
Well said; thou art a good fellow.
Feeble.
'Faith, I will bear no base mind.
Fal.
Come, Sir, which men shall I have?
Shal.
Four of which you please.
Bard.
Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to
free Mouldy and Bulcalf.
Fal.
Go to; well.
Shal.
Come, Sir John, which four will you have?
Fal.
Do you chuse for me.
Shal.
Marry then, Mouldy, Bulcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.
Fal.
Mouldy and Bulcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at
home till you are past service: and for your part, Bulcalf,
grow till you come unto it: I will none of you.
Shal.
Sir John, Sir John, do not your self wrong:
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd
with the best.
Fal.
Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to chuse
a man? care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature,
bulk, and big semblance of a man? Give me the spirit,
master Shallow. Here's Wart, you see what a ragged
appearance it is: he shall charge you and discharge you
with the motion of a pewterer's hammer. And this
same half-fac'd fellow Shadow, give me this man, he
presents no mark to the enemy; the foe-man may with as
great aim level at the edge of a penknife: and, for a retreat,
how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor,
run off. O, give me the spare men, and spare me the
great ones. Put me a musket into Feeble's hand, Bardolph.
Bard.
Hold, Feeble, traverse; thus, thus.
Fal.
Come, manage me your caliver: so, very well,
go to, very good, exceeding good. Well said, Feeble,
thou art a good scab; hold, there's a tester for thee.
-- 41 --
Shal.
He is not his craft-master, he doth not do it
right. I remember, at Mile-end Green, when I lay at
Clement's-inn; I was then Sir Dagonet; in Arthur's show,
there was a little quiver fellow, and he would manage
you his piece, thus; and he would about, and about,
and come you in, and come you in: rah, tah, tah,
would he say: bounce, would he say, and away again
would he go, and again would he come: I shall never
see such a fellow.
Fal.
These fellows will do well. Master Shallow,
heav'n keep you; farewel, master Silence. I will not use
many words with you; fare you well, gentlemen both.
I thank you, I must a dozen mile, to-night. Bardolph,
give the soldiers coats.
Shal.
Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your affairs,
and send us peace! As you return, visit my house.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peradventure I
will with you to the court.
Fal.
I would you would, master Shallow.
Shal.
Go to: I have spoke at a word. Fare you well.
[Exeunt Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Fare you well, gentlemen. On, Bardolph; lead
the men away [Exeunt Bardolph and Recruits].
* note I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. How
subject we old men are to this vice of lying! this same
starv'd Justice hath done nothing but prated to me of
the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done
about Turnbal-street; and every third word a lye, more
duly paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do
remember him at Clement's-inn, like a man made after
supper of a cheese-paring. When he was naked, he
was for all the world like a forked radish, with a head
fantastically carved upon it with a knife. He was so
forlorn, that his dimensions, to any thick sight were
invisible. He was the very Genius of famine, yet
letcherous as a monkey, and the whores call'd him
-- 42 --
Mandrake: he came ever in the rereward of the fashion,
and sung those tunes that he heard the carmen whistle,
and sware they were his Fancies, or his Good-nights.
And now is this* note vice's dagger become a Squire; and
now hath he land and beeves. Well, I will be acquainted
with him, if I return; and it shall go hard,
but I will make him a philosopher's stone to me. If
the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason,
in the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let
time shape, and there's an end.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
An open Country, in Yorkshire.
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and Colevile, meeting Westmorland.† note
West.
Health and fair greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.
York.
Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace:
What doth concern your coming?
West.
Then, my Lord,
Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, goaded with rage,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary;
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend Father, and these noble Lords,
Had not been here to dress the ugly form,
Of base and bloody insurrection,
With your fair honours. You, my Lord Archbishop,
-- 43 --
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd;* note
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?
York.
Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.
Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd,
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours,
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
And we must bleed for it: of which disease
Our late King Richard, being infected, dy'd.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmorland,
I take not on me here as a physician,
Nor do I as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men:
Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to shew in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
We are deny'd access unto his person,
Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong† note.
West.
When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely General,
To know your griefs, to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
-- 44 --
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb.
Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley.
West.
That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.
York.
Then take, my Lord of Westmorland, this schedule,
For this contains our general grievances:
Each several article herein redress'd,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form;
And present executions of our wills,
To us, and to our purposes confin'd;
We come within our awful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
West.
This will I shew the General. Please you, Lords,
In sight of both our battles, we may meet
And either end in peace; which heav'n so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords,
Which must decide it.
York.
My Lord, we will do so.
[Exit West.
SCENE V.
Mowb.
There is a thing within my bosom tells me,
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast.
Fear you not that: if we can make our peace,
Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall insist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb.
Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That ev'ry slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action.
York.
No, no, my Lord, note this; the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
-- 45 --
That plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
Hast.
Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his pow'r, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.
York.
'Tis very true:
And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb.
Be it so.
Here is return'd my Lord of Westmorland.
Enter Westmorland.
West.
The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your Lordship
To meet his Grace, just distance 'tween our armies?
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Bosworth Field.
A Parley of Drums and Trumpets.
Enter York, Mowbray, Hastings, &c. meeting Westmorland, and Prince John of Lancaster.
Lan.
You're well encounterd here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, my gentle Lord Archbishop,
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, I grieve to see you here.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sun-shine of his favour,
Would he abuse the count'nance of the King,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
It is ev'n so. Are you not, my Lord,
To us, the Speaker in his Parliament:
To us, th' imagin'd voice of Heav'n itself;
-- 46 --
The very opener and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heav'n,
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the rev'rence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n,
As a false favourite doth his Prince's name,
In deeds dishon'rable? You've taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of heav'n,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And both against the peace of heav'n and him,
Have here upswarm'd them.
