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,