Boy.
Sil.
Here I think come two of Sir John Falstaffe's
Men.
Shal.
Good Morrow honest Gentlemen.
Bar.
Pray which is Justice Shallow?
-- 32 --
Shal.
I am Robert Shallow Sir, a poor Esquire of
this County, and one of the King's Justices of the
Peace—What is your good pleasure with me?
Bar.
My Captain Sir commends him to you, my
Captain Sir John Falstaffe, a tall Gentleman, and
a great Leader.
Shal.
He greets me well. I knew him a good
Back-Sword Man, how does the good Knight? may
I ask how the good Lady his Wife does?
Bar.
Pardon me Sir, a Soldier is better accomodated
than with a Wife.
Sal.
It is well said, it is well said indeed; better
accommodated is very significant. Right. Accommodated!
it comes from Accommodo, a very good Phrase.
Bar.
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 be thought to
be accommodated, which is an excellent thing.
Enter Falstaffe.
Shal.
It is very just—Look here comes good Sir
John himself: give me your 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 Mr. Robert
Shallow. Mr. Surecard as I take it.
Shal.
No Sir John, it is my Cozen Silence, in
Commission with me.
Fal.
Good Mr. Silence, it well befits you be of the
Peace.
Sil.
Your good Worship is welcome.
-- 33 --
Fal.
Well Gentlemen, have you provided me
half a dozen sufficient Men?
Shal.
Marry have we Sir, will you please to sit?
Fal.
Let me see 'em I beseech you.
Shal.
Where's the Roll? where's the Roll? Let
me see, let me see. So, so, so,—Ralph Mouldy—Let
'em appear as I call? let 'em do so? Let me see
where's Mouldy?
Enter 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?
Mould.
Yes an't please you.
Fal.
Prick him down.
Moul.
I was well enough before, if you would
have let me alone: my old Dame will be undone
now for one to do her Husbandry, and her Drudgery;
you 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.
Sha.
Peace Fellow, Peace, stand aside, know you
where you are? For the other, Sir John. Let me
see—Simon Shadow.
Fal.
I marry let me see him sit under me, he's
like to be a cold Soldier.
Shal.
Where's Shadow?
Enter Shadow.
Shad.
Here Sir.
Fal.
Shadow, whose Son art thou?
Shad.
My Mothers Son, Sir.
Fal.
Thy Mothers Son? like enough, and thy
Fathers Shadow. So the Son of the Female is the
-- 34 --
Shadow of the Male; it is often so indeed, but not
of the Fathers Substance.
Shal.
Do yo like him Sir John?
Fal.
Shadow will serve for Summer, prick him;
for we have a number of Shadows to fill up the Muster
Roll.
Shal.
Thomas Wart.
Enter Wart.
Fal.
Where's he?
War.
Here Sir.
Shal.
Shall I prick him down? Sir John.
Fal.
It were Superfluous, his Apparel hangs by
Geometry, so do his Limbs; no, prick him not.
Shal.
Ha, ha, ha, you can do it Sir you can do it:
I commend your Wit—Francis Feeble.
Enter Feeble.
Feeb.
Here Sir.
Shal.
What is your Trade Feeble?
Feeb.
A Womans Taylor Sir.
Shal.
Shall I prick him, Sir?
Fal.
You may; wilt thou make as many holes
in an Enemies Battail, as thou hast done in a Womans
Petticoat?
Feeb.
I will do my endeavour Sir, you can have
no more.
Fal.
Well said good Womans Taylor, well said
couragious Feeble, thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful Dove, or most magnanimous Mouse. Prick
down the Womans Taylor. Well Mr. Shallow, deep
Mr. Shallow.
Feeb.
I would Wart might have gone too, Sir.
Fal.
I would thou wert a Man's Taylor, that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot
make him a Private Soldier, who is leader of
-- 35 --
so many Thousand. Let that suffice most forcible
Feeble.
Feeb.
It shall suffice.
Fal.
I am beholding to you. Who is the next?
Shal.
Peter Bullcalfe of the Green. Enter Bullcalfe
Fal.
Ay marry: Let us see Bulcalfe.
Bul.
Here Sir.
Fal.
Trust me a lusty Fellow, come prick me
Bulcalfe till he roar again.
Bul.
O good my Lord Captain!
Fal.
What! dost thou roar before thou art prickt?
Bul.
Oh Sir I am a diseas'd Man.
