Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee, for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt of Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent? Prince. You, Gentlewoman Dol. What sayes your Grace? Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells against Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the doore there, Francis? Enter Peto. Prince. Peto, how now? what newes? Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster, And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes, Come from the North: and as I came along, I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines, Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes, And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame, So idly to prophane the precious time, When Tempest of Commotion, like the South, Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt, And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads. Giue me my Sword, and Cloake: Falstaffe, good night. Enter. Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter? Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently, A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse, farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches: if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I goe Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie to burst- Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy selfe Falst. Farewell, farewell. Enter. Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an honester, and truer-hearted man- Well, fare thee well Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet Host. What's the matter? Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master Host. Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol. Exeunt. Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter the King, with a Page. King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick: But ere they come, bid them ore-reade these Letters, And well consider of them: make good speed. Enter.