profane the precious time, When tempest of commotion, like the south Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked. More knocking at the door! How now! what's the matter? You must away to court, sir, presently; A dozen captains stay at door for you. Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell good wenches: if I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. I cannot speak; if my heart be not read to burst,-- well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Farewell, farewell. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man,--well, fare thee well. Mistress Tearsheet! What's the matter? Good Mistress Tearsheet, come to my master. O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come. Yea, will you come, Doll? Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them; make good speed. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a