ACT IL

SCENE I.-ROCHESTER. An Inn-Yard.

Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand.

1 Car. Heigh ho! An't be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed-What, ostler!

Ost. [Within Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler died.

1 Car. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.

2 Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.

1 Car. Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and then we leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach.

1 Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged; come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

1 Car. 'Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved-What, ostler!-A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain.-Come, and be hanged:-hast no faith in thee?

Enter GADSHILL.

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock.

Gads. I prythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell?-Lend me thy lantern, quoth a?-marry, I'll see thee hanged first.

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.-Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

Gads. What, ho! chamberlain ! Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. Gads. That's even as fair as-at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou layest the plot how.

Enter Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds current, that I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: they will away presently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worshipp'st saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows: for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me; and thou knowest he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content to do the profession some grace; that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity; burgomasters and great oneyers; such as can hold in; such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray and yet I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her,

but prey on her; for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

Cham. What! the commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in foul way?

Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal us in a castle, cocksure; we have the receipt of fern-seed,-we walk invisible.

Cham. Nay, by my faith; I think you are more beholden to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking i invisible.

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false

thief.

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill; I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poiss. the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire farther afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt net but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rasca! have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it could not be else; I have drunk medcines.-Poins!-Hal!-a plague upon you both!— Bardolph-Peto!-I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and, the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one another! They whistle] Whew!-a plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged.

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood! I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague meau ye to colt me thus?

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's son.

P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler? Fal. Go hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent gar ters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes. let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest is so forward, and afoot too,-I hate it. Enter GADSHILL.

Gads. Case ye, case ye; on with your visors: there's money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.

Guds. There's enough to make us all.
Fal. To be hanged.

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar row lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. Peto. How many be there of them? Gads. Some eight or ten.

Fal. 'Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Hen, What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge; when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.
P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises?
Poins. Here, hard by: stand close.

[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY and POINS. Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say 1; every man to his business.

Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats. Ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; fleece them.

1 Trar. 0, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves: are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young men must live. You are grand-jurors, are ye? We'll jure ye, i' faith. [Exeunt FALSTAFF, dc., driving the Travellers out. Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS.

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.

Poins. Stand close; I hear them coming.

Re-enter Thieves.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck. P. Hen. Your money! Poins. Villains!

[Rushing out upon them.

[As they are sharing, the PRINCE and POINS set upon them. FALSTAFF, after a blow or two, and the rest, run away, leaving their booty behind them.

P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Were't not for laughing, I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-WARKWORTH. A Room in the Castle.

Enter HOTSPUR, reading a letter. "But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house."-He could be contented,-why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house:--he shews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous: "-why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition."-Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is as good a plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action. 'Zounds! an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are they not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. 0, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set forward to-night,

Enter LADY PERCY.

How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I this fortnight been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is 't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars; Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; Cry, "Courage! to the field!"-And thou hast talk'd Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream:
And in thy face strange inotions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these?
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Enter Servant.

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.

Hot. Hath Butler brought these horses from the

love.

I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title, and hath sent for you
To line his enterprise: but if you go-
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary,
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away,

Away, you trifler!-Love?-I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world
To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. -Gods me, my horse!--
What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with
me?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for, since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout;
Whither I must, I must: and, to conclude,
This evening inust I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no further wise
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are;
But yet a woman: and for secrecy,
No lady closer; for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Katel
Lady. How! so far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate!
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.-
Will this content you, Kate?
Lady. It must, of force.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-EASTCHEAP. A Room in the Boar's Head

Tavern.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS.

P. Hen. Ned, fry hee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Srrah, I am sworn

I

brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their Christian names, as --Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, -by the Lord, so they call me; and when I am king of England, I shall coinmand all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry "Hem!" and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned, -to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life than-Eight shillings and sixpence,” and"You are welcome," with this shrill addition, “Anon. anon, Sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half Moon," or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling "Francis!" that his tale to me may be nothing but "Anon." Step aside, and I'll shew thee a precedent.