Fal.
What Disease hast thou?
Bul.
A whorson Cold Sir, a Cough Sir, which I
caught with Ringing in the Kings affairs upon his
Coronation Day.
Fal.
Come we will have away thy Cold; and I
will take such order that thy Friends shall Ring
for thee. Is here all?
Shal.
There are two more called than your Number.
You should have but Four here; and so I pray
you Sir, let me have your good Company to Dinner.
Fal.
I'll drink a Glass with you, but I cannot stay
Dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth Mr.
Shallow.
Shal.
O Sir John, do you remember since we lay
all Night in the Windmil in St. George's Field?
Fal.
No more of that good Mr. Shallow, no more
of that.
Shal.
It was a merry Night, and is Joan Nightworke
alive?
Fal.
She lives Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
She never could endure me.
Fal.
Never.
Shal.
I could Anger her to the Heart. No, no,
she could never endure me. She was then a Bonaroba,
does she hold her own well?
-- 36 --
Fal.
Old, old, Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
Nay, she must be old, she cannot chuse but
be old; she had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork,
before I came to Clements Inn.
Fal.
That's Fifty Five Years ago.
Shal.
Ah Cozen Silence! that thou had'st seen
what this Knight and I have seen. Ah Sir John!
said I well.
Fal.
We have heard the Chimes at Midnight
Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
That we have i'faith Sir John; our Watchword
was Hem Boys, come let's to Dinner. O the
Days that we have seen?
[Exeunt Falstaffe, Shallow and Silence.
Bul.
Good Mr. Corporal Bardolfe, stand my
Friend, here are four Harry Ten Shillings in French
Crowns for you; in very truth Sir, I'd as lief be
hang'd as go, and yet for my own part 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 my own part so much.
Bar.
Go too. Stand aside.
Moul.
And good Mr. Corporal Captain for my old
Dame's sake stand my Friend, she has no body to
do any thing about her when I am gone, and she is
old, and cannot help her self. You shall have
Twenty Shillings Sir.
Bar.
Stand aside too.
Feeb.
I care not, a Man can dye but once; we
owe a Death, I will never bear a base Mind. If it
be my Destiny, so; if it be not, so; no Man's too
good to serve his King; and let it go which way it
will, he that dyes this Year is quit for the next.
Bar.
Well said, thou art a brave Fellow.
Feeb.
Nay, I will never bear no base Mind.
-- 37 --
Enter Falstaffe, Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Come Sir, which Men shall I have?
Shal.
Four of which you please.
Bar.
Sir a Word with you. I have Three Pound
to free Mouldy and Bulcalfe.
Fal.
Go too. 'Tis well.
Shal.
Come Sir John, which four will you have?
Fal.
Do you chuse for me.
Shal.
Marry then, Mouldy, Bulcalfe, Feeble and
Shadow.
Feeb.
Yes, yes, I'll go.
Fal.
Mouldy and Bulcalfe; for you Mouldy stay
at home till you are past Service; and for your
part Bulcalfe grow till you come to't. I'll ha' none
of you.
Shal.
Sir John, Sir John, do not your self wrong,
they are your likely'st Men; and I would have
you serv'd with the best.
Fal.
Will you tell me Mr. Shallow how to chuse
a Man? care I for the Limbs, the Stature, Bulk,
and big resemblance of a Man; give me the Spirit,
Mr. Shallow—where's Wart?
Wart.
Here, Sir,
Fal.
You see what a ragged Appearance he has, he
shall Charge and Discharge ye, with the motion of
a Pewterers Hammer, come off and on, swifter than
the Gibbets on a Brewers Bucket; and this same
half-fac'd Fellow Shadow, give me this Man, he presents
no Mark to the Enemy; the Foe may as well
aim at the edge of a Pen-knife; and for a retreat
how swiftly will this Feeble the Womans Taylor run
off. O give me the Spare-man—put me a Musket
into Feeble's Hand, Bardolfe.
Bar.
Here Feeble, Shoulder, Traverse thus.
Fal.
So; very well, go on, very good, exceeding
good. [Feeble exercises] O give me always a little
-- 38 --
lean chopt fac'd Fellow—well done Wart, there's
a Tester for thee.
Shal.
