I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate, No lady closer. For I well believe, Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, To day will I fet forth, to morrow you. Lady. It muft of force. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Boar's-Head Tavern P. Henry. in Eaft-cheap. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where haft been, Hal? P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or fourfcore hogfheads. I have founded the very bafe ftring of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Chriftian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their confcience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtefie; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, fo they call me ;) and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eaft-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying fcarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem! and bid you play it To conclude, I am fo good a proficient in F off. VOL. IV. one - (to one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, fweet Ned, sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six Pence, and You are welcome, Sir: with this fhrill addition, Anon, anon, Score a pint of baftard in the half moon, or fo.) But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falftaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou ftand in fome bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the fugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step afide, and I'll fhew thee a precedent. [Poins retires. Poins. Francis, P. Henry. Thou art perfect. Enter Francis the drawer. Sir; Fran. Anon, anon, Sir; look down into the pomgranet, Ralph. P. Henry. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My lord. P. Henry. How long haft thou to ferve, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, Sir. P. Henry. Five years; by'rlady, a long leafe for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dareft thou be fo valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and fhew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? Fran. O lord, Sir, I'll be fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart be Poins. Francis, Fran. Anon, anon, Sir. P. Henry. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas next I fhall Poins. Francis, Fran. Anon, Sir; pray you flay a little, my lord. P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the fugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, I would it had been two. P. Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. Francis, Fran. Anon, anon. P. Henry. Anon, Francis ? no, Francis, but to morrow, Francis, or Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, Fran. My lord? P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-ftocking, caddicegarter, fmooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch. Fran. O lord, Sir, who do you mean? P. Henry. Why then your brown baftard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to fo much. Fran. What, Sir? Poins. Francis, P. Henry. Away, you rogue, doft thou not hear them call? Here they both call; the drawer ftands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. What, ftand'st thou ftill, and hear'ft fuch a Calling? Look to the guests within. John with half a dozen more are at let them in ? My lord, old Sir the door; fhall I P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. Poins, Enter Poins. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir; [Exit Vintner. P. Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; fhall we be merry? F 2 Poins. 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 iffue? P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have shew'd themselves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this prefent twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, Sir. P. Henry. That ever this fellow fhould have fewer words than a Parrot, and yet the fon of a Woman!His industry is up ftairs and down ftairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the hot-fpur of the north; he that kills me some fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and fays to his wife, "fie upon this quiet life! I want work. "O my fweet Harry, fays fhe, how many haft thou kill'd to day?"Give my roan horse a drench, fays he, and answers, fome fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn fhall play dame Mortimer his wife. Rivo, fays the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack; where haft thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I fay, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of fack, boy Ere I lead this life long, I'll fow nether focks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of fack, rogue. Is there no vir[He drinks. tue extant? P. Henry. Didft thou never fee Titan kifs a dish of butter? (9) pitiful-hearted Butter, that melted at the (9) pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the Sweet Tale of the Sun?] This abfurd Reading poffeffes all the Copies in general; and tho' it has pafs'd thro' fuch a Number of Impreffions, is Nonfenfe which we may pronounce to have arifen at firft from the Inadvertence either of Tranfcribers, or the Compo the sweet tale of the Sun? if thou didft, then behold that compound. Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man; yet a coward is worfe than a cup of fack with lime in it. A villainous 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 fhotten herring there live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help, the while! a bad world; I fay. I would, I were a weaver; I could fing pfalms, and all manner of fongs. A plague of all cowards, I fay ftill! P. Henry. How now, Woolfack, what mutter you? Fal. A King's fon? 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 geefe, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales? P. Henry. Why, you whorfon round man! what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward answer me to that, and Poins there? P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll ftab thee. Fal. I call thee coward! I'll fee thee damn'd ere I'll call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as faft as thou canft. You are ftrait enough in the fhoulders, you care not who fees your back: call you that backing of your friends? a plague fitors at Prefs. 'Tis well known, Titan is one of the poetical Names of the Sun; bur we have no Authority from Fable for Titan's melting away at his own sweet Tale, as Narciffus did at the Reflection of his own fweet Form. The Poet's Meaning was certainly this: Falstaff enters in a great Heat, after having been robb'd by the Prince and Poins in Disguise: and the Prince feeing him in fuch a Sweat, makes the following Similie upon him: "Do but look upon that Compound of Grease; -his Fat drips away with the Violence of his "Motion, juft as Butter does with the Heat of the Sun-beams "darting full upon it. F 3 upon |