King Henry IV, Part 2 | Page 9

set another up, should we survey
The plot of
situation and the model,
Consent upon a sure foundation,
Question
surveyors, know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,

To weigh against his opposite; or else

We fortify in paper and in
figures,
Using the names of men instead of men;
Like one that
draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half
through,
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject

to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
HASTINGS.
Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,
Should
be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The utmost man of
expectation,
I think we are a body strong enough,
Even as we are,
to equal with the king.
LORD BARDOLPH.
What, is the king but five and twenty
thousand?
HASTINGS.
To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph.
For
his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads: one power
against the French,
And one against Glendower; perforce a third

Must take up us: so is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his
coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
ARCHBISHOP.
That he should draw his several strengths together

And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
HASTINGS.
If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the
French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
HASTINGS.
The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;
Against
the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth:
But who is substituted
'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
ARCHBISHOP.
Let us on,
And publish the occasion of our arms.

The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
Their over-greedy
love hath surfeited:
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he that
buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many, with what loud
applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before
he was what thou wouldst have him be!
And being now trimm'd in
thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
That thou

provokest thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou
disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou
wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in
these times?
They that, when Richard lived, would have him die,

Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
Thou that threw'st dust
upon his goodly head
When through proud London he came sighing
on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Criest now "O earth,
yield us that king again,
And take thou this!" O thoughts of men
accursed!
Past and to come seems best; things present worst.
MOWBRAY.
Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
HASTINGS.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II.
SCENE I. London. A street.
[Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy with her, and Snare following.]
HOSTESS.
Master Fang, have you entered the action?
FANG.
It is entered.
HOSTESS.
Where 's your yeoman? Is 't a lusty yeoman? will 'a stand
to 't?
FANG.
Sirrah, where 's Snare?
HOSTESS.
O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.
SNARE.
Here, here.
FANG.
Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.

HOSTESS.
Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.
SNARE.
It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab.
HOSTESS.
Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine
own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what

mischief he does, if his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he
will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
FANG.
If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
HOSTESS.
No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.
FANG.
An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice,--
HOSTESS.
I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he 's an

infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good
Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to
Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to
dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert Street, to Master Smooth's the
silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is
entered and my case so openly
known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred
mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne,
and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and
fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on.
There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made
an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and
that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices,
do your offices, Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me
your offices.
[Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph.]
FALSTAFF.
How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter?
FANG.
Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.

FALSTAFF.
Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's

head: throw the quean in the