He does not do it right. I remember when
I was at Clements Inn, there was a little quiver
Fellow, and he would manage you his Piece thus;
and he would about, and about, and come in, and
come in ran-tan-tan! then 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—Farewel good
Mr. Shallow. Farewel Gentlemen both, I thank
you; I must a dozen Miles to Night. Bardolfe
give the Men Coats.
Shal.
Sir John, Give me your Hand; Heav'n
bless you and prosper your affairs, send us Peace:
when you return; pray visit my House, and let
our old Acquaintance be renew'd; peradventure
I'll to Court with you.
Fal.
Would you would, Mr. Shallow.
Shal.
Go too, I have said it. Fare-you-wel, Good
Sir John.
Exit Shallow and Silence.
Fal.
Farewel good Gentlemen. As I return I will
fetch off these Justices; I see the bottom of Justice
Shallow. How subject we old Men are to the Vice
of Lying? he has done nothing but prate of the
Feats of his Youth, and every third Word a Lye,
duer paid to the Hearer, than the Turks Tribute.
I remember him at Clements 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 the very Genius of Famine,
came ever in the very rear of the Fashion; and
now he is become an Esquire, 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
-- 39 --
Head for crouding amongst the Marshal's Men; I
saw it, and now he has Land and Beeves. If I return
I'll see him; and it shall go hard but I'll
make him a Philosophers two Stones to me. If
the young Gudgeon be a Bait for the old Pike, I see
no reason in the Law of Nature but I may snap at
him.
Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 2
SCENE The Fields near York.
Enter Archbishop of York, Mowbray, and Hastings.
Arch.
What is this Forrest call'd?
Hast.
Gualtree Forrest my Lord.
Arch.
Here stand we then, and send discoverers forth
To know the number of our Enemies.
Hast.
We have sent forth already.
Arch.
'Tis well done.
My Friends and Brothers in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
New dated Letters from Northumberland.
Their cold intent, tenure and substance thus.
He could not on the sudden raise such Forces
As suited with his Quality: whereupon
He is retir'd to try his further Fortune
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty Prayers
That our attempts may outlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of our Enemies.
Mow.
The hopes we had of him then fall to Ground,
And dash themselves to Pieces.
Hast.
Now Sir what News?
-- 40 --
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
A Mile West of this Forrest
In goodly Order comes the Enemy,
And by the Ground they cover, I judg'd their number
Near Thirty Thousand.
Mow.
Let us Survey and Face 'em in the Field.
Arch.
But who comes here?
Enter Westmorland.
Mow.
I think it is my Lord of Westmorland.
West.
Health and fair Greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.
Arch.
Speak on my Lord of Westmorland,
What does 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 it self, in base and abject Routs.
I say, if damn'd Commotion did appear
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 Lord Archbishop,
Whose See is by a Civil Power maintain'd,
Whose Beard the Silver Hand of Time has touch'd;
Whose Learning and good Letters Peace has Tutor'd,
And whose white Vestments figure Innocence:
Wherefore do you so ill Translate your self
Out of the Speech of Peace (which bears such Grace)
Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of War?
Turning your Books to Graves, your Ink to Blood,
-- 41 --
Your Pens to Launces, and your Tongue divine,
To a loud Trumpet and a point of War.
Arch.
Wherefore do this? So stands the Question.
Briefly to this End. We are diseas'd,
And with our surfeiting and wanton Hours
Have brought our selves 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 Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a Physician,
Nor do I as an Enemy to Peace,
Joyn in the Throng of Military Men.
I have in equal Ballance justly weigh'd
What Wrong our Arms may do, what Wrongs we suffer,
And find our Griefs heavier than our Offences;
And have the Summary of all our Wrongs
(When Time shall serve) to shew in Articles,
Which long e'er this we offer'd to the King,
And could by no Suit, gain our Audience:
When we are wrong'd and would' unfold our Griefs,
We are deny'd Access unto his Person,
Even by the very Men who most have wrong'd us.
West.
When ever yet was your Appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been injur'd by the King?
That you should seal this lawless bloody Book
Of forg d Rebellion, with a Seal divine?
Arch.
My noble Brothers here, and Commonwealth
I make my Quarrel in particular.
West.
There is no need of any such Redress
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mow.
Why not to him in part, and to us all?
Who feel the Bruises of the Days before,
And suffer the Condition of these Times
To lay a heavy and unequal Hand
-- 42 --
Upon our Honours.
West.
O my good Lord Mowbray!
Construe the Times to their Necessities,
And you shall say (indeed) it is the Time,
And not the King who does you Injuries.
