yet come to town: there's for your silence. I have no tongue, sir. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. Fare you well; go. This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never,