SCENE I. The Rebel Cump, near SHREWSBURY. The tongues of smoothers; but a braver place No man so potent breathes upon the ground, Hot. Do so, and 'tis well: Enter a Messenger, with Letters. What letters hast thou there?-I can but thank you. Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not himself? Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Wor. I would, the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited; His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprise; "Tis catching hither, even to our camp.- Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Of all our fortunes. Doug. 'Faith, and so we should ; Where now remains a sweet reversion: We may boldly spend upon the hope of what A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here; This absence of your father's draws a curtain, Hot. You strain too far. I, rather, of his absence make this use ;- Than if the earl were here: for men must think, Doug. As heart can think! there is not such a word` Spoke in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter SIR RICHARD VERNON. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm: What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd, The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, And bid it pass? Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in March, Against the bosom of the prince of Wales: Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.— Ver. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Б Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. Hot. Forty let it be; Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear [Exeunt. SCENE 11. A public Road near Coventry. Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack our soldiers shall march through; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. Bard. Will you give me money, captain? Fal. Lay out, lay out. Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons: inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glut |