Fal. In buckram?

Poins. Ay, four in buckram suits.

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. P. Hen. Pr 'y thee let him alone: we shall have

more anon.

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of,— P. Hen. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken,— Poins. Down fell their hose.

Fal.-Began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.

P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and let drive at me ;—for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech,

Fal. What, art thou mad; art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?

P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason what sayst thou to this?

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulsion? No were I at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish!O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!—

P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins. Mark, Jack.

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four: you bound them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark now how plain a tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize; and have it; yea, and can shew it you here in the house :—and Falstaff, you carried your guts

away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?

Poins. Come, .let's hear Jack: what trick hast thou now?

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: was it for me, to kill the heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct : the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter: I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and thee during my life: I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.-Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow.-Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry: shall we have a play extempore?

P. Hen. Content: and the argument shall be, thy running away.

Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.

Enter Hostess.
Host. My lord the prince,-

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess: what sayst thou to me?

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door, would speak with you: he says, he comes from your father.

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother.

Fal. What manner of man is he?
Host. An old man.

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?-Shall I give him his answer? P. Hen. Pr'y thee, do, Jack.

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit. P. Hen. Now, sirs; by 'r lady, you fought fair so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince; no:-fie!

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Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hacked?

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would swear truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear

grass to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven years before I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rann'st away: what instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors; do you behold these exhalations?

P. Hen. I do.

Bard. What think you they portend?
P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter.—

Re-enter FALSTAFF.

Here comes lean Jack, here comes barebone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is 't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist: I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.—There's villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your father: you must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook,—what a plague call you him? Poins. O, Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen; the same :-and his son-inlaw, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular.

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying,

Fal. You have hit it.

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him he will not run.

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

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo: but afoot he will not budge a foot.

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Fal. I grant ye upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night. Thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel.

P. Hen. Why then 't is like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayst true: it is like we shall have good trading that way.-But tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? Thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art not thou horribly afraid; doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith: I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

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

Fal. Shall I? content. -This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown!

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 must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein. P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.

Fal. And here is my speech.-Stand aside, nobility.

Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith. Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.

Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance!

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen: for tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. Host. O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as I ever see.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good ticklebrain. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied for though the camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here lies the point;-why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses?

a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast 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 : so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

Fal. A good portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent: of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage: and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r lady, inclining to threescore: and now I remember me his name is Falstaff. If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me: for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king?-Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depose me! If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.

P. Hen. Well, here I am set.

Fal. And here I stand :-judge, my masters. P. Hen. Now Harry, whence come you? Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

Fal. 'S blood, my lord, they are false:-nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith.

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloakbag of guts, that roasted Manningtree 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 taste sack 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 villanous but in all things; wherein worthy but in nothing? Fal. I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace?

P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff; that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know.

P. Hen. I know thou dost.

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, Heaven help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned. If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack 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. Hen. I do, I will. [4 knocking heard. [Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH.

Enter BARDOLPH, running.

Bard. O my lord, my lord! the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door. Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Re-enter Hostess, hastily.

Host. O my lord, my lord!

Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick. What's the matter?

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door; they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit thou art essentially mad without seeming so.

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward without instinct.

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so 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 shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go, call him forth.

Poins. Falstaff!-fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. [PoINS searches.]—What hast thou found?

Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Hen. Let's see what they be read them. POINS reads.

What

P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack. there is else keep close; we'll read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning and so good morrow, Poins.

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Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt.