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Henry the Fifth by William Shakespeare
Act II Prologue
[Enter Chorus]
Chorus. Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers.
The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation,
Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart,
What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found
out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,
One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,—O guilt indeed!
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must
die, If hell and treason hold their promises,
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest
The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton;
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:
And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the king come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit]
Scene 1
London. A street.
[Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH]
Bardolph. Well met, Corporal Nym. Nym. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
Bardolph. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?
Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little; but when
time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that
shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will
wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but
what though? it will toast cheese, and it will
endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end.
Bardolph. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and
we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it
be so, good Corporal Nym. Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may,
that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any
longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is
the rendezvous of it.
Bardolph. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell
Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you
were troth-plight to her. Nym. I cannot tell: things must be as they
may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about
them at that time; and some say knives have edges.
It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare,
yet she will plod. There must be conclusions.
Well, I cannot tell.
[Enter PISTOL and Hostess]
Bardolph. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good
corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol!
Pistol. Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand,
I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
Hostess Quickly. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and
board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live
honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will
be thought we keep a *** house straight. [NYM and PISTOL draw]
O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we
shall see wilful adultery and *** committed. Bardolph. Good lieutenant! good corporal!
offer nothing here. Nym. Pish!
Pistol. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!
Hostess Quickly. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.
Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. Pistol. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!
The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;
For I can take, and Pistol's *** is up, And flashing fire will follow.
Nym. I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an
humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow
foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my
rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk
off, I would prick your guts a little, in good
terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it.
Pistol. O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale.
Bardolph. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the
first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.
[Draws]
Pistol. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall.
Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair
terms: that is the humour of it. Pistol. 'Couple a gorge!'
That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse
to get? No; to the spital go,
And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and—pauca, there's enough. Go to.
[Enter the Boy]
Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and
you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed.
Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and
do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill.
Bardolph. Away, you rogue! Hostess Quickly. By my troth, he'll yield
the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart.
Good husband, come home presently.
[Exeunt Hostess and Boy]
Bardolph. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to
France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats?
Pistol. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
Pistol. Base is the slave that pays. Nym. That now I will have: that's the humour
of it. Pistol. As manhood shall compound: push home.
[They draw]
Bardolph. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll
kill him; by this sword, I will. Pistol. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have
their course. Bardolph. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends,
be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with
me too. Prithee, put up.
Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?
Pistol. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand.
Nym. I shall have my noble? Pistol. In cash most justly paid.
Nym. Well, then, that's the humour of't. [Re-enter Hostess]
Hostess Quickly. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir
John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning
quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to
behold. Sweet men, come to him. Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the
knight; that's the even of it.
Pistol. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate.
Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be as it may;
he passes some humours and careers. Pistol. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins
we will live.
Act II, Scene
Southampton. A council-chamber.
[Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND]
Duke of Bedford. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
Duke of Exeter. They shall be apprehended by and by.
Earl of Westmoreland. How smooth and even they do bear themselves!
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.
Duke of Bedford. The king hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of. Duke of Exeter. Nay, but the man that was
his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious
favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery. [Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP,]
CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants] Henry V. Now sits the wind fair, and we will
aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of
Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts:
Think you not that the powers we bear with us
Will cut their passage through the force of France,
Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them?
Lord Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
Henry V. I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded
We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours,
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us.
Earl of Cambridge. Never was monarch better fear'd and loved
Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government.
Sir Thomas Grey. True: those that were your father's enemies
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you
With hearts create of duty and of zeal. Henry V. We therefore have great cause of
thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand,
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness.
Lord Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil,
And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services.
Henry V. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on;
And on his more advice we pardon him. Lord Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
Henry V. O, let us yet be merciful. Earl of Cambridge. So may your highness, and
yet punish too. Sir Thomas Grey. Sir,
You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction.
Henry V. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper,
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested,
Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their
dear care And tender preservation of our person,
Would have him punished. And now to our French causes:
Who are the late commissioners? Earl of Cambridge. I one, my lord:
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Lord Scroop. So did you me, my liege.