York.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my Lord of Westmorland,
The time mis-order'd doth in common sense
Croud us and crush us to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court:
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,
With grant of our most just and right desire;
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
Stoop tamely to the foot of Majesty.
Mowb.
If not, we ready are to try our fortunes,
To the last man.
Hast.
And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt:
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them.
And so success of mischief shall be borne,
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
While England shall have generation.
Lan.
You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
West.
Pleaseth your Grace, to answer them directly,
How far forth you do like their articles?
Lan.
I like them all, and do allow them well:
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
-- 47 --
My Lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my life they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your pow'rs into their several counties,
As we will ours; and here between the armies
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love and amity. Some wine.
York.
I take your Princely word, for these redresses.
Lan.
I give it you; and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
[Drinks.
Hast.
Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part:
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain.
[Exit Colevile.
York.
To you, my noble Lord of Westmorland.
[Drinks.
West.
I pledge your Grace: and if you knew what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
Shall shew itself more openly, hereafter.
York.
I do not doubt you.
West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord and gentle cousin Mowbray.
Mowb.
You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.
York.
Against ill chances men are ever merry,
But heaviness fore-runs the good event.
Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowb.
So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
[A Shout.
Lan.
The word of peace is render'd; hark! they shout.
Mowb.
This had been chearful, after victory.
York.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither party loser* note.
-- 48 --
Lan.
Go, my Lord.
And let our army be discharged too;
[Exit West.
And good my Lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.
York.
Go, good Lord Hastings:
And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
[Exit Hastings.
SCENE VII
Enter Westmorland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
West.
The leaders having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
Lan.
They know their duties well.
[A Shout.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast.
My Lord, our army is dispers'd, already:
Like youthful steers unyok'd they took their course,
East, west, north, south: or, like a school broke up,
Each hurries towards his home and sporting-place.
West.
Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:
And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray;
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Enter Guards.
Mowb.
Is this proceeding just and honourable?
York.
Will you thus break your faith?
Lan.
* note I pawn'd you none:
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain: which by mine honour
I will perform with a most christian care.
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.
-- 49 --
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray,
Heav'n and not we have safely fought, to-day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Falstaff and Colevile.
Fal.
What's your name, Sir? of what condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?
Cole.
I am a Knight, Sir: and my name is Colevile
of the dale.
Fal.
Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is
your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place; a place deep enough: so shall you
still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole.
Are you not Sir John Falstaff?
Fal.
As good a man as he, Sir, whoe'er I am: do ye
yield, Sir, or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat, they
are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole.
I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmorland.
Lan.
The heat is past, follow no farther now,
Call in the pow'rs, good cousin Westmorland.
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been, all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.
Fal.
I would be sorry, my Lord, but it should be
thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the
reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow,
or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I speeded hither with the
very extremest inch of possibility. I have founder'd
ninescore and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I
am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir
-- 50 --
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious Knight, and
valorous enemy: but what of that? he saw me, and
yielded: that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow
of Rome, I came, saw, and overcame.
Lan.
It was more of his courtesy, than your deserving.
Fal.
I know not; here he is, and here I yield him;
and I beseech your Grace, let it be booked with the rest
of this day's deeds; or by the lord I will have it in a
particular ballad, else; with mine own picture on the
top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course
if I be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine
you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the element, which shew like pins heads to her; believe
not the word of the noble. Therefore let me have
right, and let desert mount.
Lan.
Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal.
Let it shine, then!
Lan.
Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal.
Let it do something, my good Lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?
Cole.
It is, my Lord.
Lan.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal.
And a famous true subject took him.
Cole.
I am, my Lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been rul'd by me,
* noteYou should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they sold themselves; but thou,
like a kind fellow, gav'st thyself away, gratis; and I
thank thee for thee.
SCENE IX.
Enter Westmorland and Soldiers.
Lan.
Now have you left pursuit?
-- 51 --
West.
Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
Lan.
Send Colevile then, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution.
[Exit Colevile, guarded.
And now dispatch we toward the court, my Lords;
I hear the King, my father, is sore sick:
Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear, to comfort him:
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal.
My Lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
through Glo'stershire; and when you come to court, pray,
stand in your good report, my Lord.
Lan.
Fare you well, Falstaff; I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
[Exit.
Fal.
I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than
your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded
boy doth not love me; a man cannot make
him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine.
There's never any of these demure boys come to any
proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind
of male green-sickness; and then when they marry,
they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards;
which some of us should be, too, but for inflammation.
A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation
in it; it ascends me into the brain, dries me there
all the foolish, dull, and crudy vapours which environ it;
makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble,
fiery, and delectable shapes; which, deliver'd o'er to the
voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent
wit. The second property of your excellent sherris, is
the warming of the blood, which before, cold and settled,
left the liver white and pale; which is the badge
of pusillanimity and cowardise; but the sherris warms
it, and makes it course from the inwards, to the parts
extreme; it illuminateth the face, which, as a beacon,
gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man,
to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty
spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart; who
great, and puft up with this retinue, doth any deed of
-- 52 --
courage: and this valour comes of sack. So that
skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack, for that sets
it a work; and learning a meer hoard of gold, kept by a
devil, till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use.
Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant; for the
cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath,
like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and
till'd, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and
good store of fertile sack, that he is become very hot
and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human
principle I would teach them, should be, to forswear thin
potations, and to addict themselves to sack.
[Exeunt.* note
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
