Shal. Sir Iohn
Falst. I come Master Shallow, I come Master Shallow.
Enter the Earle of Warwicke, and the Lord Chiefe Iustice.
Warwicke. How now, my Lord Chiefe Iustice, whether away? Ch.Iust. How doth the King? Warw. Exceeding well: his Cares Are now, all ended
Ch.Iust. I hope, not dead
Warw. Hee's walk'd the way of Nature, And to our purposes, he liues no more
Ch.Iust. I would his Maiesty had call'd me with him, The seruice, that I truly did his life, Hath left me open to all iniuries
War. Indeed I thinke the yong King loues you not
Ch.Iust. I know he doth not, and do arme my selfe To welcome the condition of the Time, Which cannot looke more hideously vpon me, Then I haue drawne it in my fantasie. Enter Iohn of Lancaster, Gloucester, and Clarence.
War. Heere come the heauy Issue of dead Harrie: O, that the liuing Harrie had the temper Of him, the worst of these three Gentlemen: How many Nobles then, should hold their places, That must strike saile, to Spirits of vilde sort? Ch.Iust. Alas, I feare, all will be ouer-turn'd
Iohn. Good morrow Cosin Warwick, good morrow
Glou. Cla. Good morrow, Cosin
Iohn. We meet, like men, that had forgot to speake
War. We do remember: but our Argument Is all too heauy, to admit much talke
Ioh. Well: Peace be with him, that hath made vs heauy Ch.Iust. Peace be with vs, least we be heauier
Glou. O, good my Lord, you haue lost a friend indeed: And I dare sweare, you borrow not that face Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your owne
Iohn. Though no man be assur'd what grace to finde, You stand in coldest expectation. I am the sorrier, would 'twere otherwise
Cla. Wel, you must now speake Sir Iohn Falstaffe faire, Which swimmes against your streame of Quality
Ch.Iust. Sweet Princes: what I did, I did in Honor, Led by th' Imperiall Conduct of my Soule, And neuer shall you see, that I will begge A ragged, and fore-stall'd Remission. If Troth, and vpright Innocency fayle me, Ile to the King (my Master) that is dead, And tell him, who hath sent me after him
War. Heere comes the Prince. Enter Prince Henrie.
Ch.Iust. Good morrow: and heauen saue your Maiesty Prince. This new, and gorgeous Garment, Maiesty, Sits not so easie on me, as you thinke. Brothers, you mixe your Sadnesse with some Feare: This is the English, not the Turkish Court: Not Amurah, an Amurah succeeds, But Harry, Harry: Yet be sad (good Brothers) For (to speake truth) it very well becomes you: Sorrow, so Royally in you appeares, That I will deeply put the Fashion on, And weare it in my heart. Why then be sad, But entertaine no more of it (good Brothers) Then a ioynt burthen, laid vpon vs all. For me, by Heauen (I bid you be assur'd) Ile be your Father, and your Brother too: Let me but beare your Loue, Ile beare your Cares; But weepe that Harrie's dead, and so will I. But Harry liues, that shall conuert those Teares By number, into houres of Happinesse
Iohn, &c. We hope no other from your Maiesty
Prin. You all looke strangely on me: and you most, You are (I thinke) assur'd, I loue you not
Ch.Iust. I am assur'd (if I be measur'd rightly) Your Maiesty hath no iust cause to hate mee