Sir Thomas Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. Henry V. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir
knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:
Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose
So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you
there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance? Earl of Cambridge. I do confess my fault;
And do submit me to your highness' mercy. Sir Thomas Grey. [with Scroop] To which we
all appeal. Henry V. The mercy that was quick in us but
late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,
You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired,
And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But,
O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou
cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature!
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy
use, May it be possible, that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange,
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason and *** ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them:
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason and on ***: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:
All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd
From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand
up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do
treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned?
Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem:
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law;
And God acquit them of their practises! Duke of Exeter. I arrest thee of high treason,
by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name
of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.
Lord Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd;
And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive,
Although my body pay the price of it. Earl of Cambridge. For me, the gold of France
did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention;
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
Sir Thomas Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself.
Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
Henry V. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his
coffers Received the golden earnest of our death;
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude,
His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation.
Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,
Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give
You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence.
[Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded] Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way.
Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God,
Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:
No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeunt]
Act II, Scene
London. Before a tavern.
[Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy]
Hostess Quickly. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.
Pistol. No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting
veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff
he is dead, And we must yearn therefore.
Bardolph. Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
heaven or in hell! Hostess Quickly. Nay, sure, he's not in hell:
he's in Arthur's ***, if ever man went to Arthur's ***.
A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any
christom child; a' parted even just between twelve
and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after
I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with
flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew
there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as
a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,
sir John!' quoth I. 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three
or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him
a' should not think of God; I hoped there was
no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts
yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I
put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they
were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees,
and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward
and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Nym. They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Quickly. Ay, that a' did.
Bardolph. And of women. Hostess Quickly. Nay, that a' did not.
Boy. Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils
incarnate. Hostess Quickly. A' could never abide carnation;
'twas a colour he never liked.
Boy. A' said once, the devil would have him about women.
Hostess Quickly. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then
he was rheumatic, and talked of the *** of Babylon.
Boy. Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon
Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul
burning in hell-fire? Bardolph. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained
that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service.
Nym. Shall we shog? the king will be gone from
Southampton. Pistol. Come, let's away. My love, give me
thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables:
Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck:
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
Boy. And that's but unwholesome food they say.
Pistol. Touch her soft mouth, and march. Bardolph. Farewell, hostess.
[Kissing her]
Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.
Pistol. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.
Hostess Quickly. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt]
Act II, Scene
France. The KING’S palace.
[Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the] [p]DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable,
and others]
King of France. Thus comes the English with full power upon us;
And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,
And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war
With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce
As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident
As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields. Lewis the Dauphin. My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations,
Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation.
Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France:
And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,
Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not. Constable of France. O peace, Prince Dauphin!
You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors,
With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate. Lewis the Dauphin. Well, 'tis not so, my lord
high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter:
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems:
So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth.
King of France. Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet
him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon
us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain
That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand
Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;
Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him,
Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him. [Enter a Messenger]
Messenger. Ambassadors from Harry King of England
Do crave admittance to your majesty. King of France. We'll give them present audience.
Go, and bring them. [Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords]
You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. Lewis the Dauphin. Turn head, and stop pursuit;
for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem
to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head:
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting.
[Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train]
King of France. From our brother England? Duke of Exeter. From him; and thus he greets
your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line,
In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree:
And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him the native and true challenger. King of France. Or else what follows?
Duke of Exeter. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my
message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. King of France. For us, we will consider of
this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England. Lewis the Dauphin. For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him: what to him from England? Duke of Exeter. Scorn and defiance; slight
regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
In second accent of his ordnance. Lewis the Dauphin. Say, if my father render
fair return, It is against my will; for I desire
Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with the Paris balls. Duke of Exeter. He'll make your Paris Louvre
shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe:
And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found,
Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time
Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France.
King of France. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
Duke of Exeter. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already.
King of France. You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions:
A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence.
In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have
seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:
Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd
sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think
You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance;
[Exit] End of Act II
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