Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his physicians. 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 enterprize; 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. He writes me here, that inward sickness And that his friends by deputation could not So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet, To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul remov'd, but on his own. For, as he writes, there is no quailing now; 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. And breed a kind of question in our cause: The eye of reason may pry in upon us: That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Hot. You strain too far. I, rather, of his absence make this use;- We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word Spoke of 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, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 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. Hot. Forty let it be; My father and Glendower being both away, Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear [Exeunt. 7 SCENE II.-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 bans; 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 glutton's dogs licked his sores : and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers |