📔 Henry IV, Part 1

See how this river comes me cranking in, / And cuts me from the best of all my land / A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.

There is a thing Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is knowne to many in our land by the name of pitch. This pitch (as ancient writers do report) doth defile, ſo doth the companie thou keepest: […]

If we without his helpe can make a head / To push against a kingdome, with his helpe / We shal oreturne it topsie turvy down, [...]

Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: is not my Hostesse of the Taverne a most sweet Wench? / Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and is not a Buffe Jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

What I know / Is ruminated, plotted, and set down.

Come, let vs take a muster speedily: / Doomesday is neere; dye all, dye merrily.