wash thy face, and draw thy action: come, thou must not be in this humour with me; come, I know thou waft fet on to this. Hoft. Pr'ythee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles, I am loth to pawn my plate, in good earnest la. Fal. Let it alone, I'll make other fhift; you'll be a fool ftill. Hoft. Well, you fhall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to fupper: you'll pay me altogether? Fal. Will I live? go with her, go with her; hook on, hook on. Hoft. Will you have Doll Tear-fheet meet you at fupper? Fal. No more words. Let's have her. [Exeunt Hoft. and Serjeants. Ch. Juft. I have heard better news. Fal. What's the news, my good Lord ? Fal. I hope, my Lord, all's well. What is the news, my Lord ? Ch. Juft. Come all his forces back? Gower. No; fifteen hundred foot five hundred horfe Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Arch-bishop. Fal. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble Lord ? Ch. Juft. You fhall have letters of me presently. Come, go along with me, good Mr. Gower. Fal. My Lord! Ch. Juft. What's the matter? Fal. Mafter Gower, fhall I entreat you with me to din ner? Gower. I must wait upon my good Lord here. I thank you good Sir John. Ch. Juft. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take foldiers up in the countreys as you go. Fal. Will you fup with me, mafter Gower? Ch. Juft. What foolish mafter taught you these manners, Sir John? Fel, Mafter Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace my Lord, tap for tap, and fo part fair. Ch. Juft. Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great [Exeunt. fool. SCENE IV. Continues in London. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Henry. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought weariness durft not have attach'd one of fo high blood. P. Henry. It doth me, though it discolours the complexion of my greatnefs to acknowledge it. Doth it not thew vilely in me to defire fmall beer? Poins. Why, a Prince fhould not be so toosely ftudied, as to remember fo weak a compofition. P. Henry. Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, in troth, I do now remember the poor creature, Imall beer. But indeed thefe humble confiderations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face tomorrow! or to take note how many pair of filk ftockings thou haft! (viz. these, and thofe that were the peach-colour'd ones;) or to bear the inventory of thy fhirts, as one for fuperfluity, and one other for ufe; but that the tenniscourt-keeper knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of dinnen with thee, when thou keepeft not racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countreys have made a fhift to eat up thy holland. And God knows whether thofe that bawl out of the ruins of thy linnen fhall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives fay the children are not in the fault, whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. Poins. How ill it follows, after you have labour'd fo hard, you should talk fo idly! tell me how many good young Princes fhould do fo, their fathers lying fo fick as yours is. P. Henry. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? Poins. Yes, and let it be an excellent good thing. P. Henry. It fhall ferve among wits of no higher breed ing than thine. Peint Poins. Go to; I ftand the push of your one thing, that you'll tell. P. Henry. Why, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be fad now my father is fick; albeit I could tell to the, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be fad and fad indeed too. Poins. Very hardly upon fuch a fubject. P. Henry. Thou think'ft me as far in the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and perfiftency. Let F. the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is fick; and keeping fuch vile company as thou art hath in reaton taken from me all oftentation of forrow. Poins. The reafon ? P. Henry. What would'st thou think of me if I should weep? Poins. I would think thee a moft princely hypocrite. P. Henry. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a bleffed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine; every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what excites your moft worshipful thought to think fo? Poins. Why, because you have feem'd fo lewd, and fo much ingraffed to Falstaff. P. Henry. And to thee. Poins. Nay, by this light, I am well spoken of, I can hear it with mine own ears; the worst they can fay of me is, that I am a fecond brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands and those two things I confess I cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph. P. Henry. And the boy that I gave Falstaff; he had him from me chriftian, and fee if the fat villain have not transform'd him ape. SCENE V. Enter Bardolph and Page. Bard. Save your Grace! P. Henry. And yours, moft noble Bardolph! Bard, Come, you virtuous afs, you bafhful fool, muft you be blufhing? wherefore blufh you now? what a maidVOL. V. K enly enly man at arms are you become? Is it fuch a matter to get a pottle-pot's maiden-head? Page. He call'd me even now, my Lord, through a red latice, and I could difcern no part of his face from the window; at laft I spy'd his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the alewives new petticoat, and peep'd through. Bard. Hath not the boy profited? Away, you whorfen upright rabbet, away! Page. Away, you rafcally Althea's dream, away! P. Henry. Inftruct us, boy, what dream, boy? Page, Marry, my Lord, Althea dream'd fhe was deliver'd of a firebrand, and therefore I call him her dream. P. Henry. A crowns-worth of good interpretation; there it is, boy. [Gives bim mony. Poins. O that this good bloffom could be kept from cankers! well, there is fix pence to preferve thee. Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallows fhall be wrong'd. P. Henry. And how doth thy mafter, Baldolph ? Bard. Well, my good Lord; he heard of your Grace's coming to town. There's a letter for you. P. Henry. Deliver'd with good refpect; and how doth the Martlemas, your master? Bard. In bodily health, Sir, Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him; though that be fick, it dies not. P. Henry. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place for look you how he writes. [Gives Poins the letter. Poins reads. John Falstaff, knight every man muft know that, as oft as he hath occafion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the King, for they never prick their finger but they fay there is fome of the King's blood fpilt. How comes that? fays he that takes upon him not to conceive the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap; I am the King's poor coufin, Sir. P. Henry. Nay, they will be kin to us, but they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the fan of the King, 2 nearch weareft bis father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting. Why, this is a certificate. P. Henry. Peace. Poins. I will imitate the bonourable Romans in brevity. Sure he means brevity in breath; short-winded. I commend me to thee, I commend thee and I love thee. Be not too fami liar with Poins, for be mifufes thy favours fo much, that be fwears thou art to marry his fifter Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'ft, and fo farewel. Thine, by yea and no : which is as much as to fay, as thou ufeft him, Jack Falstaff with my familiars: John with my brothers and fifters: and Sir John with all Europe. My Lord, I will feep this letter in fack, and make him eat it. P. Henry. That's to make him eat plenty of his words, But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your fifter? Poins. May the wench have no worfe fortune! But I never faid fo. P. Henry. Well, thus we play the fool with the time, and the fpirits of the wife fit in the clouds and mock us: is your mafter here in London ? Bard. Yes, my Lord. P. Henry. Where fups he doth the old Boar feed in the old frank? Bard. At the old place, my Lord, in Eaft.cheap. P. Henry. What company? Page. Ephefians, my Lord, of the old church. P. Henry. Sup any women with him? Page. None, my Lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and Mrs, Dol Tear-fbeet. P. Henry. What Pagan may that be? Page. A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinfwoman of my mafter's. P. Henry. Even fuch kin, as the parish heifers are to the town Bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at fupper? Poins. I am your fhadow, my Lord, I'll follow you. P. Henry. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to There's for your mafter that I am yet come to town. your filence. Bard. I have no tongue, Sir. Page. And for mine, Sir, I will govern it. P. Henry, |