My Lord of Warwick!

My gracious liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be:
Which I with more than with a common pain
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.

O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears,
The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown ...

I never thought to hear you speak again.

No; I will sit and watch here by the king.
Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! sleep ...

If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic.

Heard he the good news yet?
Tell it him.

How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!
How doth the king?

Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.

Peto, how now! what news?

You, gentlewoman,-

For the women?

See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to
close with us? is she of the wicked? is thine
hostess here of the wicked? or is thy boy of the
wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
nose, of the ...

Not to dispraise me, and call me pantier and
bread-chipper and I know not what?

I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse;
and then I know how to handle you.

Yea, and you knew me, as you did when you ran away
by Gad's-hill: you knew I was at your back, and
spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you
speak of me even now before this honest, virtuous,
civil gentlewoman!

Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Why, thou globe of sinful continents! what a life
dost thou lead!

Anon, anon, sir.

Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what
says the almanac to that?

Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll
clawed like a parrot.

Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was
Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low
transformation! that shall be mine; for in every
thing the purpose must weigh with the folly.
Follow me, Ned.

How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night
in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

Fare you well; go.
Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page
This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.

Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your
master that I am yet come to town: there's for
your silence.

Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town
bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

What pagan may that be?

Sup any women with him?

What company?

Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the
spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.
Is your master here in London?

That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do
you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

Peace!

Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it
from Japhet. But to the letter.

I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my
dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes.

And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis,
boy.

Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?

Has not the boy profited?

And yours, most noble Bardolph!

And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from
me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not
transformed him ape.

And to thee.

It would be every man's thought; and thou art a
blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never
a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way
better than thine: every man would think me an
hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most
worshipful thought to think ...

What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?

By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's
book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and
persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell
thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so
sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art
hath ...

Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be
sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell
thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a
better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad
indeed too.

It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.