of silk stockings thou hast ; viz. these, and o those that were the peach - colour'd ones? or to bear the inventory of thy shirts; as, one for superfluity and one one other for use? but that, theartennis is court - keeper knows better than I; jaoufor iis, a low ebb of linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket there; as a thou hast not done a great while, best to of thy low-coun1stries, have made to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the Hedanips of thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives a we children 34 the fault; whereupon the world increases, and 9 kindreds are mightily strengthen'd. of q Poins. How ill it follows, after you have iqlabour'd so hard, you shou so idly? Tell me how many good young Princes would do So their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Poins. Yes;
let it be an excellent good

Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding that than thine.

boins Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell.

Homesha Hen. Why, I tell I tell thee, — it is not meet that I should be sad, now father is sick : al(as to o a better, to call my friend,) one it pleases and sad indeed too. WRID

hardly, upon such a subject. PHen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the devil's book, as thou, and Fallstaff, for obduracy and persistency: Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds

inwardly, that my father is so sick and keep+ ing such vile company as thou art, hath in rea son taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.. Poins. The reason?

P. Hen.

What would'st thou think of me,

if I should weep?

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and thou art a blessed 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 accites your most worshipful thought, to think so?

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so much engraffed to Fallstaff.

P. Hen. And to thee.

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help.

By the mass, here comes Bardolph.

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Fallstaff: he had him from me christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transform'd him ape.

Bard.

P, Hen.

Save your Grace!

And yours, most noble Bardolph! Bard. Come, your virtuous ass, [To the Page. you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly,

ahan at arms are you become? Is it such a matto get a pottlepot's maidenhead?

Ler,

Page. He call'd me even now, my Lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last, [ spied his eyes; aud, methought, he had made two holes in the alewife's new petticoat, and peep'd through.

P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited?

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy; What dream, bay ?..

Page. Marry, my Lord, Althea dream'd she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interprétation. There it is, boy. [Gives him money. Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence

to preserve thee.

Bard. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallows shall have wrong.

P. Hen And how doth thy master, Bardolph ?

Bard. Well, my Lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to town; there's a letter for you. P. Hen. Delivered with good respect.

And how doth the martlemas, your master? ›
Bard. In bodily health, Sir..!

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician: but that moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not.

P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as fami liar with me as my dog and he holds his place; for, look you, how he writes.

Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight. Every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself. Even like those that are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger, but they say, There is some of the King's blood spilt: How comes that? says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap; I am the King's poor cousin, Sir.

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But the letter:Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight to the son of the King, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting. Why, this is a certifi

cate.

P. Hen. Peace!

d

Poins. I will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity: he sure means brevity in breath; short-winded. I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears, thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewell.

Thine, by yea and no,
much as to say,
him.) Jack Falstaff,
miliars; John,
and sisters; and sir
Europe.

(which is as as thou usest

with my fawith my brothers

John, with all

My Lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of

his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune! but I never said so.

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us. Is your master here in London?

Bard. Yes, my Lord.

P. Hen. Where sups feed in the old frank?

he? doth the old boar

Bard. At the old place, my Lord: in Eastcheap.

P. Hen. What company?

'Page. church.

Ephesians, my Lord; of the old

P. Hen. Sup any women with him? Page. None, my Lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear – sheet. A P. Hen. What pagan may that be?

Page. A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

Poins. I am your shadow, my Lord; I'll fol→ low you.

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,

and Bardolph ; no word to your master, that I am yet come to town: There's for your silence. Bard. I have no tongue, Sir. Page. And for mine, Sir,

vern it.

I will go

P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt BARThis Doll Tear-sheet

DOLPH and Page. ]

should be some road.