Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair;
Which swims against your stream of quality.

We left the prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

Doth the king call?

Let us withdraw into the other room.

I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
Say it did so a little time before
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.

No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs:
The incessant care and labour of his mind
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
So thin that life looks through and will break out.

O my royal father!

With Poins, and other his continual followers.

He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

I shall observe him with all care and love.

What would my lord and father?