1 Car. 'Odfbody! the turkies in my pannier are quite starved.—What, oftler!-A plague on thee! haft thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a verý villain.-Come, and be hang'd :-Hast no faith in thee?

Enter GADSHILL.

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? 1 Car. I think it to be two o'clock.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see 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 lantern, quoth a ?—marry, I'll fee thee hang'd first.

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

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.-Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

Gads. What, ho! chamberlain !

Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purfe.

Gads. That's even as fair as-at hand, quoth the cham. berlain for thou varieft no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou lay'st the plot how.

Enter Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, mafter Gadshill. It holds current, that I told you yesternight: There's a franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him

C 4

him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company, laft 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 faint Nicholas' clerks, 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 worship'ft faint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

Gads. What talk'ft thou to me of the hangman? if I bang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows: for, if I hang, old fir 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 sport fake, are content to do the profeffion fome grace; that would, if matters fhould 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 these mad, muftachio, purple-hued maltworms: but with nobility, and tranquillity; burgomasters, and great oneyers; fuch as can hold in; fuch as will strike fooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink fooner than pray: And yet I lie; for they pray continually to their faint, the commonwealth; 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 the hold out water in foul way?

Gads. She will, the will; justice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in a castle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of fern-feed, we walk invifible.

Cham. Nay, by my faith; I think, you are more beholden to the night, than to 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. Bid the oftler bring my gelding out of the ftable. Farewell, you muddy knave.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Road by Gadshill.

Enter Prince HENRY, and POINS; BARDOLPH and PETO, at fome distance.

Poins. Come, fhelter, fhelter; I have remov'd Falstaff's horfe, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet.

P. Hen. Stand clofe.

Enter FALSTAFF.

Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd raícal; What a brawling doft thou keep?

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?

P. Hen. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill; I'll go feek him. [Pretends to feek POINS. Fal. I am accurft to rob in that thief's company: the rafcal hath removed my horfe, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the fquire further 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 years, and yet I am bewitch'd with

the

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 starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as 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 to one another! [They whistle.] Whew!-A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hang'd.

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground, and lift if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any levers 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. Hen. 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. Hen. Out, you rogue! fhall I be your oftler?

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and fung to filthy tunes, let a cup of fack be my poison: When a jeft is fo forward, and afoot too, I hate it.

Enter GADSHILL.

Gads. Stand.

Fal.

Fal. So I do, against my will.

Poins. O, 'tis our fetter: I know his voice.

Enter BARDOLPH.

Bard. What news?

Gads. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your visors; there's money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.
Gads. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins, and I will walk lower: if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.

Peto. How many be there of them?

Gads. Some eight, or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Hen. What, a coward, fir John Paunch ?

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfabut yet no coward, Hal.

ther;

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there thou fhalt find him. Farewell, and ftand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I fhould be hang'd.
P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ?

Poins. Here, hard by; ftand close.

Fal. Now, my masters, every man to his business.

[Exeunt P. HENRY and POINS.

happy man be his dole, say I;

Enter