Ant. Why, fear not, man: I will not forfeit it: Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are, A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. I will be with you. [Exit SHYLOCK. Ant. [Exeunt. King Henry IV. (Part I.) ACT II., SCENE IV.-TAVERN, EASTCHEAP. Enter FALSTAFF. Fal. Hal, there's villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your father: you must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales— what a plague call you him? Poins. O! Glendower. Fal. Owen, Owen; the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular. Prince. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. Fal. You have hit it. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news. Hal, art thou not horrible afeard? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? Prince. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Fal. Shall I content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. Prince. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown! Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept. Prince. Well, here is my knee. Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears. Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest; for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. Prince. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ? Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be falsely given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, tell me, where hast thou been this month? Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a poulter's hare. Prince. Well, here I am set. Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters. Prince. Now, Harry! whence come you? Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning but in craft? wherein crafty but in villany? wherein villanous but in all things? wherein worthy but in nothing? Fal. I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know. harm in him than in myself That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it: but that he is, saving your reverence, iniquitous, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. Prince. I do, I will. King Richard II. ACT V., SCENE II. Enter YORK and his DUCHESS. Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off Of our two cousins coming into London. York. Where did I leave ? At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows' tops, Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Bespake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen : Duch. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Whose state and honour I for aye allow. King John. ACT III., SCENE III. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, But I will fit it with some better time. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet; But thou shalt have: and, creep time ne'er so slow, |