Part 17

Shal. Marry then, Mouldie, Bull-calfe, Feeble, and Shadow

Falst. Mouldie, and Bull-calfe: for you Mouldie, stay at home, till you are past seruice: and for your part, Bull-calfe, grow till you come vnto it: I will none of you

Shal. Sir Iohn, Sir Iohn, doe not your selfe wrong, they are your likelyest men, and I would haue you seru'd with the best

Falst. Will you tell me (Master Shallow) how to chuse a man? Care I for the Limbe, the Thewes, the stature, bulke, and bigge assemblance of a man? giue mee the spirit (Master Shallow.) Where's Wart? you see what a ragged appearance it is: hee shall charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of a Pewterers Hammer: come off, and on, swifter then hee that gibbets on the Brewers Bucket. And this same halfe-fac'd fellow, Shadow, giue me this man: hee presents no marke to the Enemie, the foe-man may with as great ayme leuell at the edge of a Pen-knife: and for a Retrait, how swiftly will this Feeble, the Womans Taylor, runne off. O, giue me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a Calyuer into Warts hand, Bardolph

Bard. Hold Wart, Trauerse: thus, thus, thus

Falst. Come, manage me your Calyuer: so: very well, go-too, very good, exceeding good. O, giue me alwayes a little, leane, old, chopt, bald Shot. Well said Wart, thou art a good Scab: hold, there is a Tester for thee

Shal. Hee is not his Crafts-master, hee doth not doe it right. I remember at Mile-end-Greene, when I lay at Clements Inne, I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthurs Show: there was a little quiuer fellow, and hee would manage you his Peece thus: and hee would about, and about, and come you in, and come you in: Rah, tah, tah, would hee say, Bownce would hee say, and away againe would hee goe, and againe would he come: I shall neuer see such a fellow

Falst. These fellowes will doe well, Master Shallow. Farewell Master Silence, I will not vse many wordes with you: fare you well, Gentlemen both: I thanke you: I must a dozen mile to night. Bardolph, giue the Souldiers Coates

Shal. Sir Iohn, Heauen blesse you, and prosper your Affaires, and send vs Peace. As you returne, visit my house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peraduenture I will with you to the Court

Falst. I would you would, Master Shallow

Shal. Go-too: I haue spoke at a word. Fare you well. Enter.

Falst. Fare you well, gentle Gentlemen. On Bardolph, leade the men away. As I returne, I will fetch off these Iustices: I doe see the bottome of Iustice Shallow. How subiect wee old men are to this vice of Lying? This same staru'd Iustice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildenesse of his Youth, and the Feates hee hath done about Turnball-street, and euery third word a Lye, duer pay'd to the hearer, then the Turkes Tribute. I doe remember him at Clements Inne, like a man made after Supper, of a Cheese-paring. When hee was naked, hee was, for all the world, like a forked Radish, with a Head fantastically caru'd vpon it with a Knife. Hee was so forlorne, that his Dimensions (to any thicke sight) were inuincible. Hee was the very Genius of Famine: hee came euer in the rere-ward of the Fashion: And now is this Vices Dagger become a Squire, and talkes as familiarly of Iohn of Gaunt, as if hee had beene sworne Brother to him: and Ile be sworne hee neuer saw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he burst his Head, for crowding among the Marshals men. I saw it, and told Iohn of Gaunt, hee beat his owne Name, for you might haue truss'd him and all his Apparrell into an Eele-skinne: the Case of a Treble Hoeboy was a Mansion for him: a Court: and now hath hee Land, and Beeues. Well, I will be acquainted with him, if I returne: and it shall goe hard, but I will make him a Philosophers two Stones to me. If the young Dace be a Bayt for the old Pike, I see no reason, in the Law of Nature, but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter the Arch-bishop, Mowbray, Hastings, Westmerland, Coleuile.

Bish. What is this Forrest call'd? Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forrest, and't shall please your Grace

Bish. Here stand (my Lords) and send discouerers forth, To know the numbers of our Enemies

Hast. Wee haue sent forth alreadie

Bish. 'Tis well done. My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affaires) I must acquaint you, that I haue receiu'd New-dated Letters from Northumberland: Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus. Here doth hee wish his Person, with such Powers As might hold sortance with his Qualitie, The which hee could not leuie: whereupon Hee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes, To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers, That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard, And fearefull meeting of their Opposite

Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground, And dash themselues to pieces. Enter a Messenger.

Hast. Now? what newes? Mess. West of this Forrest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie: And by the ground they hide, I iudge their number Vpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thousand

Mow. The iust proportion that we gaue them out. Let vs sway-on, and face them in the field. Enter Westmerland.

Bish. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here? Mow. I thinke it is my Lord of Westmerland

West. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall, The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster

Bish. Say on (my Lord of Westmerland) in peace: What doth concerne your comming? West. Then (my Lord) Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addresse The substance of my Speech. If that Rebellion Came like it selfe, in base and abiect Routs, Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage, And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie: I say, if damn'd Commotion so appeare, In his true, natiue, and most proper shape, You (Reuerend Father, and these Noble Lords) Had not beene here, to dresse the ougly forme Of base, and bloodie Insurrection, With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-bishop, Whose Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd, Whose Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd, Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd, Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence, The Doue, and very blessed Spirit of Peace. Wherefore doe you so ill translate your selfe, Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares such grace, Into the harsh and boystrous Tongue of Warre? Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood, Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuine To a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre

Bish. Wherefore doe I this? so the Question stands. Briefely to this end: Wee are all diseas'd, And with our surfetting, and wanton howres, Haue brought our selues into a burning Feuer, And wee must bleede for it: of which Disease, Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd. But (my most Noble Lord of Westmerland) I take not on me here as a Physician, Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace, Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men: But rather shew a while like fearefull Warre, To dyet ranke Mindes, sicke of happinesse, And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop Our very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely. I haue in equall ballance iustly weigh'd, What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences. Wee see which way the streame of Time doth runne, And are enforc'd from our most quiet there, By the rough Torrent of Occasion, And haue the summarie of all our Griefes (When time shall serue) to shew in Articles; Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King, And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience: When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes, Wee are deny'd accesse vnto his Person, Euen by those men, that most haue done vs wrong. The dangers of the dayes but newly gone, Whose memorie is written on the Earth With yet appearing blood; and the examples Of euery Minutes instance (present now) Hath put vs in these ill-beseeming Armes: Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it, But to establish here a Peace indeede, Concurring both in Name and Qualitie

West. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd? Wherein haue you beene galled by the King? What Peere hath beene suborn'd, to grate on you, That you should seale this lawlesse bloody Booke Of forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine? Bish. My Brother generall, the Common-wealth, I make my Quarrell, in particular

West. There is no neede of any such redresse: Or if there were, it not belongs to you