When it shines feldom in admiring eyes; Save mine, which hath defir'd to fee thee more: P. Henry. I shall hearafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myfelf. K. Henry. For all the world, As thou art at this hour was Richard then, And military Title capital, Through all the Kingdoms that acknowledge Chrift And And shake the peace and fafety of our Throne. But wherefore do I tell this news to thee ? P. Henry. Do not think fo, you shall not find it fo: Which, wash'd away, shall scowr my shame with it. 'Would they were multitudes, and on my head The The long-grown wounds of my intemperature. K. Henry. A hundred thoufand Rebels die in this! Thou shalt have Charge, and fovereign Truft herein. Enter Blunt, How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. K. Henry. The Earl of Westmoreland fet forth to-day, On Wednesday next, Harry, thou fhalt fet forward: On Thursday, we ourselves will march: our meeting Is at Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloftershire: by which fome twelve days hence Our general forces at Bridgnorth fhall meet. Changes to the Boar's-head Tavern in Eaft-cheap. Fal. BARDOLPH ARDOLPH, am not I fall'n away vilely, fince this laft action ? Do I not bate? do I not dwindle? why, my fkin hangs about me like an old lady's loofe gown: I am wither'd, like an old apple John. Well, I'll repent, and that fuddenly,' while I am in fome liking: I fhall be out of heart fhortly, and then I fhall have no ftrength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the infide of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse; the infide of a church! company, villainous company hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it; come, fing me a bawdy song, to make me merry: I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour; paid money, that I borrow'd, three or four times; liv'd well, and in good compass: and now I live out all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compafs, out of all reasonable compafs, Sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our Admiral, thou beareft the lanthorn in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it, as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori. I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning.- -If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would fwear by thy face; my oath hould be, by this fire; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horfe, if I did not think, thou had'ft been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlafting bonfire-light; thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the sack, that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly. Fal. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be fure to be heartburn'd. Enter Hoftefs. How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket? Hoft. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think, I keep thieves in my houfe? I have search'd, I have enquir'd, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant: the tithe of a hair was never loft in my house before. Fal. Ye lie, hoftefs; Bardolph was shav'd, and loft many a hair: and I'll be fworn, my pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a woman, go. Hoft. Who I? I defy thee; in mine own houfe before. I was never call'd fo Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Hoft. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. bought you a dozen of fhirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made boulters of them. Hoft. Now as I am a true woman, Helland of eight fhillings an ell: you owe money here befides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pounds. Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay. Hoft. He? alas! he is poor, he hath nothing. you, |