As our conditions fhall confift vpon, Our peace shall stand as firme as rockie mountaines. Bifh. No, no, my lord, note this, the king is weary Of daintie and fuch picking greeuances, For he hath found, to end one doubt by death, Reuiues two greater in the heires of life: Haft. Befides, the king hath wafted al his rods, The very inftruments of chafticement, So that his power, like to a phangleffe lion, Bishop. Tis very true, And therefore be affurde, my good lord marshall. If we do now make our attonement well, Our peace wil like a broken limbe vnited, Grow ftronger for the breaking. Mow. Be it fo, here is returnd my lord of Westmerland. Enter Weftmerland. Weft. The prince is here at hand, pleafeth your lordship To meet his grace iuft diftance tweene our armies. Enter prince Iohn and his armie. Mow. Your grace of York, in Gods name then fet forward. Bishop. Before, and greete his grace (my lord) we come. Ichn. You are well incountred here, my coufen Mowbray, Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop, And fo to you lord Haflings, and to all. My lord of Yorke, it better fhewed with you, That now to fee you here, an yron man talking, To vs th'imagine voice of God himfelfe, The The very opener and intelligencer, Bishop. Good my lord of Lancaster, I am not here against your fathers peace, The parcells and particulars of our griefe, The which hath becne with fcorne fhoued from the court, Mow. If not, we ready are to trie our fortunes, Haft. And though we here fal downe, Whiles England shall haue generation. Prince. You are too shallow Hastings, much too shallow, To found the bottome of the after times. Weft. one it pleases me for a fault of a better to call my friend, I could be fad, and fad indeede too. Poynes. Very hardly, vpon such a subiect. Prince. By this hand, thou thinkest me as farre in the diuels booke, as thou and Falstaffe, for obduracie and perfiftancie, let the end trie the man, but I tel thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is fo fick, and keeping fuch vile company as thou arte, hath in reafon taken from me all oftentation of forrowe. Poynes. The reason. Prince. What wouldst thou thinke of me if I fhould weep? Poynes. I woulde thincke thee a moft princely hypocrite. Prince. It would bee euery mans thought, and thou arte a bleffed fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes, neuer a mans thought in the world, keepes the rode way better then thine, euerie man would thinke me an hypocrite indeede, and what accites your most worshipfull thought to thinke fo? Poynes. Why because you haue been fo lewd and fo much engraffed to Falstaffe. Prince. And to thee. Poynes. By this light I am well fpoke on, I can heare it with mine owne eares, the worst that they can fay of me is that I am a fecond brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands, and those two things I confefle I cannot helpe: by the maffe here comes Bardolfe. Enter Bardolfe and boy. Prince. And the boy that I gaue Falstaffe, a had him from me chriftian, and looke if the fat villaine haue not transformd him ape. Bard. God faue your grace. Prince. And yours moft noble Bardolfe. Poynes. Come you vertuous affe, you bafhfull foole, muft you be blushing, wherefore blufh you now? what a maidenly man man at armes are you become? ist such a matter to get a pottlepots maidenhead ? Boy. A calls me enow my lord through a red lattice, and I could difcerne no part of his face from the window, at last I fpied his eies, and me thought he had made two holes in the ale wiues peticote and fo peept through. Prince. Has not the boy profited? Bard. A way you horfon vpright rabble, away. Boy. Away you rafcally Altheas dreame, away. Boy. Mary my lord, Althear dreampt fhe was deliuered of a firebrand, and therefore I call him her dreame. Prince. A crownes worth of good interpretation there tis boy. Poines. O that this bloffome could be kept from cankers! well, there is fixpence to preferue thee. Bard. And you do not make him hangd among you, the gallowes fhall haue wrong. Prince. And how doth thy mafter Bardolfe? Bard. Well my lord, he heard of your graces comming to towne, theres a letter for you. Poynes. Deliuerd with good refpect, and how doth the Martlemaffe your master ? Bard. In bodily health fir. Poynes. Mary the immortall part needes a phifitian, but that moues not him, though that be ficke, it dies not. Prince. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me, as my dogge, and he holds his place, for looke you how he writes. Poynes. Iohn Falstaffe knight, euery man muft know that as oft as he has occafion to name himselfe: euen like thofe that are kin to the king for they neuer pricke their finger, but they faye, theres fome of the kings bloud fpilt: how comes that |