happiness to my royal father! Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare wither'd trunk: upon thy sight My worldly business makes a period. Where is my Lord of Warwick? My Lord of Warwick! Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. Laud be to God! even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land: But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night. What, Davy, I say! You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused. Why, Davy! Here, sir. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see: yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not be excused. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts cannot be served: and, again, sir, shall we sow the headland with wheat? With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook: are there no young pigeons? Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and plough-irons. Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must need be had: and, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley fair? A' shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? Yea, Davy. I will use him well: a friend i' the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have marvellous foul linen. Well conceited, Davy: about thy business, Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot against Clement Perkes of the hill. There is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor: that Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet, God forbid, sir,