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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].

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ACT III. 7 ^note SCENE I. The Palace in London. Enter King Henry in his Night-Gown, with a Page.

K. Henry.
Go, call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,
And well consider of them. Make good speed. [Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest Subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft Nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, Sleep, ly'st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And husht with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,
Under the Canopies of costly State,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull God, why ly'st thou with the vile
In loathsom beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
⁸ ^noteA watch-case, or a common larum bell?

-- 288 --

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious Surge;
And in the Visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slip'ry shrouds,
That, with the hurley, death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude?
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a King? ⁹ ^note

then, happy lowly clown,
Uneasy lyes the head, that wears a Crown. SCENE II. Enter Warwick and Surrey.

War.
Many good morrows to your Majesty!

K. Henry.
Is it good morrow, lords?

War.
'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Henry.
¹ ^note

Why, then, good morrow to you. Well, my lords,

-- 289 --

Have you read o'er the letters I sent you?

War.
We have, my Liege.

K. Henry.
Then you perceive the body of our Kingdom,
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger, near the heart of it.

Wor.
² ^note

It is but as a body yet distemper'd,
Which to its former strength may be restor'd,
With good advice and little medicine;
³ ^note

My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

K. Henry.
Oh heav'n, that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make Mountains level, and the Continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the Sea; and, other times, to see
The beachy girdle of the Ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how Chances mock,
And Changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! ⁴ ^note

O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,

-- 290 --

Wou'd shut the book, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten Years gone,
Since Richard and Northumberland, great Friends,
Did feast together; and in two years after
Were they at wars. It is but eight years since,
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who, like a brother, toil'd in my affairs,
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, ev'n to the eyes of Richard
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by?
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To War.
When Richard, with his eye brim-full of tears,⁵ ^note
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy.
‘Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
‘My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my Throne:’
Though then, Heav'n knows, I had no such intent;
But that Necessity so bow'd the State,
That I and Greatness were compell'd to kiss:
‘The time will come, thus did he follow it,
‘The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,
‘Shall break into corruption:’ so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition,
And the division of our amity.

War.
There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the Nature of the times deceas'd;
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And by the necessary form of this,⁶ ^note

King Richard might create a perfect guess,

-- 291 --

That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness,
Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on You.

K. Henry.
Are these things then necessities?* ^note

Then let us meet them like necessities;
And that same word even now cries out on us.
They say, the Bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.

War.
It cannot be:
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your Grace
To go to bed. Upon my life, my lord,
The Pow'rs, that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill,
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add
Unto your sickness.

K. Henry.
I will take your counsel;
And were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.⁷ ^note [Exeunt.

-- 292 --

SCENE III. Changes to Justice Shallow's Seat in Gloucestershire. Enter Shallow and Silence, Justices; with Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf.

Shal.

Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, Sir; an early stirrer, ⁸ ^noteby the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence?

Sil.

Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

Shal.

And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

Sil.

Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.

Shal.

By yea, and nay, Sir, I dare say, my cousin William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford still, is he not?

Sil.

Indeed, Sir, to my cost.

Shal.

He must then to the Inns of Court shortly. I was once of Clement's Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

Sil.

You were call'd lusty Shallow then, cousin.

Shal.

I was call'd any thing, and I would have done any thing, indeed, too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man, you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again; and I may say to you, we knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

-- 293 --

Sil.

This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about Soldiers?

Shal.

The same Sir John, the very same. I saw him break Schoggan's head at the Court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus high; and the very same day I did fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's-Inn. O the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead?

Sil.

We shall all follow, cousin.

Shal.

Certain, 'tis certain, very sure, very sure. Death (as the Psalmist saith) is certain to all, all shall die. How a good yoke of Bullocks at Stamford Fair?

Sil.

Truly, cousin, I was not there.

Shal.

Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?

Sil.

Dead, Sir.

Shal.

Dead!—see, see—he drew a good bow. And dead?—he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead!—he would have ⁹ ^noteclapt in the clowt at twelve score, and carried you a fore-hand shaft a ¹ ^notefourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see.—How a score of ewes now?

Sil.

Thereafter as they be. A score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds.

Shal.

And is old Double dead?

SCENE IV. Enter Bardolph, and Page.

Sil.

Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as I think.

Shal.

Good morrow, honest gentlemen.

Bard.

I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?

-- 294 --

Shal.

I am Robert Shallow, Sir, a poor Esquire of this Country, one of the King's Justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure with me?

Bard.

My captain, Sir, commends him to you, my captain Sir John Falstaff; a tall gentleman, by heav'n! and a most gallant leader.

Shal.

