fhould be, by this fire; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the fon of utter darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gadshill in the night to catch my horfe, if I did not think, thou had'st been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild fire, there's no purchase in mony. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire light; thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the fack, that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, as the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it! 4 Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly. Fal. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be fure to be heartburn'd. Enter Hoftefs. How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket? Hoft. Why, Sir John! what do you think, Sir John? do you think, I keep thieves in my house? I have fearch'd, I have enquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant. The tithe of a hair was never loft in my house before. Fal. Ye lie, hoftefs; Bardolph was fhay'd, and loft many a hair; and I'll be fworn, my pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a woman, go. Hoft. Who I? I defie thee; I was never call'd fo in mine own houfe before. Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Hoft. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John: I know you, Sir John; you owe me mony, Sir John, 4 Good cheap.] Cheap is market, and good cheap therefore is a bon marchè. and. and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of fhirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas; I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made boulters of them. Hoft. Now as I am a true woman, Holland of eight fhillings an ell: you owe mony here befides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and mony lent you, four and twenty pounds. Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay. Hoft. He alas! he is poor, he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face: 'what call you rich? let him coin his nofe, let him coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a yonker of me? fhall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I fhall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a seal-ring of my grand-father's, worth forty mark. Hoft. O Jefu! I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper. Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a fneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would fay fo. SCENE VI. Enter Prince Henry marching, and Falstaff meets him playing on his Truncheon like a Fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door? muft we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. Hoft. My lord, I pray you, hear me. P. Henry. What fay'ft thou, Mistress Quickly? how what call you rich ?] A face fet with carbuncles is called a rich face. Legend of Capt. Jones. Newgate fashion.] As prifoners are conveyed to Newgate, faftened two and two together. does does thy hufband? I love him well, he is an honest man. Hoft. Good my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and lift to me. P. Henry. What fay'ft thou, Jack? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket pickt. This houfe is turn'd bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Henry. What didft thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pounds a piece, and a feal-ring of my grandfather's. P. Henry. A trifle, fome eight-penny matter. Hoft. So I told him, my lord; and I faid, I heard your grace fay fo; and, my lord, he speaks most vilely you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is, and faid, he would cudgel you. of P. Henry. What! he did not? Hoft. There's neither faith. truth, nor woman-hood in me elfe. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stew'd prune; 7 no more truth in thee than in a drawn Fox: and for a woman-hood, Maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Hoft. Say, what thing? what thing? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Hoft. I am nothing to thank God on, I would thou fhould'st know it. I am an honeft man's wife; and, 7 There's no more faith in thee than in a few'd prune, &c.] The propriety of thefe fimilies I am not fure that I fully understand. A fterved prune has the appearance of a prune, but has no taste. A drawn fox, that is, an exente rated fox, has the form of a fox without his powers. I think Dr. Warburton's explication wrong, which makes a drawn fox to mean, a fox often hunted: though to draw is a hunters term for purfuit by the track. My interpretation makes the fox fuit better to the prune. These are very flender difquifitions, but fuch is the tafk of a commentator. 8 Maid Marian may be, &c.] Maid Marian is a man dreffed like a woman, who at tends the dancers of the morris. fetting fetting thy knighthood afide, thou art a knave to call me fo. Fal. Setting thy womanhood afide, thou art a beast to say otherwise. Hoft. Say, what beaft, thou knave, thou? P. Henry. An Otter, Sir John, why an Otter? Fal. Why? fhe's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. Hoft. Thou art an unjust man in faying fo: thou, or any man knows where to have me; thou knave, thou! P. Henry. Thou fay't true, hoftefs, and he flanders thee moft grofsly. Hoft. So he doth you, my lord, and faid this other day, you ow'd him a thousand pound. P. Henry. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thoufand pound, Hal? a million; thy love is worth a million, thou ow'ft me thy love. Hoft. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and faid, he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph? Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you faid fo. Fal. Yea, if he said, my ring was copper. P. Henry. I fay, 'tis copper. Dar'ft thou be as good as thy word now? Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'ft, as thou art but a man, I dare; but as thou art a Prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the Lion's whelp. P. Henry. And why not as the Lion? Fal. The King himself is to be fear'd as the Lion; doft thou think, I'll fear thee, as I fear thy father? nay, if I do, let my Girdle break! P. Henry. O, if it fhould, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, Sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honefty, in this bofom of thine; it is all fill'd up with guts and midriff. Charge an honeft woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whorfon, I impudent, impudent, imbofs'd rafcal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, Memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of fugarcandy to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but thefe, I am a villain. And yet you will ftand to it, you will not pocket up wrongs. Art thou not afham'd? I Fal Doft thou hear, Hal? thou know'ft in the state of innocency, Adam fell: and what fhould poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou feeft, I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty. You confefs then, you pickt my pocket? P. Henry. It appears fo by the story. Fal. Hoftefs, I forgive thee; go make ready Breakfaft. Love thy husband, look to thy fervants, and cherifh thy guests; thou shalt find me tractable to any honeft reafon. Thou feeft, I am pacify'd ftill.-Nay, I pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hoftefs. Now, Hal, to the news at Court? For the robbery, lad, how is that anfwer'd? P. Henry. O my fweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. The mony is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour. P. Henry. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou do'ft, and do it with unwafh'd hands too. Bard. Do, my Lord. P. Henry. I have procur'd thee, Jack, a Charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horfe. Where fhall I |