Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND's castle.
Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues.
Rum. Open your ears! For which of you will stop
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters? and prepar'd defence?
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop,

That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize

Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before king Harry's victory,
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,

Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? office is
my
To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.

This have frumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,

Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,

Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, And not a man of them brings other news,

They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true [Exit. wrongs.

[blocks in formation]

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an heaven will!

Bard. As good, as heart can wish: -
The king is almost wounded to the death,
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright, and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John,
Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not, till now, to dignify the times,
Since Caesar's fortune's!

North. How is this deriv'd?

Saw

you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;

Than they have learn'd of me; from Rumour's ton- A gentleman well bred, and of good name,

gues

That freely render'd me these news for true.

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

sent

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More than he haply may retail from me.
Enter TRAVERS.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with
yon ?

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings, and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forespent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North. Ha!- - Again.

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;

If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon nine honour, for a silken point

I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not, that Percy's dead!
I see a strange confession in thine eye :
Thou shak'st thy head and hold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead;
Not he, which says, the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe.
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen:
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing, that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,

Travers,

Give then such instances of loss?

Bard. Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n
The horse, he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Enter MORTON.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation. —

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask,
To fright our party.

North. How doth my son, and brother?
Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter, than thy tongue, to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,

And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.

This thou would'st, say: Your son did thus, and
thus;

Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord your son,

[ocr errors]

North. Why, he is dead?

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

He, that but fears the thing, he would not know,
Hath, by instinet, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton!
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies,
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,

That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those, that turn'd their backs, and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is, that the king hath won, and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well.
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks, like a fire,
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice
crutch!

A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron! And approach
The ragged'st hour, that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild food confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
lord.
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my

Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your ho- thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my

nour!

heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard said,-grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal. God may finish it, when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him.-What said master Dumbleton about the satin for my short cloak, and slops?

Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you
Let us make head! It was your presurmise,
That in the dole of blows your son might drop.
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er.
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable
Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit
Would lift him, where most trade of danger rang'd.
Yet did you say, Go forth; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action. What hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than that being, which was like to be?
Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss,
Knew, that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas,
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd; for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd,
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body, and goods.

Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,-
The gentle archbishop of York is up,
With well-appointed powers; he is a man,
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord, your son had only but the
corps,

But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight:
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls,
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Offair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;
Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
And more, and less, do flock to follow him.

North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me, and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge!

Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed!
Never so few, and never yet more need!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. - London. A street. Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler.

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my

water?

Page.He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water: but, for the party, that owed it, he might have more diseases, than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent any thing, that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause, that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason, than to set me off, why then I have no judgement. Thou whoreson mandrake,

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance, than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security.

Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton! may his tongue be hotter !-Awhoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon-security. I had as lief, they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked, he should have sent me two and twenty yards. of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant.
Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman, that committed
the prince for striking him about Bardolph.
Fal. Wait close, I will not see him.
Ch. Just. What's he that goes there?
Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery?
Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good
service at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster.
Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back again!
Atten. Sir John Falstaff!

Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf.

Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. Ch. Just. Iam sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow! I must speak with him.

Atten. Sir John!

Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg,than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell, how to make it. Atten. You mistake me, sir!

Fal. Why, sir, did I say, you were an honest man? Setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your soldiership aside, and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say, I am any other, than an honest man.

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that, which grows to me! If thou get'st any leave of me,

[ocr errors]

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel.

hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be
hanged. You hunt-counter, hence! avaunt!
Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you.
Fal. Not so, my lord! your ill angel is light; but, I
Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you! hope, he, that looks upon me, will take me without
Fal. My good lord!· God give your lordship good weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot
time of day! I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I go, I cannot tell: virtue is of so little regard in these
heard say, your lordship was sick. I hope, your lord- coster-monger times, that true valour is turned bear-
ship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not herd. Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick
clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts,
you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes
humbly beseech your lordship, to have a reverend care them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old,
of your health.
consider not the capacities of us, that are young: you
measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of
your galls: and we, that are in the vaward of our
youth, I must confess, are wags too.

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury.

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales.

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty - You would not come when I sent for you.

Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy.

Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me speak with you!

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. Fal. It hath its original from much grief, from study, and perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects in Galen'; it is a kind of deafness. Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you.

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well! rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not, if I do become your physician.

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fye, fye, fye, sir John! Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a round belly. For my voice,-I have lost it with hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he, that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box o'the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it, and the young lion repents: marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better companion!

Fal. I am as poor, as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of punishment to me, in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple itself. Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in great infamy.

Fal. He, that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in

less.

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great.

Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer.

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'erposting that

[blocks in formation]

you

Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him.

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince Harry. I hear, you are going with lord John of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of Northumberland.

Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you, pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day! for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily if it be a hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action, can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever but it was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If you will needs say, I am an old man, you give me rest. I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy, as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.

should

Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest! And God bless your expedition!

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound,

to furnish me forth?

Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny! you are too ima patient to bear crosses. Fare you well! Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland!"

Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad, as to smell a fox.
Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better part

burnt out.

[blocks in formation]

[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle!—A man can no more separate age and covetousness, than he can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so but both the degrees prevent my curses. - Boy! —

did

Page Sir?

Fal. What money is in my purse?

[merged small][ocr errors]

Page. Seven groats and two-pence. Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. - Go bear this letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it; you know where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout! or a gout of this pox! for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable: a good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity. [Exit.

SCENE III.-York. Aroom in the Archbishop's

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

And, my mos; noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:-
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms
But gladly would be better satisfied,
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.

Ilast. Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.

Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth thus;

Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Hast. With him, we may.

Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point;
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand:
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted.
Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed,
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination,

Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And, winking, leap'd into destruction.

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt,
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.
Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war;
Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,)
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring

We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair,

That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection:
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then, but draw anew the model
Iu fewer offices; or, at least, desist

To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down,
And set another up,) should we survey
The plot of situation, and the model;

else,

Consent upon a sure foundation;
Question surveyors; know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or
We fortify in paper, and in figures,
Using the names of men, instead of men :
Like one, that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds,
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth,)
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The utmost man of expectation;
think, we are a body strong enough,
Even as we are, to equal with the king.

I

Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thousand?

Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph.

For his divisions, as the times do brawl,

Are in three heads: one power against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us: so is the unfirm king

In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.

Arch. That he should draw his several strengths together,

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

Hast. If he should do so,

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

Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French,

I have no certain notice.

Arch. Let us on;

And publish the occasion of our arms.

The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:
An habitation giddy and unsure

Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many! with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimmed in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust 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'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
[Exeunt.

A CT II.
SCENEI.-London. A street.

Enter Hostess; FANG, and his Boy, with her; and
SNARE following.

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? Fang. It is entered.

« PreviousContinue »