ACT I
SCENE I
The same.Enter LORD BARDOLPH.
L. Bard.
Who keeps the gate here, ho? The Porter opens the gate.
Where is the earl?
Port.
What shall I say you are?
L. Bard.
Tell thou the earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Port.
His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
L. Bard.
Here comes the earl. [Exit Porter.
North.
What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem:
The times are wild; contention, like a horse (10)
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him.
L. Bard.
Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North.
Good, an God will!
L. Bard.
As good as heart can wish:
The king is almost wounded to the death;
And, in fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, (20)
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes!
North.
How is this derived?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
L. Bard.
I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
North.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news. Enter TRAVERS. (30)
L. Bard.
My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from me.
North.
Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
Tra.
My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him (40)
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And bending forward struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
North.
Ha! Again:
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? (50)
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?
L. Bard.
My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony; never talk of it.
North.
Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
L. Bard.
Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter MORTON. (60)
North.
Yea, this man's brow, like to a titleleaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor.
I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
To fright our party.
North.
How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. (70)
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, (80)
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'
Mor.
Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But, for my lord your son,--
North.
Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. (91)
Mor.
You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North.
Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive. (100)
Ye the first bringer of unwelcome news,
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd tolling a departing friend.
L. Bard.
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor.
I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down (110)
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:
And as the thing that's heavy in itself, (120)
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame (130)
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
North.
For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, (141)
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach (151)
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, (160)
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
Tra.
This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
L. Bard.
Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honor.
Mor.
The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said
'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise,
That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop: (170)
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
You were advised his flesh was capable
Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:
Yet did you say 'Go forth;' and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
More than that being which was like to be? (180)
L. Bard.
We all that are engaged to this loss
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed
Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.
Mor.
'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,
The gentle Archbishop of York is up (190)
With well-appointed powers: he is a man
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corpse,
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, (200)
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's followed both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
And more and less do flock to follow him. (210)
North.
I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety and revenge:
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed:
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.
SCENE II
London. A street.Enter FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler.
Fal.
Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor
to my water?
Page.
He said, sir, the water itself was a
good healthy water; but, for the party that
owed it, he might have more diseases than he
knew for.
Fal.
Men of all sorts take a pride to gird
at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded
clay, man, is not able to invent anything that
tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented
on me: I am not only witty in myself,
but the cause that wit is in other men. I do
here walk before thee like a sow that hath
overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the
prince put thee into my service for any other
reason than to set me off, why then I have no
judgement. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art
fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my
heels. I was never manned with an agate till
now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor
silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back
again to your master,--the juvenal,
the prince your master, whose chin is not yet
fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the
palm of my hand than he shall get one on his
cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face
is a face-royal: God may finish it when he
will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it
still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never
earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing
as if he had writ man ever since his father
was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace,
but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him.
What said Master Dombledon about the satin
for my short cloak and my slops?
Page.
He said, sir, you should procure him
better assurance than Bardolph: he would not
take his band and yours; he liked not the
security.
Fal.
Let him be damned, like the glutton!
pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson
Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to
bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand
upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do
now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches
of keys at their girdles; and if a man is
through with them in honest taking up, then
they must stand upon security. I had as lief
they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer
to stop it with security. I looked a' should have
sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am
a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,
he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn
of abundance, and the lightness of his wife
shines through it: and yet cannot he see,
though he have his own lanthorn to light him.
Where's Bardolph?
Page.
He's gone into Smithfield to buy your
worship a horse.
Fal.
I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy
me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me
but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, (61)
and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant.
Page.
Sir, here comes the nobleman that
committed the prince for striking him about
Bardolph.
Fal.
Wait close; I will not see him.
Ch. Just.
What's he that goes there?
Serv.
Falstaff, an 't please your lordship.
Ch. Just.
He that was in question for the (69)
robbery?
Serv.
He, my lord: but he hath since done
good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is
now going with some charge to the Lord John
of Lancaster.
Ch. Just.
What, to York? Call him back
again.
Serv.
Sir John Falstaff!
Fal.
Boy, tell him I am deaf.
Page.
You must speak louder; my master (79)
is deaf.
Ch. Just.
I am sure he is, to the hearing of
any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow;
I must speak with him.
Serv.
Sir John!
Fal.
What a young knave, and begging!
Is there not wars? is there not employment?
doth not the king lack subjects? do not the
rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to
be on any side but one, it is worse shame to
beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse
than the name of rebellion can tell how to (90)
make it.
Serv.
You mistake me, sir.
Fal.
Why, sir, did I say you were an honest
man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership
aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had
said so.
Serv.
I pray you, sir, then set your kinght-
hood and your soldiership aside; and give me
leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you
say I am any other than an honest man.
Fal.
I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay
aside that which grows to me! If thou gettest
any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave,
thou wert better be hanged. You hunt countter:
hence! avaunt!
Serv.
Sir, my lord would speak with you.
Ch. Just.
Sir John Falstaff, a word with
you.
Fal.
My good lord! God give your lordship
good time of day. I am glad to see your
lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship
was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by
advice. Your lordship, though not clean past
your youth, hath yet some smack of age in
you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I
must humbly beseech your lordship to have
a reverent care of your health.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, I sent for you before
your expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fal.
An't please your lordship, I hear his
majesty is returned with some discomfort from
Wales.
Ch. Just.
I talk not of his majesty: you (121)
would not come when I sent for you.
Fal.
And I hear, moreover, his highness is
fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just.
Well, God mend him! I pray
you, let me speak with you.
Fal.
This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind
of lethargy, an 't please your lordship; a kind
of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just.
