Shall to the King taste of this action. That were our royal faiths martyrs in love, York. No, no, my Lord; note this: the King is Of dainty and fuch picking grievances: [weary For he hath found, to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, memory, That may repeat and hiftory his lofs To new remembrance. For full well he knows, Haft. Befides, the King hath wafted all his reds On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very inftruments of chaftifment: So that his pow'r, like to a fangless lion, York. 'Tis very true: And therefore be affur'd, my good Lord Marshal, Our peace will, like a broken limb united, Grow ftronger for the breaking. Mowb. Be it fo. Here is return'd my Lord of Westmorland. Enter Weftmorland. Weft. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your Lordship To meet his Grace, just distance 'tween our armies? Mob. Your Grace of York in God's name then fet forward. Tork. York. Before, and greet his Grace; my Lord, we come. SCENE IV. Enter Prince John of Lancafter. Lan. You're well encounter'd here, my cousin MowGood day to you, my gentle Lord Archbishop, [bray; And fo to you, Lord Haftings, and to all. My Lord of York, it better fhew'd with you, Than now to fee you here an iron man, To us, th' imagin'd voice of heav'n itself; The But very opener and intelligencer Between the grace, the fanctities of heav'n, York. Good my Lord of Lancaster, I am not here againft your father's peace; The which hath been with fcorn fhov'd from the court: Whereon Whereon this Hydra-fon of war is born, Whofe dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the laft man. Haft. And though we here fall down, Lan. You are too fhallow, Haftings, much too shalTo found the bottom of the after-times. [low, Weft. Pleaseth your Grace, to answer them directly, How far-forth you do like their articles? Lan. I like them all, and do allow them well: My Lord, thefe griefs fhall be with speed redrefs'd; York. I take your princely word for thefe redresses. Lan. I give it you; and will maintain my word; And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. Haft. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army This news of peace; let them have pay, and part: I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain, Exit. Colevile, York. To you, my noble Lord of Westmorland. : Weft. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what I have beftow'd, to breed this prefent peace, [pains You would drink freely; but my love to ye, Shall thew itself more openly hereafter. * Success, for fucceffion. 2 York, York. I do not doubt you. Weft. I am glad of it. Health to my Lord, and gentle coufin Mowbray. Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season, For I am on the fudden fomething ill. York. Against ill chances men are ever merry, But heaviness fore-runs the good event. Weft. Therefore be merry, coz, fince fudden forrów Serves to fay this, Some good thing comes to-morrow. York. Believe me, I am paffing light in fpirit. Mowb. So much the worfe, if your own rule be true. [Shouts. Lan. The word of peace is render'd; hark! they Mowb. This had been chearful after victory. [fhout, York. A peace is of the nature of a conqueft; For then both parties nobly are fubdu'd, And neither party lofer. Lan. Go, my Lord, And let our army be discharged too. [Exit Weft. And, good my Lord, so please you, let our trains We fhould have cop'd withal. Tork. Go, good Lord Haftings; And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. [Exit Haftings. Lan. I trüft, Lords, we fhall lie to-night together. SCENE V. Re-enter Weftmorland. Now, coufin, wherefore ftands our army ftill? Re-enter Haftings. Haft. My Lord, our army is difpers'd already: Like youthful fteers unyok'd, they took their courfe Eaft, west, north, fouth; or, like a school broke up, Each hurries towards his home and fporting-place. Weft. Good tidings, my Lord Haitings; for the I do arreft thee, traitor, of high treason : [which And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray, Of capital creafon I attach you both. VOL. IV. E e Mob. Mob. Is this proceeding juft and honourable? York. Will you thus break your faith? I promis'd you redress of these fame grievances, SCENE VI. Enter Falstaff and Colevile. Fal. What's your name, Sir? of what condition are you? and of what place, I pray? Cole. I am a Knight, Sir; and my name is Colevile of the dale. Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile fhall ftill be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough: fo fhall you ftill be Colevile of the dale. Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? Fal. As good a man as he, Sir, whoe'er I am: do ye yield, Sir, or fhall I fweat for you? if I do fweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore roufe up fear and trembling, and do obfervance to my mercy. Cole. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me. Fal. I have a whole fchool of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them all fpeaks any other word but my name: an' I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were fimply the most active fellow in Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. Here comes our General. Enter |