Enter the King, in his Night-gown; a Page attending. ^note

K. H.
Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these &dagger2; letters,
And well consider of them: Make good speed.— [Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep?—O sleep, o gentle ^note 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 ^note stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing ^note night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the pérfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds ^note of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why ly'st thou with the vile,
In loathsom beds; and leav'st14Q0690 the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast ^note
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 ^note by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours ^note in the slippery shrouds ^note,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, o partial sleep, give thy repose ^note
To the wet sea-boy in ^note an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lye down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Enter Warwick, and Surrey.

War.
Many good morrows to your majesty.

K. H.
Is it good morrow, lords?

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

K. H.
Why then, good morrow to you. Well, my ^note lords,
Have you read o'er the letters ^note that I sent you?

War.
We have, my liege.

K. H.
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.

War.
It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd;
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
With good advice, and little medicine:—
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

K. H.
O God ^note! 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 ^note,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, ^note
The happiest youth,—viewing his progress thorough ^note,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,—
Would shut the book, and set ^note him down and die.
&lblank; 'Tis not ten years gone,
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and, in two years ^note 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 lay'd his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by,
(You, cousin Nevil, [to War.] as I may remember)
When Richard,—with his eye brim-full of tears,
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,—
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophesy?
Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;—
Though then, heaven knows ^note, I had no such intent;
But that necessity so bow'd the state,
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:—
The time shall 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 ^note 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 ^note their seeds,
And weak beginnings ^note, lye entreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time:
And, by the necessary form of these, ^note
King Richard might create a perfect guess,—
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. H.
Are these things then necessities?
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, my lord;
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 ^note lord,
The powers, that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring ^note 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. H.
I will take your counsel:
And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the holy land. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Village in Glocestershire. Court of Shallow's House. Enter Shallow, and Silence, meeting: Wart, Feeble, Shadow, Mouldy, and Bull-calf, at a Distance; a Servant, or two, with them.

Sha.

Come on, come on, come on; give ^note me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence?

Sil.

Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

Sha.

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

Sil.

Alas, a black ouzel ^note, cousin Shallow.

Sha.

By yea and nay, sir ^note, 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.

Sha.

He must then to the inns of court ^note 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.

Sha.

I ^note was call'd any thing; and I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, ^note and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squeal a Cots-wold ^note man,— you had not four such swinge-bucklers14Q0691 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,14Q0692 now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk.

Sil.

This sir John, cousin, ^note that comes hither anon about soldiers?

Sha.

The same sir John, the very same. I saw him ^note break Skogan's ^note head, at the court gate, when he was a crack, not thus † high: and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stock-fish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's-inn. O, the ^note mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old ^note acquaintance are dead!

Sil.

We shall all follow, cousin.

Sha.

Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: death, as the psalmist saith, ^note is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford ^note fair?

Sil.

Truly, cousin, I ^note was not there.

Sha.

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

Sil.

Dead, sir.

Sha.

Dead! See, see! he drew ^note a good bow;—And dead! he shot ^note a fine shoot:—John of Gaunt lov'd him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead!—he would ^note have clapt i' the ^note clout at twelve score; and carry'd you a fore-hand shaft, (a fourteen ^note, 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.

Sha.

And is old Double dead!

Sil.

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

Bar.

Good ^note morrow,14Q0693 honest gentlemen: I beseech you, which is justice Shallow?

Sha.

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 ^note pleasure with me?

Bar.

My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall gentleman, by heaven ^note, and a most gallant leader.

Sha.

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?

Bar.

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

Sha.

It is well said, sir; ^note and it is well said indeed too. Better accommodated!—it is good; yea, indeed, is it: good phrases are surely, and ever were ^note, very commendable.

Accommodated! it comes of accommodo: very good; a good phrase.

Bar.

Pardon, sir ^note; I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? by this day ^note, 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 ^note. Accommodated; That is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or, when a man is,—being,—whereby, —he may be ^note thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.

Sha.

It is very just:—Look, here comes good sir John.—Give me your hand ^note, give me your worship's good hand: By my troth, you ^note 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 ^note, as I think.

Sha.

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.

Fal.

Fie! this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me here half a dozen sufficient ^note men?

Sha.

Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

Fal.

Let me see them, I beseech you.

Sha.

Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the roll?—[Servants give him a Roll, and bring the Recruits forward.] 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?

Mou.

Here, an't ^note please you.

Sha.

What think you, sir John? a good-limb'd fellow; young, strong, and of good friends.

Fal.

Is thy name Mouldy?

Mou.

Yea, an't ^note please you.

Fal.

'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.

Sha.

Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith ^note! things, that are mouldy, lack use; Very singular good!—Well said, sir John; very well said.

Fal.

Prick him. ^note

Mou.

I was prick'd well enough before, an you ^note could 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 prick'd 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.

Mou.

Spent!

Sha.

Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; Know you where you are?—For the other, sir John:—let me see;— Simon Shadow!

Fal.

Ay, marry ^note, let me have him to sit under: he's like to be a cold soldier.

Sha.

Where's Shadow?

Sha^d.

Here, sir.

Fal.

Shadow, whose son art thou?

Sha^d.

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 much ^note of the father's substance.

Sha.

Do you like him, sir John?

Fal.

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

Sha.

Thomas Wart!

Fal.

Where's he?

War.

Here, sir.

Fal.

Is thy name Wart?

War.

Yea, sir.

Fal.

Thou art a very ragged wart.

Sha.

Shall I prick him ^note, sir John?

Fal.

It were superfluous; for his ^note apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins: prick him no more.

Sha.

Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it: I commend you well.—Francis Feeble!

Fee.

Here, sir.

Sha.

What trade art thou, Feeble?

Fee.

A woman's tailor, sir.

Sha.

Shall I prick him, sir?

Fal.

You may: but if he had ^note 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?

Fee.

I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.

Fal.

Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, couragious 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.

Fee.

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 a private soldier, that is the leader of so many

thousands: Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.

Fee.

It shall suffice, sir. ^note

Fal.

I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.—Who is next ^note?

Sha.

Peter Bull-calf of the green!

Fal.

Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.

Bul.

Here, sir.

Fal.

'Fore God, a ^note likely fellow!—Come, prick me Bull-calf, 'till he roar again.

Bul.

O! good ^note my lord captain,—

Fal.

What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?

Bul.

O lord, sir ^note! 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 king's affairs, upon his coronation day, sir.

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?

Sha.

Here is ^note more ^note14Q0694 call'd 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, [rising.] but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth ^note, master Shallow.

Sha.

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. ^note

Sha.

Ha, it was ^note a merry night. And is Jane Night-work alive?

Fal.

She lives, master Shallow.

Sha.

She could never ^note away with me.

Fal.

Never, never: she would always say, she could not abide master Shallow.

Sha.

By the mass ^note, I could anger her to the heart. She was then a Bona-roba: Doth she hold her own well?

Fal.

Old, old, master Shallow.

Sha.

Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; certain, she's old; and had Robin Night-work by old Night-work, before I came from Clement's ^note-inn ^note.

Sil.

That's fifty-five years ^note ago.

Sha.

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.

Sha.

That we have, that we have, that we have; ^note in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word ^note was, Hem, boys! Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner: O, the ^note days that we have seen!—Come, come.