Prin. Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time, & the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is your Master heere in London? Bard. Yes my Lord Prin. Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in the old Franke? Bard. At the old place my Lord, in East-cheape Prin. What Company? Page. Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church Prin. Sup any women with him? Page. None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly, and M[istris]. Doll Teare-sheet Prin. What Pagan may that be? Page. A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman of my Masters Prin. Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the Towne-Bull? Shall we steale vpon them (Ned) at Supper? Poin. I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you Prin. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Master that I am yet in Towne. There's for your silence Bar. I haue no tongue, sir Page. And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it Prin. Fare ye well: go. This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode Poin. I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S[aint]. Albans, and London Prin. How might we see Falstaffe bestow himselfe to night, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene? Poin. Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers Prin. From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: It was Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low transformation, that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned. Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Enter Northumberland, his Ladie, and Harrie Percies Ladie. North. I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter, Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires: Put not you on the visage of the Times, And be like them to Percie, troublesome Wife. I haue giuen ouer, I will speak no more, Do what you will: your Wisedome, be your guide North. Alas (sweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne, And but my going, nothing can redeeme it