How many housand of my poorest subjects Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber : Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them Enter WARWICK and SURREY. War. Many good morrows to your majesty' War. "Tis one o'clock, and past. K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? War. We have, my liege. K. Hen. 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. Hen. O heaven! that one might read the book of fate; And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent Into the sea! and, other times, to see Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth,-viewing his progress through, 'Tis not ten years gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,- My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;— Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent; That I and greatnesss were compell'd to kiss :- War. There is a history in all men's lives, Such things become the hatch and brood of time; King Richard might create a perfect guess, K. Hen. Are these things then necessities? Then let us meet them like necessities:: And that same word even now cries out on us; 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 lord, To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd K. Hen. 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.-Court before Justice Shallow's house in Gloucestershire. Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WARt, Feeble, BuLL-CALF, and Servants, behind. Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give 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. Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. Shal. By yea and nay, sir, 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. Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly: I was once of Clement's-inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Sil. You were called-lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shal. By the mass, I was called 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 Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man,-you had not four such swingebucklers in all the inns of court again: and, I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were; and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers? Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he was a crack, not thus high: and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's-inn. O, the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead! Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair? Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. Shal. Death is certain.-Is old Double of your town living yet? Sil. Dead, sir. Shal. Dead! See, see!-he drew a good bow;-And dead!-he shot a fine shoot:-John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead!he would have clapped i'th' clout at twelve score; and M |