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,
You shall enjoy 'em; and all Things forgot
That might so much as think you Enemies.
Mow.
By my Consent, we will admit no Parley.
West.
That argues but the Shame of your Offence,
A rotten Cause admits no handling.
Hast.
But has Prince John such a Commission,
With full and ample Power from his Father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what Conditions we shall stand upon?
West.
That's intended in the General's Name,
'Tis strange you make so slight a Question.
Arch.
Then take (my Lord of Westmoreland) 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 engaged with us in this great Action,
Acquitted in a true substantial Form,
We'll come within our awful Bounds again,
And freely run into the Arms of Peace.
West.
This will I shew the General, please you Lords
In sight of both the Armies we may meet
And either end in Peace (if Heaven so please)
Or to the place of Battle call the Swords,
Which must decide it.
-- 43 --
Arch.
My Lord, let it be so.
Exit West.
Mow.
There's something in my Mind forewarns me still,
That no Conditions of this Peace can stand.
Hast.
O fear not that! if we can make a Peace
Upon such full large absolute Conditions,
Our Peace shall stand as firm as a fix'd Rock.
Mow.
We shall be more suspected for this Action,
And every false or slight Occasion taken
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a Wind,
That even our Corn shall seem as light as Chass,
And good from bad find no Distinction.
Arch.
No, no, my Lord, note this. The King is weary
Of all such false, nice, picking Grievances,
His Foes are so engrafted with his Friends,
That plucking to unfix an Enemy,
He will unfasten so, and shake a Friend.
Hast.
Besides, the King has wasted his Revenge
On late Offenders, that he now does lack
The very Instruments of his Chastisement;
So that his Pow'r like a fangless Lion
May offer, but not hold.
Arch.
'Tis very true.
And therefore be assur'd my good Lord Marshal,
If we do now make our Attonement well,
Our Peace will (like a broken Limb united),
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Enter Westmoreland.
Mow.
Be it so.
But see, my Lord of Westmoreland is return'd.
West.
The Prince is here at Hand; so please your Lordships
To meet his Grace there, between both the Armies.
-- 44 --
Mow.
In Heavens name (my Lord of York) move on.
Arch.
My Lord of Westmoreland,
Be pleas'd to tell his Highness we are coming.
(Exeunt.
Enter on one Side Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland
and Officers. On the other Archbishop,
Mowbray, Hastings, Lord Bardolfe, &c.
Pr. Jo.
You're well encounter'd here my Cozen Mowbray,
Good day to you my learned Lord Archbishop,
And so to you my Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, I grieve to see you here:
That Man who sits within a Monarchs Heart,
And ripens in the Sun-shine of his Favour,
Would he abuse the Count'nance of the King,
Alas! What Mischiefs might be set a broach,
In shadow of such Greatness? with you Lord Bishop,
It is just so: Are you not my Lord,
To us the Speaker in his Parliament,
The very Opener and Intelligencer
Between the Grace, and Sanctity of Heav'n
And our dull Senses? O! Who shall believe
That you misuse the Reverence of your Place,
Employ the Countenance and Grace of Heaven
As a false Favourite does his Prince's Name
In Deeds dishonourable? You have taken up,
Under the counterfeited Zeal of Heaven,
The Subjects of Heavens Substitute (my Father)
And both against the Peace of Heaven and him,
Have rais'd these Bees and swarm'd 'em.
Arch.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your Father's Peace,
But (as I told my Lord of Westmoreland)
The Time disorder'd does in common Care
Croud us, and crush us to this monstrous Form
To keep our Liberties and Fortunes safe;
-- 45 --
I sent your Grace Particulars of our Griefs;
Which with Contempt and Scorn have been rejected
Whereon this Hydra Son of War is born,
Whose dangerous Eyes may well be charm'd asleep
With granting our most just and right Desires,
And our Obedience to his Majesty
Stoop tamely as before.
Mow.
If not, we are ready now to try our Fortunes
To the last Man.
Hast.
And shou'd we here fall down,
We have Supplies to second our Attempt
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them,
And so successive Mischiefs shall be born,
And Heir to Heir shall hold this Quarrel up.
Pr. Jo.
You are too shallow Hastings, much too shallow
To sound the bottom of the After-times.
West.
So please your Grace to answer 'em directly
How far you do approve their Articles.
Pr. Jo.
I like 'em all, and do allow 'em all,
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.
