Bardolph

Lord Bardolph
Look, here comes more news.
Northumberland 
Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witnessed usurpation.—
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office,
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Lord Bardolph
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Morton, to Northumberland
I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen,
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,
To Harry Monmouth,
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Northumberland
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon th’ enraged Northumberland.
Let heaven kiss Earth! Now let not Nature’s hand
Keep the wild flood confined. Let order die,
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act;
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Lord Bardolph
The question, then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Lord Hastings
With him we may.
Lord Bardolph
Yea, marry, there’s the point.
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand.
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Prince Hal
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bardolph
Well, my good lord. He heard of your
Grace’s coming to town. There’s a letter for you.
 He gives the Prince a paper.
Poins
Delivered with good respect. And how doth the
Martlemas your master?
Bardolph
In bodily health,
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Pistol
Bardolph,
be blithe.—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.— Boy,
bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff, he is dead, and
we must earn therefore.
Bardolph
Would I were with him, wheresome’er he
is, either in heaven or in hell.

Trust none, for oaths are straws,
men’s faiths are wafer-cakes

Hostess
Nay,
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Bardolph
On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!
Nym
Pray thee, corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot,
and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives.
The humor of it is too hot; that is the very plainsong
of it.

Would I were in an alehouse in London!
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Falstaff
Come, sir, which men shall I have?
Shallow
Four of which you please.
Bardolph, aside to Falstaff
Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free
Mouldy and Bullcalf.

O, give me the spare men, and spare
me the great ones.

Falstaff
Go to,
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Falstaff
Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action? Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle?
Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s
loose gown. I am withered like an old applejohn.
Well, I’ll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in
some liking. I shall be out of heart shortly,
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Falstaff
Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling,
and a rich.
Shallow
Barren, barren, barren, beggars all, beggars
all, Sir John. Marry, good air.—Spread, Davy,
spread, Davy. Well said, Davy.

Do nothing but eat and make good cheer,
And praise God for the merry year,
When flesh is cheap and females dear,
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