Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And fee already, how he doth begin

To make us ftrangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng❜d on him.
Wor. Coufin, farewel. No further go in this,
Than I by letters fhall direct your courfe;
When time is ripe, which will be fuddenly,
I'll fteal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our Pow'rs at once,
(As I will fashion it) fhall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

North. Farewel, good brother; we fhall thrive, I truft.

Hot. Uncle, adieu: O let the hours be fhort, 'Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our fport!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

s

SCENE,

an Inn at Rochefter.

Enter a Carrier with a Lanthorn in his Hand.

H

I CARRIER.

EIGHho! an't be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd. Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horfe not packt. What, oftler ?

Oft. [within.] Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cutt's faddle, put a few flocks in the point: the poor jade is wrung in the withers, out of all cefs.

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 houfe is turn'd upfide down, fince Robin Oftler dy'd.

1 Car.

1 Car. Poor fellow never joy'd fince the price of oats rofe, it was the death of him.

2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house im all London road for fleas : I am ftung like a Tench.

1 Car, Like a Tench? by th' Mass, there's ne’er a King in Christendom could be better bit than I have been fince the firft cock.

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

1 Car. What, oftler, come away, and be hang'd, come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, (7) and two razes of ginger to be deliver'd as far as Charing-crofs.

ICar. 'Odsbody, the Turkies in my panniers are quite ftarv'd. What, oftler? a plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canft 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 hang'd, hast no faith in thee?

Enter Gads-hill.

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

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lanthorn, to fee.my gelding in the ftable.

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

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when ? canft tell? lend me thy lanthorn, quoth a! marry, I'll see thee hang'd first.

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

(7) And two Razes of Ginger] As our Author in several Paffages mentions a Race of Ginger, I thought proper to diftinguish it from the Raze mention'd here. The former fignifies no more than a single Root of it, from the Italian Term Radice; but a Raze is the Indian Term for a Bale of it. Two Roots of this Spice, 'tis obvious, would hardly have been fent from Rochester to London by the Carrier.

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugges, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with Company, for they have great Charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

Enter Chamberlain.

Gads. What, ho, chamberlain !
Cham. At hand, quoth pick-purse.

Gads. That's ev'n as fair, as at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou varieft no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring. Thou lay'ft the plot how.

Chamb. Good morrow, mafter Gads-hill; it holds currant, 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 fupper; 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 St. Nicholas clarks, 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'ft St. Nicholas as truely as a man of falfhood may.

Gads. What talk'st 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 know'ft, he's no ftarveling. Tut, there are other Trojans that thou dream'ft not of, the which, for fport-fake, are content to do the profeffion fome grace; that would, if matters should be look'd into, for their own credit fake, make all whole. I am join'd with no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff-fix-penny-ftrikers, none of those mad Mustachio-purple-hu'd-malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity; (8) burgomafters, and great Moneyers; fuch

(8) Burgo-mafters, and great one-eyers.] Perhaps, oneraires, Trustees, or Commissioners ; fays Mr. Pope. But how this Word

Comes

fuch as can hold in, fuch as will ftrike fooner than speak; and speak fooner than drink; and drink, fooner than pray; and yet I lye, for they pray continually unto their Saint the Common-wealth; 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 common-wealth their boots? will fhe hold out water in foul way ?

Gads. She will, fhe will; juftice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in a caftle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of Fern-feed, we walk invifible.

Cham. Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden to the night, than the Fern-feed, for your walking invifible.

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.

Gads. Go to, - Homo is a common name to all men. Bld the oftler bring my Gelding out of the ftable. Farewel, ye muddy knave.

2

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to the Highway.

Enter Prince Henry, Poins, and Peto.

Poins Cashorfe, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet.

NOME, shelter, fhelter; I have removed Fal

P. Henry. Stand close.

comes to admit of any fuch Conftru&tion, I am at a loss to know. To Mr. Pope's fecond Conjecture, of cunning Men that look sharp and aim well, I have nothing to reply seriously: but choose to drop it. The Reading, which I have fubftituted, I Owe to the Friendship of the ingenious Nicholas Hardinge, Esq. A Moneyer, is an Officer of the Mint, which makes Coin and delivers out the King's Money. Moneyers are also taken for Banquers, or thofe that make it their Trade to turn and return Money. Either of thefe Acceptations will admirably fquare with our Author's Context.

Enter

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Poins, Poins, and be hanged, Poins!

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat kidney'd rascal, what a brawling doft thou keep?

Fal. What, Poins! Hal!

P. Henry. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill, I'll go feek him.

Fal. I am accurft to rob in that thief's company: the rascal hath remov'd my horfe, and ty'd him, I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the fquare farther afoot, I fhall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'fcape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forfworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the rafcal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be elfe; I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a Plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll ftarve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to turn true-man, and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threefcore and ten miles afoot with me: and the ftony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true one to another. [They whistle.] Whew! a plague upon you all. Give me my horfe; you rogues, give me my horfe, and be hang'd.

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat guts, lye down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and lift if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

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

P. Henry. Thou lieft, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

Fal. I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horfe, good King's fon.

P. Henry.