My Lords, these Griefs shall be with speed redress'd,
Upon my Life they shall; if this may please you,
Discharge your Men hence to 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 restor'd Love and Amity. Some Wine.
Arch.
take your Princely Word for these Redresses.
Enter Officers with Wine.
Pr. Jo.
I give it you, and will maintain my Word;
And thereupon drink freely to your Grace.
-- 46 --
Hast.
Go Captain and deliver to the Army
This News of Peace, and let 'em have Pay, and part,
I know 'twill please 'em well, hasten good Captain.
Arch.
To you my noble Lord of Westmoreland.
[Exit Captain.
West.
I pledge your Grace, and if you knew
What Pains I have bestow'd to gain this Peace,
You would drink freely; but my Love to you
Shall shew it self more openly hereafter.
Arch.
I do not doubt it.
West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord, and gentle Cozen Mowbray.
Mow.
You wish me Health, Sir, in a happy Season.
For I am on the sudain something ill.
Arch.
Against ill Chances Men are always merry
And Heaviness fore-runs a good Event.
Believe me I am wondrous light my Lord.
Mow.
So much the worse if your own Rule be true.
[Shout.
Pr. Jo.
The Peace is welcome. Hark how the Soldiers Shout!
Mow.
This had been chearful after Victory.
Arch.
A Peace is of the nature of a Conquest,
For then both Parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither of em loser.
Pr. Jo.
Go my Lord,
And let our Army be discharg'd too.
[Exit West.
And good my Lords (so please you) let your Soldiers
March by us, that we may peruse the Men,
We should have cop'd withall.
Arch.
Go good Lord Hastings,
And e'er they be dismiss'd, let 'em march by.
-- 47 --
Enter Westmoreland.
Now Cozen wherefore stands our Army still?
West.
The Leaders having charge from you to stand
Will not march off, till you your self command 'em.
Pr. Jo.
They know their Duties well.
Enter Hastings.
Hast.
Our Army is dispers'd.
Like youthful Steers unyoak'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 Tydings my Lord Hastings, for the which
I do Arrest thee Traytor of High-Treason.
And you Lord Bishop, you Lord Mowbray
Of Capital Treason; I attach you all.
Mow.
Is this Proceeding just and honourable?
West.
Is your Assembly so?
Arch.
Will you thus break your Faith?
Pr. Jo.
I pawn'd you none.
I promis'd you redress of those same Grievances
Whereof you did complain: And by my Honour!
I will perform it with a 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.
Beat up our Drums, pursue the scatter'd Stray;
Heav'n and not we, has safely fought to day.
[Exeunt.
-- 48 --
Enter Falstaffe and Coleville.
Fal.
What's your Name, Sir? Of what Condition
are you? And of what Place I pray?
Col.
I am a Knight, Sir, my Name is Coleville of the Dale.
Fal.
Well then, Coleville is your Name, Knight
your Degree, and your place the Dale. Coleville
shall still be your Name, a Traytor your Degree,
and the Dungeon your Place, a place deep enough:
So shall you be still Coleville of the Dale.
Col.
Are not you Sir John Falstaffe?
Fal.
As good a Man as he who e'er I am. Do
you yield, Sir, or must I Sweat for you? If I do
Sweat, they are the drops of your Friends, and they
weep for your Death; therefore rouze up fear and
trembling, and do observance to my Mercy.
Col.
I think you are Sir John Falstaffe, and in
that Belief yield me.
[Gives him his Sword.
Fal.
I have a whole School of Tongues in this
Belly of mine, and not a Tongue of 'em all speaks
any other Name, than valiant Sir John Falstaffe—
Here comes our General.
Enter Prince John, Westmoreland, and Officers.
Pr. Jo.
The Heat is past, follow the Chase no farther,
Call back our Men good Cozen Westmoreland.
Now Falstaffe, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy Tricks of yours will on my Life
Sometime or other break some feeble Gallows.
Fal.
I never knew yet but Rebuke and Check
was the Reward of Valour. Do you think me a
Shadow, an Arrow or a Bullet? Have I Motion in
my Pow'r with the Expedition of Thought?
-- 49 --
I have speeded hither with the extreamest Inch
of Possibility. I have founder'd Ninescore and odd
Posts, and here (Travel fainted as I am) have in
my pure innate Valour taken Sir John Coleville of
the Dale, a most furious Knight, and valorons Enemy:
but what of that he saw me and yielded: that
I may justly say with the hook'd Nos'd fellow of
Rome—I came, saw, and Overcame.
