King Henry IV, Part 2. Уильям Шекспир
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 provok'st 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 liv'd, 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 th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurs'd!
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.
ACT II. SCENE I. London. A street
Enter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE
HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent'red the action?
FANG. It is ent'red.
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 ent'red 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 stabb'd me in mine
own
house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a 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 you, since my exion is
ent'red, 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 fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, and fubb'd 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.
Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH
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.
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
villian's
head. Throw the quean in the channel.
HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the
channel.
Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder!
Ah,
thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and
the
King's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a
man-queller and a woman-queller.
FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph.
FANG. A rescue! a rescue!
HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot
thou!
thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!
PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian!
I'll tickle your catastrophe.
Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men
CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho!
HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to
me.
CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here?
Doth this become your place, your time, and business?
You should have been well on your way to York.
Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou upon him?
HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an't please your Grace, I
am a
poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.
CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum?
HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all – all
I
have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all
my
substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of
it
out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare.
FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I