I would it were bed time Hal, and all well
Prin. Why, thou ow'st heauen a death
Falst. 'Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay him
before his day. What neede I bee so forward with him,
that call's not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, Honor prickes
me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come
on? How then? Can Honour set too a legge? No: or an
arme? No: Or take away the greefe of a wound? No.
Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No. What is Honour
A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: A
trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy'de a Wednesday.
Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare it? No. Is it
insensible then? yea, to the dead. But wil it not liue with
the liuing? No. Why? Detraction wil not suffer it, therfore
Ile none of it. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and so
ends my Catechisme.
Enter.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.
Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
The liberall kinde offer of the King
Ver. 'Twere best he did
Wor. Then we are all vndone.
It is not possible, it cannot be,
The King would keepe his word in louing vs,
He will suspect vs still, and finde a time
To punish this offence in others faults:
Supposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;
For Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,
Who ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,
Will haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:
Looke how he can, or sad or merrily,
Interpretation will misquote our lookes,
And we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,
The better cherisht, still the nearer death.
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