P. Jo.
It was more his Courtisy, than your Deserving.
Fal.
That I know not, here he is and here I yield
him: And I beseech your Grace I may be Chronicl'd
with the rest, of this days Deeds; or I swear
I'll have a particular Ballad with my own Picture
on the Top of it, and Coleville kissing my Foot. If
you do not all shew like guilt Two-pences to me,
and I in the clear Sky of Fame out-shine you all,
as much as a full Moon does a Coblers Candle; believe
not the Word of the Noble, therefore let me
have Right done me, and let Desert Mount.
P. Jo.
Thine's too heavy to Mount.
Fal.
Then let it Shine.
P. Jo.
Thine's too thick to Shine.
Fal.
Let it do something my Lord that may do
me Good, and call it what you will.
P. Jo.
Is thy Name Coleville?
Col.
It is my Lord.
P. Jo.
A famous Rebel art thou Coleville?
Col.
I am my Lord but as my better are,
Who led me hither; had they been rul'd by me
You should have won 'em Dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they Sold themselves, but
thou like a kind Fellow gav'st thy self away; and
I thank thee for thy self.
-- 50 --
Enter Westmoreland.
P. Jo.
So, have they left Pursuit?
West.
Retreat is sounded Sir.
P. Jo.
Send Coleville with his fellow Rebels
To Tork to present Execution.
Blunt take him hence; and Guard him sure.
[Exit with Colev.
Now hasten we to Court,
I hear the King, my Father's very Sick;
Our News shall go before us to his Majesty,
Which Cousin you shall bear to Comfort him:
We'll follow with the utmost Expedition.
Fal.
My Lord, let me beseech you, give me
leave to go thro' Gloucestershire, and when you
come to Court speak a good Word for me.
P. Jo.
Farewel, I shall speak better of you than you deserve.
[Exeunt all but Falst.]
Fal.
I wou'd you had but the Wit, 'twere better
than your Dukedom. This young sober-blooded
Boy does not Love me, a Man cannot make him
laugh; but that's no wonder he drinks no Wine;
there's none of these demure Boys come to any
thing, for thin Drink over-cooles their Blood:
Then they make so many Fish Meals, that they
fall into a kind of Male Green-Sickness; and when
they Marry get none but Wenches: They are generally
Fools, and Cowards, which some of us shou'd
be too. But for Inflammation. Good Sherry, Sack,
has a two-fold Operation in it: It ascends me into
the Brain, drys me there all the Foolish, Dull,
and crudy Vapours; makes it Apprehensive, Quick,
and Forgetive, full of Nimble, Fiery, and delectable
Shapes, which deliver'd o're to the Voice, the
Tongue, which is the Birth, becomes excellent Wit.
The Second Property of your Sherry is, the warming
-- 51 --
of the Blood; which before (cold and settled)
left the Liver White and Pale, which is the Badge
of Pusillanimity and Cowardice: But the Sherry
warms it, and makes it Course from the inwards to
the Parts extream; it illuminates 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
puff'd up with his Retinue, does any Deed of
Courage, and this Valour comes of Sherry: So
that Skill in the Weapon is nothing without Sack,
(for that sets it on Work) and Learning a mere
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
has like lean Sterril, and bare Land manur'd,
Husbanded and Tyl'd, with excellent endeavour
of drinking Good, and good store of fertile Sherry
that he is become very Hot and Valiant—If I
had a Thousand Sons, the first Principle I wou'd
teach 'em, shou'd be to forswear thin Potations,
and to addict themselves to Sack—How now
Bardolfe.
Enter Bardolfe.
Bar.
The Army is discharg'd and gone.
Fal.
Let 'em go! I'll thro' Gloucestshire, and
there will I visit Mr. Robert Shallow, Esq; I have
him already tempering between my Finger, and
Thumb, and shortly will I Seal with him—
come away.
[Exeunt.
-- 52 --
Thomas Betterton [1721], The sequel of Henry the Fourth: With the Humours of Sir John Falstaffe, and Justice Shallow. As it is Acted by His Majesty's Company of Comedians, at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. Alter'd from Shakespear, by the late Mr. Betterton (Printed for W. Chetwood... and T. Jauncy [etc.], London) [word count] [S35500].