What tell you me of it? be it as (130)
it is.
Fal.
It hath its original from much grief,
from study and perturbation of the brain: I
have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it
is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just.
I think you are fallen into the
disease; for you hear not what I say to you.
Fal.
Very well, my lord, very well: rather,
an't please you, it is the disease of not listen-
ing, the malady of not marking, that I am (140)
troubled withal.
Ch. Just.
To punish you by the heels would
amend the attention of your ears; and I care
not if I do become your physician.
Fal.
I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not
so patient: your lordship may minister the
potion of imprisonment to me in respect of
poverty; but how I should be your patient to
follow your prescriptions, the wise may make
some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple
itself.
Ch. Just.
I sent for you, when there were
matters against you for your life, to come
speak with me.
Fal.
As I was then advised by my learned
counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did
not come.
Ch. Just.
Well, the truth is, Sir John, you
live in great infamy.
Fal.
He that buckles him in my belt can-
not live in less.
Ch. Just.
Your means are very slender, and (160)
your waste is great.
Fal.
I would it were otherwise; I would
my means were greater, and my waist slenderer.
Ch. Just.
You have misled the youthful
prince.
Fal.
The young prince hath misled me: I
am the fellow with the great belly, and he my
dog.
Ch. Just.
Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
wound: your day's service at Shrews-
bury hath a little gilded over your night's
exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet
time for your quiet o'er-posting that (171)
action.
Fal.
My lord?
Ch. Just.
But since all is well, keep it so:
wake not a sleeping wolf.
Fal.
To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a
fox.
Ch. Just.
What! you are as a candle, the
better part burnt out.
Fal.
A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow:
if I did say of wax, my growth would approve (181)
the truth.
Ch. Just.
There is not a white hair on your
face but should have his effect of gravity.
Fal.
His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
Ch. Just.
You follow the young prince up
and down, like his ill angel.
Fal.
Not so, my lord; your ill angel is
light; but I hope he that looks upon me will
take me without weighing: and yet, in some
respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell.
Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger
times that true valour is turned bearherd:
pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath
his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all
the other gifts appertinent to man, as the
malice of this age shapes them, are not worth
a gooseberry. You that are old consider not
the capacities of us that are young; you do
measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness
of your galls: and we that are in the
vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags (200)
too.
Ch. Just.
Do you set down your name in
the scroll of youth, that are written down old
with all the characters of age? Have you not
a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek?
a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing
belly? is not your voice broken? your wind
short? your chin double? your wit single?
and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
and will you yet call yourself young? (209)
Fie, fie, fie, Sir John!
Fal.
My lord, I was born about three of
the clock in the afternoon, with a white head
and something a round belly. For my voice, I
have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems.
To approve my youth further, I will
not: the truth is, I am only old in judgement
and understanding; and he that will caper
with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me
the money, and have at him! For the box of
the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like
a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible
lord. I have checked him for it, and the young
lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sack-
cloth, but in new silk and old sack.
Ch. Just.
Well, God send the prince a better
companion!
Fal.
God send the companion a better
prince! I cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just.
Well, the king hath severed you
and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with
Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop (230)
and the Earl of Northumberland.
Fal.
Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for
it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my
lady Peace at home, that our armies join not
in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two
shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat
extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I
brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I
might never spit white again. There is not a
dangerous action can peep out his head but I
am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever:
but it was alway yet the trick of our English
nation, if they have a good thing, to make it
too common. If ye will needs say I am an old
man, you should give me rest. I would to God
my name were not so terrible to the enemy as
it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a
rust than to be scoured to nothing with per-
petual motion.
Ch. Just.
Well, be honest, be honest, and
God bless your expedition!
Fal.
Will your lordship lend me a thousand (251)
pound to furnish me forth?
Ch. Just.
Not a penny, not a penny; you
are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you
well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. [Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant.
Fal.
If I do, fillip me with a three-man
beetle. A man can no more separate age and
covetousness than a' can part young limbs and
lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the
pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees (260)
prevent my curses. Boy!
Page.
Sir?
Fal.
What money is in my purse?
Page.
Seven groats and two pence.
Fal.
I can get no remedy against this consumption
of the purse: borrowing only lingers
and lingers in it out, but the disease is incurable.
Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster;
this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland;
and this to old Mistress Ursula,
whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I
perceived the first white hair on my chin.
About it: you know where to find me. [Exit Page.]
A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this
pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue
with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt;
I have the wars for my colour, and my pension
shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit
will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases
to commodity. [Exit.
SCENE III
York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace.Enter the ARCHBISHOP, the LORDS HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH.
Arch.
Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb.
I well allow the occasion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied
How in our means we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king. (10)
Hast.
Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
L. Bard.
The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus;
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland?
Hast.
With him, we may.
L. Bard.
Yea, marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble, (20)
My judgement is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand;
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain should not be admitted.
Arch.
'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph: for indeed
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
L. Bard.
It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself in project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: (31)
And so, with great imagination
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death
And winking leap'd into destruction.
Hast.
But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
L. Bard.
Yes, if this present quality of war,
Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot
Lives so in hope as in early spring
We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, (40)
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection;
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then but draw anew the model
In fewer offices, or at last desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down (50)
And 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, (60)
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast.
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.
L. Bard.
What, is the king but five and twenty thousand?
Hast.
To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. (70)
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.
Arch.
That he should draw his several strengths together
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast.
If he should do so,
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh (80)
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.
L. Bard.
Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
Hast.
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.
Arch.
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 (90)
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, (100)
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.
Mowb.
Shall we go draw our numbers and set on?
Hast.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt.
