Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a horseback up a hill perpendicular

P. Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with a piftol kills a Sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.

P. Henry. So did he never the Sparrow.

Fal. Well; that rascal hath good mettle in him, he will not run.

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

Fal. A horfeback, ye cuckow, but afoot, he will not budge a foot.

P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon inftinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon inftinet: well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Wor cefter is ftoln away by night: thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as ftinking mackerel.

P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffetting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred.

Fal. By the mafs, lad, thou fay'st true; it is like, we fhall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art. not thou horribly afeard? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three fuch enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that fpirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Henry. Not a whit, i'faith; I lack fome of thy inftin&t.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to morrow, when thou com'ft to thy father: if thou do love me, practise an answer.

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

Fal. Shall I content: this Chair fhall be my State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cufhion my Crown.

P. Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-ftool, thy golden fcepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich Crown for a pitiful bald crown.

Fal

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 muft fpeak in paffion, and I will do it in King Cambyfes' vein.

lity

P. Henry. Well, here is my leg.
Fat. And here is my fpeech-

Stand afide, Nobi

Hoft. This is excellent fport, i'faith.

Fal. Weep not, fweet Queen, for trickling tears are

vain.

Hoft. O the father! how he holds his countenance Fal. For God's fake, lords, convey my triftful Queen, For tears do ftop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of those harlotry Players, as I ever see.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brainHarry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendeft thy time; but also, how thou art accompany'd: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the fafter it grows yet youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wears. Thou art my fon; I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be fon to me, here lyeth the point; why, being fon to me, art thou fo pointed at? Shall the bleffed Sun of heav'n prove a micher, and eat black-berries? a queftion not to be ask'd. Shall the fon of England prove a thief, and take purfes? a queftion to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haft 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 ; fo doth the company thou keep'ft; for, Harry, now do I not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in paffion; not in words only, but in woes alfo; and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. What manner of man, an it like your Majefty ?

Fal. A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleafing eye, and a moft noble carriage; and, as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'rlady, inclining to threescore; and now, I remember me, his name is Falftaff: if that man fhould be lewdly given, he deceives me; for, Harry, I fee virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I fpeak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month?

P. Henry. Doft thou speak like a King? do thou stand for Me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depofe me? If thou doft it half fo gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-fucker, or a poulterer's hare. P. Henry. Well, here I am fet.

Fal. And here I ftand; judge, my masters.
P. Henry. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eaft-cheap.

Nay, I'll

P. Henry. The Complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false. tickle ye for a young Prince.

P. Henry. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'r look on me; thou art violently carried away from grace; there's a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why doft thou converfe with that trunk of humours, that boulting-hutch of beafilinefs, that fwoln parcel of dropfies, that huge bombard of fack, that ftufft cloak-bag of guts, that roafted Manning-tree Ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to tafte fack 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 villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal

Fal. I would, your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable mif-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan. Fal. My lord, the man I know.

P. Henry. I know, thou dost.

Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in my felf, were to fay more than I know. That he is old, the more is the pity, his white hairs do witness it ; but that he is, (faving your reverence,) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If fack and fugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry, be a fin, then many an old Hoft, that I know, is damn'd: if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharoah's lean kine are to be lov'd. No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for fweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Fack Falstaff, valiant Jack FalStaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff; banish not him thy Harry's company : banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

P. Henry. I do, I will.

[Knocking; and Hostess goes out.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a moft monitrous Watch, is at the door.

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

Re-enter the Hoftefs.

Hoft. O, my lord, my lord!

Fal. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddle-ftick: what's the matter?

Hoft. The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door : they are come to fearch the houfe: fhall I let them in Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit thou art effentially mad, without deeming fo.

:

P. Henry. Andthou a natural coward, without inftinct.

Fal.

Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; 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 fhall as foon be ftrangled with a halter, as ano

ther.

P. Henry. Go, hide thee behind the arras, the rest walk up above. Now, my mafters, for a true face and good confcience.

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

[Exeunt Falstaff, Bardolph, &c.

P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff.

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, mafter Sheriff, what is your will with me ?^
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

P. Henry. What men ?

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

Čar. As fat as butter.

P. Henry. The man, I do affure you, is not here,
For I my self at this time have imploy'd him;
And, Sheriff, I engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to morrow dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he fhall be charg'd withal :
And fo let me intreat you leave the house.

Sher. I will, my lord: there are two gentlemen

Have in this robbery loft three hundred marks.

P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd these men, He fhall be anfwerable; and fo farewel.

go

Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Henry. I think, it is good morrow, is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
[Exit.
P. Henry. This oily rafcal is known as well as Paul's:
call him forth.

Peto. Falstaff faft afleep, behind the arras, and fnorting like a horfe.

P. Henry.