He greets me well Sir, I knew him a good back-sword man. How doth the good Knight? may I ask, how my lady his wife doth?

Bard.

Sir, pardon, a soldier is better accommodated than with a wife.

Shal.

It is well said, Sir; and it is well said indeed too, better accommodated—it is good, yea, indeed, is it; good phrases, surely, are, and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated—it comes of accommodo; ² ^notevery good, a good phrase.

Bard.

Pardon me, Sir, I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? By this day, I know not the phrase, but I will maintain the word with my sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command. Accommodated, that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated; or, when a man is, being whereby he may be thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent thing.

-- 295 --

SCENE V. Enter Falstaff.

Shal.

It is very just.—Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand: give me your Worship's good hand. Trust me, you look well, and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir John.

Fal.

I am glad to see you well, good master Robert Shallow.—Master Sure-card as I think,—

Shal.

No, Sir John, it is my cousin Silence; in Commission with me.

Fal.

Good master Silence, it well befits, you should be of the peace.

Sil.

Your good Worship is welcome.

[Embraces him.

Fal.

Fie, this is hot weather.—Gentlemen; have you provided me here half a dozen of sufficient men?

Shal.

Marry, have we, Sir. Will you sit?

Fal.

Let me see them, I beseech you.

Shal.

Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so. Yea, marry, Sir. Ralph Mouldy:—let them appear as I call. Let them do so, let them do so. Let me see, where is Mouldy?

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

-- 296 --

need not to have prickt me, there are other men fitter to go out than I.

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, but not of the father's substance.

Shal.

Do you like him, Sir John?

Fal.

Shadow will serve for summer; prick him; for we have a number of shadows do fill up the muster-book.³ ^note

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.

-- 297 --

Feeble.

Here, Sir.

Fal.

What trade art thou, Feeble?

Feeble.

A woman's tailor, Sir.

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 battel, 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 Bull-calf of the Green.

Fal.

Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.

Bul.

Here, Sir.

Fal.

Trust me, a likely fellow. Come, prick me Bull-calf, till he roar again.

Bul.

Oh, good my lord captain,—

Fal.

What, dost thou roar before th'art prickt?

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.

Fal.

Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown:

-- 298 --

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.

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 wind-mill 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 Night-work 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 ⁴ ^noteBona-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!—hah, 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.

-- 299 --

Bul. [aside to Bardolph]

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 my own part, Sir, I do not care, but rather because I am unwilling, and for my own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, Sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.

Bard.

Go to; stand aside.

Moul.

And good master corporal captain, for my old Dame's sake stand my friend; she hath no body to do any thing about her when I am gone, and she's old and cannot help her self; you shall have forty, Sir.

Bard.

Go to; stand aside.

Feeble.

I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God 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:—⁵ ^noteI have three pound to free Mouldy and Bull-calf.

Fal.

Go to: well.

Shal.

Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

Fal.

Do you chuse for me.

Shal.

Marry then, Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and Shallow.

Fal.

Mouldy, and Bull-calf—For you, Mouldy, stay at home till you are past service; and for your part, Bull-calf, grow till you come unto it. I will none of you.

-- 300 --

Shal.

Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself 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; come off and on, ⁶ ^noteswifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-fac'd fellow Shadow, give me this man, he presents no mark to the enemy; the fo-man may with as great aim level at the edge of a pen-knife. 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 caliver⁷ ^note into Wart's hand, Bardolph.

Bard.

Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.

Fal.

Come, manage me your caliver. So, very well, go to, very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chopt, ⁸ ^notebald shot. Well said, Wart, thou art a good scab. Hold, there is a tester for thee.

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, ⁹ ^note

I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's

-- 301 --

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, God 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 Shal. and Sil.

Fal.

Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bardolph, lead the men away. As I return, I will fetch off these Justices. 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 prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbal-street; and every third word a lie, 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 carv'd upon

-- 302 --

it with a knife. He was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were invincible. He was the very Genius of famine, yet leacherous as a Monkey, and the whores call'd him Mandrake. He came ever in the rere-ward of the fashion; and sung those tunes to the ¹ ^note

over-scutcht huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his Fancies, or his Goodnights. ² ^noteAnd now is this Vice's dagger become a Squire, and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him, and I'll be sworn, he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he broke his head for crouding among the Marshal's men. I saw it, and told John of Gaunt he ³ ^notebeat his own name; for you might have truss'd him and all his apparel into an Eel-skin; the case of a treble hoboy was a Mansion for him—a Court—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 ⁴ ^note

philosopher's two stones to me. ⁵ ^noteIf the young Dace be a bait for the old Pike, I

-- 303 --

see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there's an end.

[Exeunt.

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