To us the speaker in his parliament;
To us the imagined 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 ta’en up,
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.
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 shoved 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 cured,
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.
And though we here fall down,
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.
You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
Pleaseth your grace to answer them directly
How far forth you do like their articles.
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.
I give it you, and will maintain my word:
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.
Go, captain, 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.
I pledge your grace; and, if you knew what pains
I have bestow’d to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely: but my love to ye
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
I am glad of it.
Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
You wish me health in very happy season;
For I am, on the sudden, something ill.
Against ill chances men are ever merry;
But heaviness foreruns the good event.
Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus, “some good thing comes to-morrow.”
A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser.
Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too. Exit Westmoreland.
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have coped withal.
Go, good Lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismiss’d, let them march by. Exit Hastings.
The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
My lord, our army is dispersed already:
Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their courses
East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up,
Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.
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 capitol treason I attach you both.
I pawn’d thee none:
I promised 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:
God, 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.
Scene III
Another part of the forest.
| Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Colevile, meeting. | |
| Falstaff | What’s your name, sir? of what condition are you, and of what place, I pray? |
| Colevile | I am a knight, sir; and my name is Colevile of the dale. |
| Falstaff | Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your degree, and your place the dale: Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of the dale. |
| Colevile | Are not you Sir John Falstaff? |
| Falstaff | 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 the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. |
| Colevile | I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me. |
| Falstaff | 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 indifference, I were simply the most active |
