keeping fuch vile company, as thou art, hath in reafon taken from me all oftentation of forrow. Poins. The reason? P. Henry. What would'st thou think of me, if I fhould weep? Poins. I would think thee a most 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 most worshipful thought to think fo? Poins. Why, because you have feemed 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 confefs, I cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph. P. Henry. And the Boy that I gave Falstaff; he had him from me christian, and, see, if the fat villain have not transform'd him ape. Enter Bardolph and Page. Bard. Save your Grace. P. Henry. And yours, mot noble Bardolph. (7) Bard. Come, you virtuous afs, and bafhful fool, muft you be blufhing? wherefore blush you now? what a maidenly man at arms are you become? Is it fuch a matter to get a pottle-pot's maiden-head? (7) Poins. Come, you virtuous ass, &c.] Tho' all the Editions concur in giving this Speech to Poins, ir feems evident to me, by the Page's immediate Reply, that it must be placed to Bardolph. For Bardolph had call'd to the Boy from an Ale-house, and, 'tis likely, made him half-drunk: and, the Boy being afham'd of it, 'tis natural for Bardolph, a bold unbred Fellow, to banter him on his aukward Bafhfulness. I have therefore placed it to him, Page. Page. He call'd me even now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could difcern no part of his face from the window; at laft, I fpy'd his eyes, and, methought, he had made two holes in the ale-wive's new petticoat, and peep'd through. P. Henry. Hath not the boy profited? Bard. Away, you whorfon 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, the 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 preserve 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 master, Bardolph ? 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; doth the Martlemas, your Mafter? Bard. In bodily health, Sir. and how Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phyfician; 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. Poins reads. John Falftaff, knight, Every man muft know that, as often as he hath occafion to name himself: even like thofe that are kin to the King, for they never prick their finger but they fay, there is fome of the King's blood Spilt. How comes that? fays he, that takes upon him not to conceive: (8) the anfwer (8) The Answer is as ready as a borrow'd Cap.] But how is a borrow'd Cap fo ready? Read, a Borrower's Cap: and then there is fome Humour in it. For a Man, that goes to borrow Mony, is of all Others the most complaifant: His Cap is always at hand. Mr. Warburton. 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, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But, to the letter: Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the fon of the King, neareft his father, Harry Prince of Wales, Greeting. Poins. Why, this is a certificate. I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity. P. Henry. I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins, for he mif ufes thy favours fo much, that he wears, thou art to marry his Sifter Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'ft, and fo farewel. Thine, by yea and no; which is as much as to say, as thou useft him. Jack Falstaff with my familiars: John with my brothers and fifiers: and Sir John with all Europe. Poins. My Lord, I will fteep this letter in fack, and make him eat it. P. Henry. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you ufe me thus, Ned? muft I marry your Sifter? Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune! But I never faid fo. P. Henry. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits 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. 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. Doll Tear-Sheet. P. Henry. What Pagan may that be? Page. Page. A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinfwoman of my master's. P. Henry. Even fuch kin, as the parish heifers are to the town Bull. Shall we fteal 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 your mafter that I am yet come to town. for your filence. Bard. I have no tongue, Sir. Page, And for mine, Sir, I will govern it. There's P. Henry. Fare ye well: go. This Dol Tear-Sheet fhould be fome road. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way St. Albans and London. between P. Henry. How might we fce Falfaff beftow himself to night in his true colours, and not our felves be feen? Poins. Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table, as drawers. P. Henry. From a God to a Bull? a heavy declenfion. It was Jove's cafe. From a Prince to a prentice? a low transformation; that shall be mine: for in every thing, the purpofe muft weigh with the folly. Fol low me, Ned. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to Northumberland's Castle. Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, and Lady Percy. North. I Pr'ythee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Put not you on the vifage of the times, And be like them to Percy, troublesome. L. North. I have giv'n over, I will speak no more : Do what you will: your wifdom be your guide. North. Alas, fweet wife, my Honour is at pawn, And, but my Going, nothing can redeem it. L. Percy. Oh, yet, for heav'n's fake, go not to these wars. The time was, father, that you broke your word, When When you were more endear'd to it than now ; In the grey vault of heav'n: and by his light fon's. To do brave acts. He was indeed the glafs, For those, that could fpeak low and tardily, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, Where nothing but the found of Hotfpur's Name (9) But he did long in vain!] Nothing of longing has been exprefs'd before, which makes me fufpect this reading. ShakeSpeare, and most of the Writers of his Time, lov'd a Repetition of the fame Word: and, as it is immediately before faid, that Percy threw many a Northward Look, I am perfuaded the Poet wrote; but he did look in vain! Had |