SCENE II. Another Part of the Forest Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, the Archbishop, HASTINGS, and others: from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of Lancaster, WESTMORELAND, Officers, and Attendants. P. John. You are well encountered here, my cousin Mowbray. Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; Than now to see you here an iron man,1 Between the grace, the sanctities of Heaven, 1 Holinshed says of the archbishop, that, "coming forth amongst them clad in armour, he encouraged and pricked them foorth to take the enterprize in hand." 2 Dull workings are labors of thought. 3 Raised up in arms. VOL. IV. 10 Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of Heaven's substitute, my father; Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, I am not here against your father's peace; But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court, Whose dangerous eyes may well be charmed asleep, Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes. Hast. 2 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 directly, How far-forth do you like their articles? P. John. I like them all, and do allow them well; My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redressed; 1 Common sense is the general sense of general danger. 2 Succession. 1 Discharge your powers unto their several counties, 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; pains I have bestowed to breed this present peace, 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 sorrow Serves to say thus,-Some good thing comes to-morrow. Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shouts within. P. John. The word of peace is rendered. Hark, how they shout! Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. 1 It was Westmoreland who made this deceitful proposal, as appears from Holinshed:-"The earl of Westmoreland, using more policie than the rest, said, whereas our people have been long in armour, let them depart home to their woonted trades: In the mean time let us drink togither in signe of agreement, that the people on both sides may see it, and know that it is true, that we be light at a point." For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. P. John. 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. Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, [Exit HASTINGS. P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together. Re-enter WESTMORELAND. Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? P. John. They know their duties. Re-enter HASTINGS. Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed already West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which And you, lord archbishop, and you, lord Mowbray,— Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honorable? Arch. Will you thus break your faith? P. John. not ident Most shallowly did you these arms commence, SCENE III. Another Part of the Forest. Alarums ; Excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLEVILE, meeting. Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition are and of what place, I pray? you; 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? Do Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 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 trembling, 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. 1 i. e. foolishly. 2 "It cannot but raise some indignation to find this horrid violation of faith passed over thus slightly by the Poet without any note of censure or detestation."-Johnson. |