Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop,
It is even so:-Who hath not heard it spoken,
How deep you were within the hooks of God?
To us, the speaker in his parliament;
To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself;
The very opener, and intelligencer,

Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
And our dull workings*: O, who shall believe,
But you misuse the reverence of your place;
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable? You have taken upt,
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And, both against the peace of heaven and him,
Have here up-swarm'd them.

Arch.

Good my lord of Lancaster,

I am not here against your father's peace:

But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense,
Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace

The parcels and particulars of our grief;

The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the

court,

Whereon this Hydra son of war is born:

Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,
With grant of our most just and right desires;
And true obedience of this madness cur'd,

Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man.

Hast.

And though we here fall down;

• Labours of thought.

Raised in arms.

We have supplies to second our attempt;
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them:
And so, success of mischief shall be born;
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
Whiles England shall have generation.

P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,

To sound the bottom of the after-times.

West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them di rectly,

How far-forth you do like their articles?

P.John. I like them all, and do allow them well:
And swear here by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning, and authority.-

My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours: and here, between the armies,
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love, and amity.

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses.

P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word:

And thereupon I drink unto your grace.

Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer.] and deliver to

the army

This news of peace; let them have pay, and part: I know, it will well please them: Hie thee, captain. [Exit Officer. Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. West. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew what pains

I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,

Succession.

+ Approve.

Forces.

You would drink freely: but my love to you
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.

Arch. I do not doubt you.

West. I am glad of it.Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season; For I am, on the sudden, something ill.

Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry; But heaviness foreruns the good event.

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sor

row

Serves to say thus,-Some good thing comes to-mor

row.

Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be [Shouts within. P. John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark, how they shout!

true.

Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory.

Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued,

And neither party loser.

P. John.

Go, my lord,

[Exit Westmoreland.

And, let our army be discharged too.

And, good my lord, so please you, let our traing*

March by us; that we may peruse the men

We should have cop'd withal.

Arch.

Go, good lord Hastings.

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.

[Exit Hastings. P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together.

Re-enter Westmoreland.

Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?

* Each army.

West. The leaders, having charge from you to

stand,

Will not go off until they hear you speak.

P. John. They know their duties.

Re-enter Hastings.

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: Like youthful steers* unyok'd, they take their

courses

East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up,
Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place.
West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the
which

I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:-
And you, lord archbishop,—and you, lord Mowbray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.

Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
West. Is your assembly so?

Arch. Will you thus break your faith?

P. John.

I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most Christian care. But, for you, rebels,-look to taste the due Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly + brought here, and foolishly sent hence.Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray; Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.Some guard these traitors to the block of death; Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath.

[Exeunt.

* Young bullocks.

+ Foolishly.

SCENE III.

Another part of the forest.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Coleville, meeting.

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 shall still be your name;-a traitor your degree; and the dungeon your place,-a place deep enough; so shall you still 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 shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trem bling, and do observance to my mercy.

Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in that thought, yield me.

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me.-Here comes our general.

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, and others.

P. John. The heat is past, follow no further

now;

Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.[Exit West.