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,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes;
And firft, Lord Marshal, what say you to it?

Mowb. I well allow th' occafions of our arms,
But gladly would be better fatisfied

How in our means we should advance ourselves,
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the pow'r and puissance of the King?
Haft. Our prefent mufters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our fupplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whofe bofom burns
With an incenfed fire of injuries.

[thus;

Bard. The queftion then, lord Haftings, ftandeth
Whether our prefent five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?
Haft. With him we may.

Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we fhould not step too far
Till we had his affiftance by the hand.
For in a theam fo bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and furmife,
Of aids uncertain, fhould not be admitted.

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,
Eating the air, on promife of Supply;
Flatt'ring himself with project of a Power
Much fmaller than the fmalleft of his thoughts;
And fo, with great imagination,

Proper to madmen, led his Pow'rs to death,
And, winking, leap'd into deftruction.

Haft. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
Bard. Yes, if this prefent quality of war
Impede the inftant act; a caufe on foot
Lives fo in hope, as in an early Spring

We fee th' appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as Despair,
That frofts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We firft furvey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we fee the figure of the house,

Then must we rate the cost of the erection;
Which, if we find out-weighs ability,

What do we then but draw a-new the model
In fewer offices? at least, defift

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
together,

And come against us in full puiffance,.
Need not be dreaded.

Haft. If he should do so,

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels; never fear That.

Bard. Who, is it like, fhould lead his forces hither?
Haft. The Duke of Lancaster, and Westmorland:
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth :
But who is fubftituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.

York. Let us on:

And publish the occafion of our arms.

The Commonwealth is fick of their own choice;
Their over-greedy love hath furfeited.

An habitation giddy and unfure

Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond Many! with what loud applause
Didft thou beat heav'n with bleffing Bolingbroke,
Before he was, what thou would't have him be?
And now, being trim'd up in thine own defires,
Thou, beaftly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provost thyself to cast him up.

So,

So, fo, thou common dog, didft thou difgorge
Thy glutton bofom of the royal Richard,

And now thou would't eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'ft to find it. What Truft is in these times?
They, that when Richard liv'd, would have him die,
Are now become enamour'd on his Grave;
Thou, that threw'ft duft upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came fighing on
After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,

Cry'ft now, O Earth, yield us that King again,
And take thou this. O thoughts of men accurft!
Paft and to come, feem beft; things prefent, worft.
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
Haft. Wea re time's fubjects, and time bids, be gone.
[Exeunt.

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?
Phang. It is enter'd.

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.
Hoft. Ay, good Mr. Snare, I have enter'd him

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,