Act 4. Scene III - Page 2

sky of fame o'ershine you as much as the full
moon doth the cinders of the element, which show
like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of
the noble: therefore let me have right, and let
desert mount.

LANCASTER
Thine's too heavy to mount.

FALSTAFF
Let it shine, then.

LANCASTER
Thine's too thick to shine.

FALSTAFF
Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me
good, and call it what you will.

LANCASTER
Is thy name Colevile?

COLEVILE
It is, my lord.

LANCASTER
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

FALSTAFF
And a famous true subject took him.

COLEVILE
I am, my lord, but as my betters are
That led me hither: had they been ruled by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.

FALSTAFF
I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like
a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I
thank thee for thee.

Re-enter WESTMORELAND

LANCASTER
Now, have you left pursuit?

WESTMORELAND
Retreat is made and execution stay'd.

LANCASTER
Send Colevile with his confederates
To York, to present execution:
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.

Exeunt BLUNT and others with COLEVILE

And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords:
I hear the king my father is sore sick:
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him,
And we with sober speed will follow you.

FALSTAFF
My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come to court,
Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report.

LANCASTER
Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.

Exeunt all but Falstaff

FALSTAFF
I would you had but the wit: 'twere better than
your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-
blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make
him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine.
There's never none of these demure boys come to any
proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a
kind of male green-sickness; and then when they
marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools
and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for
inflammation. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold
operation in it. It ascends me into the brain;
dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy
vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive,
quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and
delectable shapes, which, delivered o'er to the
voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes
excellent wit. The second