P. Hen. Srrah, Faistaff and the rest of the thiever are at the door: shall we be merry? But hark ye

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?

P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have shewed themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter FRANCIS with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!His industry is-upstairs and down-stairs; his eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast. washes his hands, and says to his wife," Fie upon this quiet life! I want work." "O my sweet Ilarry," says she, "how many hast thou killed to-day?" "Give my roan horse a drench," says he; and answers, "Some fourteen," an hour after; "a trifle, a trifle." I pry thee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damined brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. "Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO. Poins. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry and amen!-Give me a cup of sack, boy.— Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! -Give me a cup of sack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! if thou didst, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man? yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it; a villanous coward.-Go thy ways, old Jack; de when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not for got upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten Lerring. There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you?

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales!

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's the

thon drunk'st last.

Fal. All's one for that. [He drinks.] A plague of all cowards, still say I.

P. Hen. What's the matter?

Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man?

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through my sword hack'd like a hand-saw.-ecce s num! I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not

do. A plague of all cowards!-Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness.

P. Hen. Speak, Sirs; how was it?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen,-
Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord.

Gads. And bound them.

Peto. No, no, they were not bound.

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us,

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

P. Hen. What, fought you with them all?

Fal. All? I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.

Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of them.

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have peppered two of them: two, I am sure, I have paid,-two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,--if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward;-here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,

P. Hen. What, four? thou saidst but two even now. Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four.

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine

in buckram, that I told thee of,

P. Hen. So, two more already.

Fal. Their points being broken,-
Poins. Down fell their hose.

Fal. Began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in, foot and hand; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.

P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me;-for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech,

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?

P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? come tell us your reason: what sayst thou

to this?

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack,-your reason.

Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compuls on, 1.

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge bill of flesh,

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, -- 0, for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck,

P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it again: and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins. Mark, Jack.

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four; you hound them, and were masters of their wealth.-Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down.-Then did we two set on you four; and, with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can shew it you here in the house-and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou

hast done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and thee, during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. -Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore?

P. Hen. Content;-and the argument shall be, thy running away.

Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. Enter Hostess.

Host. My lord the prince,

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest thou to me?

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you: he says he comes from your father.

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he?

P. Hen. Now, Sirs; by 'r lady, you fought fair;-so did you, Peto;-so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince; no,-fie!

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hacked?

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said he would swear truth out of England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass, to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year before,-I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.

P. Hen. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rann'st away; what instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?

P. Hen. I do.

Bard. What think you they portend? P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter.

Re-enter FALSTAFF

How

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is 't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: a plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your father; you must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook,what, a plague, call you him?-

Poins. O, Glendower.

P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running?

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will not budge a foot.

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon inst net.-Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I content:-this chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown!

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved-Give me a cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in king Cambyses' vein.

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.

Fal. And here is my speech.-Stand aside, nobility. Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith.

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are

vain.

Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance! Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen; For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Host. O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry players, as I ever see.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point;--why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but in woes also:And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

Fal. A good portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. Aud tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast

thou been this month?

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's hare.

P. Hen. Well, here I am set.

Fal. And here I stand :-judge, my masters.
P. Hen. Now, Harry, whence come you?

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false:-nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith.

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloakbag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pad ding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruflian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you; whom means your grace?

P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know.

P. Hen. I know thou dost.

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it; bat that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard [Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH.

Re-enter BARDOLPH, running. Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door.

Fal. Out, you rogue!-Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. Re-enter Hostess, hastily.

Host. O Jesu! my lord, my lord!Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick what's the matter?

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit thou art essentially mad, without

seeming so.

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff. so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras :-the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

[Exeunt all but the PRINCE and Poiss.

P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, master sheriff, what's your will with me?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

P. Hen. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord,A gross fat man.

Car. As fat as butter.

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here;
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charged withal:
And so, let me entreat you leave the house.

Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so, farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it he two o'clock. [Exeunt Sheri and Carriet