And pass them current too.-God's me, my horse!

What sayst 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 must 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 Kate!

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 command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing 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. I 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 Halfmoon," or so.-But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'y thee 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.

the sugar thou gavest me,―'t was a pennyworth, was 't not?

Fran. O lord, sir, I would it had been two. P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poins. [within]. Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,Fran. My lord?

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal button, nott-pated, agate-ring, pukestocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanishpouch,

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

Fran. What, sir?

Poins. [within]. Francis!

P. Hen. Away, you rogue; dost thou not hear them call?

[Here they both call him; the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What! stand 'st thou still, and hear 'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit FRANCIS.] My lord, old Sir John, with half-adozen more, are at the door: shall I let them in? P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.]-Poins!

Re-enter POINS.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door. Shall we be merry?

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

P. Ilen. 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, up-stairs and downstairs; 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 Harry," 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 pr'y thee call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned 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; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. 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, woolsack: 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 matter?

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?

Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward I'll stab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me

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 'scaped by miracle: I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a handsaw: ecce signum. 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 Hebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us,—

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then came 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 Heaven you have not murdered some of them.

Fal. Nay, that's past praying 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. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took their seven points in my target: thus.

P. Hen. Seven! why, there were but four

even now.

Fal. In buckram?

Poms. Ay, four in buckram suits.

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. P. Hen. Pr'y thee let him alone: we shall have

more anon.

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 plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish!— O 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 awhile, 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 bound them, an 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, outfaced 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 bull-calf. 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 lie 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 thon lovest me.

Enter Hostess.
Host. My lord the prince,-

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess: what sayst 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?
Host. An old man.

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?-Shall I give him his answer? P. Hen. Pr'y thee, do, Jack.

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit. 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