rogue is this? Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot, and the generall course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this Rascall, I could braine him with his Ladies Fan. Is there not my Father, my Unckle, and my Selfe, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of Yorke, and Owen Glendour? Is there not besides, the Dowglas? Have I not all their letters, to meete me in Armes by the ninth of the next Moneth? and are they not some of them set forward already? What a Pagan Rascall is this? An Infidell. Ha, you shall see now in very sincerity of Feare and Cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide my selfe, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skim'd Milk with so honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell the King we are prepared. I will set forwards to night.

Enter his Lady.

How now Kate, I must leave you within these two hours.
La. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight bin

A banish'd woman from my Harries bed?

Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomacke, pleasure, and thy golden sleepe?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth?
And start so often when thou sitt'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheekes?
And given my Treasures and my rights of thee,
To thicke-ey'd musing, and curst melancholly?
In
my faint-slumbers, I by thee have watcht,
And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres:
Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed,
Cry courage to the field. And thou hast talk'd
Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents,
Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets,

Of Basiliskes, of Canon, Culverin,

Of Prisoners ransome, and of Souldiers slaine,
And all the current of a headdy fight.

Thy spirit within thee hath beene so at Warre,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleepe,
That beds of sweate hath stood upon thy Brow,
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed Streame;
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restraine their breath

On some great sodaine hast. O what portents are these?
Some heavie businesse hath my Lord in hand,

And I must know it: else he loves me not.

Hot. What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?

Ser. He is my Lord, an houre agone.

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the Sheriffe ?

Ser. One horse, my Lord, he brought even now.

Hot. What Horse? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not.

Ser. It is my Lord.

Hot. That Roane shall be my Throne. Well, I will backe him straight. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Parke.

La. But heare you, my Lord.

Hot. What say'st thou my Lady?

La. What is it carries you away?

Hot. Why, my horse (my Love) my horse.

La. Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath not such a

deale of Spleene, as you are tost with.

In sooth Ile know your

businesse Harry, that I will. I feare my Brother Mortimer doth stirre about his Title, and hath sent for you to line his enterprize. But if you go

Hot. So farre a foot, I shall be weary, Love.

La. Come, come, you Paraquito, answer me directly unto this question, that I shall aske. Indeede Ile breake thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true.

Hot. Away, away you trifler: Love, I love thee not,

I care not for thee Kate: this is no world

To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips.

We must have bloodie Noses, and crack'd Crownes,

And

passe them currant too.

Gods me, my horse.

What say'st thou Kate? what wold'st thou have with me?

La. Do ye not love me? Do ye not indeed?
Well, do not then. For since you love me not,
I will not love my selfe. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if thou speak'st in jest or no.

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a horsebacke, I will sweare
I love thee infinitely. But hearke you Kate,
I must not have you henceforth, question me,
Whether I go nor reason whereabout.
Whether I must, I must and to conclude,
This Evening must I leave thee, gentle Kate.
I know you wise, but yet no further wise
Then Harry Percies wife. Constant you are,
But
yet a woman: and for secrecie,

No Lady closer. For I will beleeve

Thou wilt not utter what thou do'st not know,

And so farre wilt I trust thee, gentle Kate.

Prin. Ned, prethee come out of that fat roome, & lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poines. Where hast bene Hall?

Prin. With three or foure Logger-heads, amongst 3. or fourescore Hogsheads. I have sounded the verie base string of

humility. Sirra, I am sworn brother to a leash of Drawers, and can call them by their names, as Tom, Dicke, and Francis. They take it already upon their confidence, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of Curtesie: telling me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaffe, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, and when I am King of England, I shall command al the good Laddes in East-cheape. They call drinking deepe, dying Scarlet; and when you breath in your watering, then they cry hem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an houre, that I can drinke with any Tinker in his owne Language during my life. I tell thee Ned, thou hast lost much honor, that thou wer't not with me in this action: but sweet Ned, to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this peniworth of Sugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under Skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, then Eight shillings and six pence, and, You are welcome : with this shril addition, Anon, Anon sir, Score a Pint of Bastard in the Halfe Moone, or so. But Ned, to drive away time till Falstaffe come, I prythee doe thou stand in some by-roome, while I question my puny Drawer, to what end hee gave me the Sugar, and do never leave calling Francis, that his Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and Ile shew thee a President. Poines. Francis.

Prin. Thou art perfect.

Poin. Francis.

Enter Drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon sir; looke downe into the Pomgarnet,

Ralfe.

Prince. Come hither Francis.

Fran. My Lord.

Prin. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Fran. Forsooth five yeares, and as much as to-
Poin. Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon sir.

Prin. Five yeares: Berlady a long Lease for the clinking of Pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy Indenture, & shew it a faire paire of heeles, and run from it?

Fran. O Lord sir, Ile be sworne upon all the Books in England, I could finde in my heart.

Poin. Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon sir.

Prin. How old art thou, Francis ?

Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shalbe

Poin. Francis.

Fran. Anon sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord.

Prin. Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a penyworth, was't not?

Fran. O Lord sir, I would it had bene two.

Prin. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: Aske me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poin. Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon.

Prin. Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis, on thursday: or indeed Francis when thou wilt. But Francis.

Fran. My Lord.

Prin. Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Jerkin, Christall button, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke stocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch.

Fran. O Lord sir, who do you meane ?

Prin. Why then your browne Bastard is your onely drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canvas doublet will sulley. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to so much.

Fran. What sir?

Poin. Francis.

Prin. Away you Rogue, dost thou heare them call?

Heere they both call him, the Drawer stands amazed, not
knowing which way to go.